“It isnota date,” Agnes called, her voice sharp.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Agnes.”
She glared at me, but there was no heat in it.
I held up the book she’d given me. “I’ll try to make headway on this for tonight.”
“Don’t you have work? And it’s three hundred pages.”
“I’m highly motivated.”
“You’re highly ridiculous.”
“And yet you agreed to dinner with me anyway. What does that say about you?”
She shook her head, but a smile was tugging at her lipsdespite her best efforts to suppress it. “It says I have terrible judgment and an inability to say no to stubborn Scottish men who show up with fancy tea.”
“I’ll take it.”
I clutchedTreasure Islandlike a trophy, my heart lighter than it had been in years.
“Graham.”
I turned. Agnes stood in the aisle between the shelves, arms still wrapped around herself, looking uncertain and so enchanting it made my heart hurt.
“The tea really was thoughtful,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I held her gaze.I’d do anything for you, because I never stopped loving you.“See you tonight, Agnes.”
I left before she could change her mind, the bell chiming behind me as I stepped out into the morning sun.
One dinner. Not a date. Didn’t mean anything.
Bollocks to that.
It meant everything.
And I was going to make sure she knew it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AGNES
Ichanged my outfit four times, which was ridiculous.
Why had I even said yes to this?
This wasn’t a date. I’d been very clear about that. It didn’t mean anything. I glared out the window toward The Tipsy Thistle. It was just two old friends sharing a meal at a restaurant that happened to have tablecloths and a wine list longer than my arm.
The fact that I’d shaved my legs and put on mascara meant nothing.Nothing.
“You’re being a freaking eejit,” I told my reflection, tugging at the neckline of the green wrap dress I’d finally settled on. It was the nicest thing I owned that wasn’t covered in paint or clay dust, and it made my skin look rosy—not that I cared about that. Not that I wanted Graham to notice.
The knock at my door came at exactly six o’clock. Of course it did. Graham had many faults, but tardiness wasn’t one of them. The man ran his pub with military precision—every keg tapped on schedule, every shift covered, and he had every regular’s order memorized. It was one of the things I’d always admired about him, that steadiness. That reliability.
It was also one of the things that made him dangerous to me. A man you could count on was a man you could love. And loving was the one thing I couldn’t afford to do.
For the hundredth time today, I questioned whether I should be doing this. I’d made a promise to my gran, hadn’t I? What was I even doing? Worry gnawed low in my gut even as I took a breath, smoothed my dress one final time, and opened the door.
