Page 57 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

What was he doing here? Wild-eyed, I flew to the hall mirror. I didn’t feel at my best. Some of my make-up from earlier in the day had vanished and I was slouching around in PJ bottoms that’d seen better days.

“Hang on a second,” I called. “Just getting out of the bath.”

I whirled around in panic, remembering I’d dumped my shoulder bag on top of my bed when I arrived home.

I scooted down the hall and pinched my cheeks, before adding a flick of lipstick. Then I fluffed up my ponytail. That would have to do. I couldn’t keep him standing out there all evening. His eyelids would freeze shut. But then something made me draw up. What was I doing? Sprinting around my flat in a panic? I was like little Red Riding Hood inviting in the wolf.

I stared at his tall, willowy silhouette again through the pane of glass at my front door. I knew what I wanted to do, but whether it was wise or not, I wasn’t sure. No. Scrub that. I knew it wasn’t wise. I could just imagine Marcus’s horror at me even contemplating allowing Zach in.

But my heart was overruling my common sense.

Bracing myself, I unlocked the door.

Zach had changed his clothes from earlier and was now rocking a casual V-neck and black jeans under his long coat. Not only did he look devastating, but there was the delicious, warm aroma of food drifting in.

Zach lifted up his right hand. Dangling from his fingers was a Chinese takeaway. “Egg fried rice, lemon chicken, crispy shredded beef, and a couple of vegetable spring rolls. I tried to play it safe in case you had any food allergies.”

I must’ve looked perplexed.

Zach buried a smile. “It’s food,” he explained. “I thought we might eat it.”

I recovered myself. “Sorry, but…”

What on earth is he doing here?

Zach smiled, almost shyly. “Sorry, I should have checked with you, but I wanted to make up for bothering you with all my questions, lately,” he said. “So, I thought I’d treat you to a takeout after a busy day at work.” He stepped into the hall. “I took a chance on you having no plans.”

“Er … thanks,” I said. “That’s kind of you.”

I hadn’t expected my Saturday night to take such an unexpected and annoyingly perfect direction. I walked into the kitchen to get some plates.

“Did Astrid like the camellia?” I called out, batting away cringeworthy memories from earlier.

Zach materialised behind me. “She loved it. Thanks so much. It was a real winner.”

“No problem.”

“Where do you keep your cutlery?”

I directed him to the second drawer down near my microwave and he set the kitchen table while I fetched glasses and peeled open the cartons.

My stomach let out a desperate grumble at the sight of the rich, scented delicacies.

We dived in with several large serving spoons and delivered the tasty food onto our plates.

As I snatched a look across my kitchen table at Zach, I experienced a confused, excited rush. Why is Zach here on a Saturday night? Isn’t there some glamazon he should be seducing somewhere?

Zach took another spoonful of glistening, crispy shredded beef. He regarded me across the table. “I decided to drop by Joan Webber’s place this afternoon.”

Ah. A swell of disappointment washed over me. So, despite him saying he’d come round with a compensatory takeaway, tonight was clearly all about finding the Bollinger Babe. I should have known.

My fork, piled with fried rice, halted as it reached my mouth. “And how did that go?”

Zach arched a cynical brow. “Put it this way. Joan’s like Clint Eastwood in a blonde wig and so is that eccentric mother of hers.”

I could feel a bubble of laughter rising up in my throat. I jammed my lips together for fear of breaking into a grin. “So, not good, then?”

He folded his arms. “You could say that. Joan Webber threatened to set her two dogs on me. She was marching about with a shotgun.”