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“Is it big?”
“There’s enough space for screaming, if that’s what you’re asking. Damn, my glasses are steaming up.” He hit the brakes and grabbed his glasses and a lens cloth. “Don’t ever ask me to be a getaway driver.”
“Noted.” He hadn’t even asked her why she was crying, and she was grateful for that.
They bumped their way along the track, the lights picking out ruts and heaps of snow.
Her face burned and her eyes felt swollen. “Does the cabin get cut off?”
“In theory, but not in practice because we clear the snow. I work from here. I need access.”
He turned off the main track and headed for the loch.
She could see a soft glow of light in the window of the cottage.
“I can see what you mean about no one hearing you scream.”
“I scream regularly when my code doesn’t behave.”
“It’s gorgeous. Perfect. I can see why you don’t want to rent it out.”
He pulled in next to the cottage. “That’s more practicality than sentiment. I have tens of thousands of pounds worth of computer equipment here. It’s my office. I don’t share my office with anyone. I felt guilty appropriating it, but I needed somewhere I could focus without someone opening the door and offering me food.”
“You don’t like food?”
“Generally, yes. When I’m working, no. I hate to be disturbed when I’m concentrating on something.”
“You don’t eat when you’re working?”
“Snacks. Junk food. Stuff I can eat without taking my eyes off the screen. Stay there. I’m going to come round and help you.”
“I’m hysterical, Brodie, not injured. I can walk.” But she was touched by how attentive he was.
“I can’t let you walk around here while you’re upset. It’s dangerous.” He sprang out of the car and reappeared by her door, hand outstretched.
She took it while her feet found purchase on the slippery surface. “You’re quite the gentleman, Brodie.”
“I am?” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I was thinking about the insurance risk. You could fall into the loch, or trip over in the forest.”
“You think I suffer from coordination issues?”
“No. I don’t think that. I think you seem like—well, a very capable person. Capable and coordinated.” Flustered, he adjusted his glasses and gave her a sheepish smile. “It’s possible that I’m describing what would happen to me. I’d crash, probably break a limb and definitely break my glasses. I’m sure you’d glide across the ice, and if you slipped it would be an elegant affair.”
She hadn’t thought it possible that she could feel like smiling given her current state of mind, but it seemed she’d been wrong about that. “I’d land on my butt, Brodie. And it would not be elegant.”
“You’d look great. Even on your—um—butt.” Color streaked across his cheekbones and he gestured to the cottage. “But I suggest I save you the possible pain—you hold on to me.”
“But you’ve already told me that you have a tendency toward clumsiness.”
“True. I’m probably dangerous to be around.”
He wasn’t wrong about that, but not for the reasons he thought. He was the only man who’d ever met inner Samantha.
“I’m kind of relieved we’re not going to the pub.” She closed the car door. “Not that I didn’t love it, you understand—”
“But the last thing you need right now is a bunch of cheery locals. I know. I only said that because if I hadn’t, my mother would have asked more questions about how I intended to feed you. As if I’m six years old and can’t find a meal unless it’s put in front of me.” He flashed her a quick smile. “Also, you needed space, and generally speaking mothers don’t understand the concept of wanting space. I’ve found it’s best to pretend you want something specific.”
“How did you know I needed space?”
