Page 23 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

I chewed my lip, deep in thought. Judging by the distinct lack of enthusiasm shown by Ezra and Joshua, I was thinking it less and less likely they’d agree to it. But what were we supposed to do?

I was open to suggestions.

Rowan finished watering some of the herbs and offered to make the three of us a brew, while interrogating Amber about a pair of long, high-heeled, velvet boots she’d spotted online. “How easy do you reckon they are to walk in? How are you supposed to keep them clean?”

I smiled to myself and decided to stick with my jewelled pumps and ankle boots for comfort. Being on your feet all day demanded comfortable shoes.

Rowan handed out steaming mugs of tea to Amber and me and then cradled hers in her hands. “I was thinking about getting a pair of those lace-up suede boots for winter that Taylor Swift was wearing on TV the other night.”

Our conversation was interrupted, however, by the shop door clattering open, sending the bell into a frenzy. It was Zach Stern.

My cheeks fizzed. Oh, no.

The collar of his black tweed coat was up and there was a knotted, charcoal scarf around his neck.

He gave his black floppy hair a shake, trying to dislodge the rain that drizzled through it. He reminded me of a big bad wolf.

Amber and Rowan did a double-take at the tall, dark stranger.

He shifted his dark gaze around, before resting it on me. “Good morning, Ms McArthur. Long time no see,” he said with a glitter in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare moment?”

I wanted to apologise and say I was too busy, but the shop was currently experiencing a brief lull in customers. Amber and Rowan swapped looks. “We can manage, Bailey,” insisted Rowan, drinking Zach in.

Oh great. Sure, you can.

I flicked on a smile. “Ok. Thanks girls.” I turned to Zach. “Let’s go into the office.”

I strode past the plants and flowers, wafts of their heady perfume in a travelling cloud around me. Keep your cool, Bailey. Tell him nothing. Everything will be ok.

I tried to ignore the rippling nerves in my stomach as I closed my office door with a decisive click. I gestured to the other chair, but Zach didn’t sit down. One of his black brows rocketed up to his hairline as he stood on the other side of my desk. His generous mouth was in a tight line. “I meant to say to you this morning, but you dashed off. Thank you so much for suggesting I speak to Moira Telford last night. I spent half the evening attempting to ignore her flirting and the other half bored to tears about the affairs and jealousies raging behind the scenes of the local drama group.”

Relief swam through me. I fought the urge to smile. Good old Moira. “What do you mean? She knows everyone, and I thought she might be able to help you.”

Zach’s irritated stare bore into me. “Oh, come on, you knew I wouldn’t get any information from Moira last night, only a severe case of earache.”

I jammed my lips together to stop myself from laughing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Stern.”

Zach continued to glower down at me. “I’m glad you find this so amusing. But I believe Ezra King has moved to the area.”

He straightened his broad shoulders under his heavy coat. “You lot round here might stick together like two coats of paint, but I didn’t get where I am by giving up on a story.”

You lot?!

I jumped to my feet, indignant. Heather Moore had been good to me. As children, Marcus and I had spent many happy holidays here, rooting around in the woods, tumbling through the grass and nagging Mum and Dad to treat us to Mr Conte’s moreish clotted cream ice cream cones.

Mum hadn’t been quite so enthusiastic about us holidaying in the area. She was far happier floating around in one of her kaftans under baking hot Mediterranean sunshine, but she and Dad compromised with the promise of a trip to Venice each autumn.

Living here and running Flower Power, I was finding myself becoming more and more attached to the place. I was seeing it through fresh, adult eyes. The locals were spending their hard-earned cash on my flowers and I was striking out on my own, carving a future which a year ago, I never would have thought possible.

I experienced a burning sense of irritation at Zach Stern’s condescending tone. How dare he sweep in here, intent on destroying the life of someone like Ezra King, who just wanted to escape from the microscopic world of London’s oppressive media attention?

I flashed Zach an icy stare, the words fighting to get out of my mouth. “Well, seeing as you’re flinging insults around! If you’re the pinnacle of modern, serious journalism, why the hell are you working for a gossip magazine?”

Zach’s square jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve won a ton of awards and yet you’re reporting on such pressing issues as what sort of avocados Madonna buys during her weekly shop and why Robbie Williams has decided to sport a fringe. Are these things really so very important to you?”

Zach’s mouth flatlined. He looked discomfited all of a sudden. “My career choices are none of your business.”