Page 56 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

I was fighting to bring myself to look Zach in the face. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” I croaked. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will. Thanks again, Bailey, for your help.”

I gestured to the camellia, its scalloped petals waggling around in Zach’s arms. “Tell Astrid that camellias like acidic soil and partial shade. An area that gets morning shade is the best, as direct sunlight tends to dry out their petals.”

“Right. I will. Thanks.”

“They’re woodland plants,” I added, faffing around at the counter, red-faced.

I realised I was wittering on and stopped talking. Zach was studying me over the top of the frothy, bright pink plant.

“Ok. I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

He loitered for a few moments, as though he was debating something before giving a self-conscious wave that was at odds with his usual cool, controlled exterior.

My gaze followed him out of the shop. Then I dropped my head in shame onto the counter and pretended to thump it against the pink-painted wood.

Chapter Thirteen

That evening, upstairs in my flat, I finally unzipped my boots and threw my old jeans and cable knit jumper on top of the bed. The flat was so quiet without Marcus. I missed the scent of his Dior perfume in the bathroom, and the sight of his charcoal tartan scarf hanging up in the hall.

It had been a busy but productive Saturday, what with Heather Moore’s dazzling Christmas light display going into overdrive, because of Santa’s appearance with his reindeer (aka Tony Mullen, a local farmer) and the additional visitors they brought in.

Amber, Rowan, and I had finished the ice palace window display, which had transformed the two windows of Flower Power into a sparkling, white and silver cornucopia of snow, white and blue snowflake lights, and clusters of cream and white winter roses. They surrounded a Disney-style sparkling palace I’d located for sale online. The whole effect was stunning and was attracting customers, particularly families with children, who would press their little red noses against the glass for a closer look.

Slipping into a pair of PJ bottoms and one of my favourite strappy tops, I struggled not to think about earlier, when I made myself look like an utter muppet in front of Zach.

I closed my eyes, again seeing his bemused expression. No bloody wonder. He must’ve thought I was having some sort of episode.

I hoped he hadn’t realised the real reason for my behaviour. I let out a painful groan, hoping I could dislodge the excruciating memory of it and decided to put up my Christmas tree to distract me. The earlier festivities had put me in more of a Christmas mood, despite what was swirling in the background with Zach, Ezra, Marcus, and me.

I slid my new tree out of its box, which was an artificial silver and white affair. I didn’t believe in using the real thing because it always filled me with anger after the festive season, when I would see real pine trees unceremoniously slung out onto the pavement. I erected it in the corner of the sitting room, right by the window, and began trying to drape it with rose-gold lights and matching thick tinsel.

The tinsel wasn’t so much of an issue, but I found myself struggling to wrap the long lights around it. Any moment now and I was going to be trussed up like Harry Houdini! I paused and fetched the new silver star I’d bought to pop on top.

Ah. I hadn’t realised it was as big as it was! I’d bought it in rather a hurry online and had been so captivated by its realism, not to mention the fab reviews, that I hadn’t taken notice of its measurements.

I then made a number of valiant efforts to install the star on top of the tree, but failed.

Growing increasingly frustrated, I set the star down and wandered through to the kitchen, leaving the lights drooping from a few of the lower branches. I knew I had a set of steps stashed somewhere. I’d have to find them.

I glanced down at my watch. It was approaching six-thirty in the evening and I knew I should really make some dinner first.

I opened the fridge and sighed. What did I feel like eating?

I’d just reached for some diced chicken and a box of Chinese vegetables when there was a knock on the door.

I closed the fridge door and paused.

I edged up the hall. It was almost dark and so whoever it was appeared like a long, looming shadow through the glass. “Who is it?”

“It’s your friendly, neighbourhood journalist.”

I could almost hear him roll his eyes on the other side of the door, as I hesitated.

“It’s me, Bailey. It’s Zach.”

Zach?