Page 63 of A Scottish Country Escape

I attempted to interrupt. ‘That’s really kind of you, Dexter, but we’ll be just fine.’

‘It’s not up for discussion, Elle.’

It was now Gran’s turn to brook no further argument. ‘Well, thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you. However, if you’re staying here tonight then you’re not sleeping on the sofa. We have a guest bedroom upstairs.’

I whirled round, widening my eyes at her in a silent appeal. No. This is not a good idea. I was trying to quell the concoction of emotions Dexter was firing up inside of me. Him sleeping under the same roof as me…

‘It will only take a minute to put on fresh bedding and the room has a small en suite shower,’ she added.

Dexter risked a glance over at me before speaking to Gran again. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

My head snapped between my grandmother and Dexter until I had to stop for fear of developing a crick in my neck.

‘Then it’s settled.’ Dexter smiled, studying me with a challenging glint in his eyes.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

I forced a smile and excused myself from the sitting room. Gran was heading upstairs to the linen cupboard. ‘Why did you agree to let him stay?’ I whispered.

We reached the top step and she performed an airy shrug. ‘He insisted, and anyway, it will be nice to have a bit of eye candy around the place for one night.’

‘Grandma!’

She winked at me as she pulled open the linen cupboard door. ‘Now, where is that pale-blue stripy set of bedding? You know the one I mean.’

I frowned at her. ‘Why are you going to so much trouble?’

‘And I could ask why you went to so much effort to prevent him from staying?’

My cheeks blossomed. ‘I’m not. I wasn’t. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.’

Gran located the bedding and started to drape it over her arm, but I took it from her and hooked it over mine instead.

‘Why is that?’ she asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Why don’t you want Dexter staying here?’

‘Come on,’ I muttered, avoiding her question. ‘Leave this to me. I’ll make up the bed and get Dexter a clean towel.’

* * *

I lay in bed that night with the brook murmuring in the dark and the intermittent sound of Dexter moving around in the guest bedroom just a few feet away from mine. Because of where it was, every creak and footstep imprinted itself in my chest.

I attempted to banish the tortuous visions of him lying there, his shock of raven hair against the pillow. Eventually I fell into a fitful sleep and awoke the next morning to the babbling of the kitchen radio from downstairs. I was sure I could hear Gran and Dexter chatting.

I slipped on my mint and white cotton bathrobe over my pyjamas and studied myself in my bedroom mirror.

Good God. I couldn’t let Dexter see me looking like I’d just fought a grizzly and lost.

I snatched up my bristle brush from my dressing table and fired it through my hair before securing it at the nape of my neck in a bun.

I eased open my bedroom door. I could hear low voices coming from the kitchen. Sticking one foot out, followed by the other, I dashed down the hallway, my dressing gown flapping behind me and dived into the upstairs bathroom unseen. I splashed my face, gave my teeth a quick brush and pinched some semblance of colour into my cheeks.

As I padded down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen, I could hear Gran’s throaty laugh at some story Dexter was regaling her with. I hovered by the open kitchen door.