Page 28 of Scotlander

Her heart began to race as she pictured Gabe whipping off his kilt, crooking a finger and beckoning her to join him in a super-king manger.

Her skin went clammy. This was Val’s brother! She couldn’t—

And then it struck her . . . Even if they could and he was willing . . . she genuinely wasn’t sure she wanted to.

It was too much, too soon, too intimate, too . . . perfect.

And therein lay the problem. He was perfect and she was normal, and those two types of people didn’t have sex together – wanton or otherwise. History was proof of that (briefly excepting the moment in time that was Marilyn Manson and Dita Von Teese and, well, Hugh Hefner’s entire reign).

Even plain old sharing a room without sexy boom-boom would mean hiding in the bathroom every time she changed. And if, heaven forbid, this was one of those weird set-ups where the couple-sized bathtub was in the middle of the room (because, yes, some freakishly hopeful part of her was still convinced there was going to be swish amenities), she’d have to cut a hole in a sheet and stick it over her head and the bath so he couldn’t see her body every time she wanted to clean herself. Gorgeous models of perfection didn’t dig back fat, except in Botticellis and even then . . .

Orla emerged from the room where ChiChi and Fenella were staying and headed towards them with a jolly, ‘Right, then!’

Willa held her breath as Orla looked down at her check list, then up at the pair of them, smiled and, to Willa said, ‘Gabriella Martinez?’

Gabe stiffened.

Errrr. Willa pointed at Gabe. ‘This is Gabriel Martinez.’

‘Really?’ Orla’s eyebrows dove together as she ran her finger down her sheet. ‘I’m sure the booking was made as Gabriella.’

Gabe cleared his throat with an accompanying eyeroll and said, ‘That would be my sister’s doing. She used to call me Gabriella.’ And then, as if he’d been unceremoniously possessed by a teenybopper pop star, he started singing, ‘She used to call me Gabriella. Gabriella. Caaaaall me Gabriella.’

Willa hard-stared at him. ‘Gabe? Is this you exhibiting signs of a concussion?’

He shook his head, the energy vanishing as quickly as it arrived. ‘No. Just tired.’

She narrowed her gaze. There was something else. Had his mysterious silence been the slow, belated creep of sadness over his sister’s death? Perhaps it had finally been knocked loose in his fall. That, or he was suffering from a massive brain bleed. She held up a selection of fingers. ‘How many?’

‘Seven.’

She double-checked he was right. He was. She did a few more. Nailed it every time. Just as she was about to give him some long division problems she wouldn’t know the answer to, Orla cut in with a gentle, ‘Shall we call it a typo and go with Gabriel instead?’

‘Probably a good idea,’ Willa said as Gabe abruptly strode off to a fresh row of luggage that had appeared at the archway. She pointed at Orla’s clipboard. ‘Whatever else Val said, just keep it as it is. She would’ve wanted the trip to be exactly as she specified.’

Still looking perplexed, Orla nodded and then, as if she’d made an executive decision that the customer was always right, beamed her sunny smile and said, ‘This will be Gabriel’s room, then,’ and pulled open the door next to her.

When Gabe returned with both of their bags, Willa waited for him to go in first and then followed. They shared a grin, delighted and surprised to see the small, but charmingly decorated room. The walls were whitewashed stone, glowing with the warm light from a small wood stove and a couple of tactically placed hurricane candles. A simple bed made out of pallets and a mattress was on one side of the room and – ha! – a tub stood on the other. It was one of those old-fashioned claw footed numbers that, judging by the odd rust spot poking through, was a relic from the past. Yeah. That never would’ve worked.

‘The wee wee shoppe is through the back.’ Orla pointed to a door at the far end of the room. ‘Those are shared, but there are plenty.’

‘Wee wee shops?’

‘Where you spend a penny?’ Orla prompted.

‘Nope.’ Willa shook her head. ‘Still not with you.’

‘The loo? The toilet?’

‘Ah! The bathroom.’

Orla explained, ‘Sometimes in the UK you have to pay to go to the public conveniences. It used to be a penny.’

Willa grinned as the ‘penny’ dropped. She loved that sort of yesteryear wordsmithery. She saluted Orla. ‘Wee wee shoppe. Noted.’

‘Bed,’ said Gabe and promptly threw back the grandma-made-looking patchwork quilt, climbed on to the bed with a few creaks from the pallets, kicked off his shoes, then tugged the quilt back over him, kilt and all, laid back and closed his eyes.

Oh. Okay. ‘Night, night then.’