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“What if the new owner doesn’t want you, hotshot?” she shouted to be heard over the noise.
There was silence again as everyone turned to Lake. He folded his arms and grinned at her. That smug grin that said he knew better. It made her flush in places that, thankfully, people couldn’t see.
“You’re not exactly a catch any more,” Kirsty carried on. “You don’t have any money, or prospects. You’re homeless too, unless you plan to move in with Betty. Not to mention you’ve been gone since before Christmas, without even a phone call. What woman in her right mind would want that?”
“Me!” several women shouted at once.
There was laughter and calls that this was the best New Year’s ever. Her mother was trying to tell her off with a look and Caroline held her head in her hands with shame.
“Plus, lest we forget,” Kirsty carried on, “you’re English.” She pointed at his kilt. “The disguise didn’t work.”
Kirsty opened her mouth to say something else, but Lake leaned towards Dougal.
“We tried it your way,” he told him. “Now I’m doing it my way.”
He strode towards Kirsty with a gleam in his eye. There was no time to run. In two long steps, he was in front of her. He grinned, bent over, scooped her up, threw her over his shoulder and jumped off the stage.
Kirsty still had the microphone.
“Isn’t someone going to do something?” she demanded.
There was laughter and applause.
“Isn’t someone going to save me from the English?”
“Enjoy it, lass,” someone called. “It’s not every day you get an English invasion that looks like that.”
Kirsty growled into the microphone.
“Caroline,” she shouted. “Do something.”
Her best friend shrugged helplessly. As they reached the doors, Kirsty tried one last time.
“Whose side are you lot on, anyway?” she demanded.
“Lake’s side,” was the unanimous roar.
Then she was outside in the freezing night air, being carted up the high street by the man she loved.
EPILOGUE
The first day of a new year
“Tell me again why I helped you to win her hand?” Betty demanded of Lake.
To Kirsty’s great dismay, she’d discovered that when Lake gave her his shop, he also gave her his underwear mascot.
“Technically, he hasn’t won anything,” Kirsty said. “For there to be an engagement, there has to be an actual proposal and a declaration of love. Then there has to be an acceptance. None of these things have happened.”
They were in the tiny kitchen in the flat above Lake’s old shop. They’d squeezed in to eat breakfast, which was pies for Betty and cereal for the people who cared about their arteries. Lake wrapped his arm around Kirsty’s waist and pulled her to him. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear.
“I can show you how much I love you, if you like?” he whispered, and her heart skipped a beat.
Memories from the night before flashed on the screen inside her head. Delicious.
“Stop canoodling,” Betty said.
Kirsty turned to her latest problem. It had been a shock to Kirsty’s system when the flat door had thudded open at seven in the morning and Betty had shouted that she’d brought pies. Lake had rolled over, kissed her on the side of the neck and asked her to get him one before he curled back under the duvet. She’d put her feet on the small of his back and kicked him out of bed.
