Page 70 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

There was a poignant silence down the phone for a few seconds. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” I faltered, breaking into a small smile, even though he couldn’t see me. “I do.”

His voice became like warm butter down the line. “That means a lot to me, Bailey. More than you know. Thank you.”

* * *

I kept Flower Power open for a little longer at the end of the day, before finishing up in advance of Ezra’s possible appearance.

When Zach materialised at the door, he looked somewhat dishevelled, with his shirt creased and his thick hair flopping onto his brow. He must have had a taxing day. But despite not looking his usual dapper self, he was still delectable.

I hoped I wasn’t staring. It felt like I was. “Been a tough one?” I asked.

“Doors shut in my face and frightened staff thinking they can’t speak to me. But I’ll get there.” He gestured around the shop. “No sign of our Mr King yet?”

I closed the door behind him, his long coat billowing behind him in the stiff evening wind. It was approaching 6pm and the hills opposite were invisible in the winter darkness.

I shook my head. “I don’t think he’s coming. To be honest, why would he?”

“You never know.” Zach sat down behind the counter on one of the stools. I hadn’t yet switched off the Christmas fairy lights, which made Flower Power possess a magical quality tonight. It looked cosy and festive. Romantic. Aware that he was watching me, I darted about tidying the shelf under the counter, where we stored Post-it pads and gift wrap.

“You’re a very determined person,” he said.

My hands stilled. “What makes you say that?”

He indicated around himself. “It’s not easy nowadays, running your own business.”

“Careful,” I laughed. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

I raised my bent head from the counter and our eyes met. A sharp knock on the fire door interrupted our conversation.

Zach raised his eyebrows.

I hurried to the back of the shop and unlocked the door.

Ezra was standing on the step, his dark trilby poised at a jaunty angle and a tartan scarf knotted around his neck and partially covering his face. With the tweed coat he was wearing, he looked more like a Guy Richie gangster than a respected thespian.

Jackson waved from the open window of the car.

Ezra regarded me for a moment before stepping inside and removing his hat with his familiar, theatrical flourish. His tone was measured. “Hello, Bailey.”

We looked at one another, both struggling to gauge the atmosphere between us.

“Hello, Ezra.”

The silence crackled, until Ezra’s attention fell on Zach. His face darkened.

“Hello, sir,” said Zach, striding towards him and extending one hand. “I’m Zach Stern, from Stargazer magazine.”

Ezra didn’t reciprocate the handshake. He took a step backwards and flapped his hat at Zach, as though repulsed. “I must be bloody mad. I was in two minds whether to come along, but curiosity got the better of me.” He shot a fierce glare at Zach. “What the hell’s going on, Bailey?”

Zach took a few steps towards Ezra. “Please, sir. You have to trust me.”

Ezra broke into peels of sarcastic laughter. “I’ll do no such thing.”

I jumped in between them. “Please, Ezra. Just hear Zach out.”

Ezra’s distinguished features were all suspicious. He narrowed his laser-like eyes at Zach. “All right then, young man. What is this about? Tell me at once!”