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“I’m going to pretend that you don’t sound like one of Shelley’s hormonal students and treat that as a serious question. Here’s what I think—if she doesn’t want you, it will suck to be you, but at least you tried.”
His eyes opened as he frowned. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? At least I tried?”
“That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. Can we talk about football now?”
“Fat lot of good you are.”
“I get that a lot.”
“It’s been nearly twenty years since I last dated.” Even the thought of going through that again made him feel awkward. Maybe it would be best if he stayed a grumpy-arsed widower forever. But at the rate he was going, his obsession with Donna would drive him over the edge—right off the cliffs of Arness and into the sea.
“You’re asking the wrong man for dating advice. I’ve been off the market even longer than you have. But, as far as I can see, the only thing that’s changed is you don’t have any physical contact until the tenth date. Up until then, it all happens online.”
“She lives in the same house as me, we talk in person, not online.”
“Well, you could just try the direct approach. Ask her out for dinner, talk to her about something that isn’t work-related—if that’s even possible for you—and then try to sneak a kiss on the way home. Oh, wait, it’s all ‘Me Too’ now. You can’t sneak a kiss. You need to ask permission first, so you don’t get slapped.”
“And people say I’m a caveman,” Duncan muttered.
“At least you don’t have far to go to get home after you walk her to her door.”
His brother was far too amused for Duncan’s liking. “Should you really be laughing at my expense?”
“When it’s this funny, aye.”
A female voice sounded in the background. “Who’s on the phone?”
A pang of sadness hit Duncan as he remembered conversations with Fiona in the middle of the night, when the phone had rung and disturbed them. It was the simple, everyday things that always hurt the most. Those memories seemed to blindside him.
“It’s Duncan, he fancies a lassie and doesn’t know what to do about it,” Hamish said.
“That’s not true,” Duncan bellowed. “Don’t tell her that, you arse.”
“Duncan”—Shelley’s Australian accent sounded down the line—“we’ve missed you, when are you coming to visit?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh, “but I’ll think about it.”
“That’s good enough for me. Is the idiot right? Are you interested in someone?”
“Aye.” And he felt like he was thirteen again, and word about his crush had spread round the school playground. Hamish had been to blame that time too and had received a black eye for his interference. Lucky for his brother he was half a world away, or he’d be getting a repeat performance.
“That’s wonderful,” Shelley said. “Fiona wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone.”
He stifled a groan as Hamish chimed in, “We’re not telling him stuff like that because it’s clichéd and makes us want to puke.”
“Oh, okay.” Shelley sounded confused.
His brother must have wrestled the phone from his wife because he came back on the line. “Here’s my advice, stop screwing around, grow a pair, a
nd go after the girl. If it all goes balls up, you can cry into your beer.”
“Hamish!” Shelley sounded outraged.
“Got to go,” Hamish shouted and hung up.
Duncan found himself shaking his head and grinning. His eyes fell on the painting of Fiona, and the smile faded. “What do I do, lass? Will it break your heart if I touch another?”
The silence was answer enough. Fiona no longer had a heart to break. It was long gone, just like the rest of her. He was on his own. And it was up to him whether he stayed that way or not.
