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He took a step forward. “What did ye think of the place?” His question was more of a command.
I didn’t dare move. “I’m not an expert in distilleries.”
“Ye speak ye mind and dinnae dress up your opinions.” His eyes softened. “I’d very much like your opinion all the same.”
He was tense, as if bracing himself for bad news. His eyes implored me to be kind. I had no reason or desire to be anything else.
Seeing him so openly vulnerable made me stay and answer him.
“I loved the place. Especially the malting floor, the pot stills and the dunnage.” My voice was a reverent whisper. “Didn’t even know what a dunnage was until today but seeing the casks stored in that building was just fantastic. Even let us try some of the whisky straight from the cask. The operational side of the business was fascinating too. Enlightening, but…”
“Was something wrong?” Stuart took another step forward. The ‘r’ in wrong rolled and rumbled off his tongue.
“No! Not at all!” I held up my hands as if surrendering. “Quite the opposite. The ‘but’ was me drawing breath to say the still room was so impressive. Similar, yet foreign at the same time. Some of the equipment looks almost exactly like what our neighbours, the Zanettis, use for their winery. The best part about the tour was meeting everyone who works for you. You lead a team of passionate and committed people. They wowed everyone on the tour.”
His shoulders lowered and his chest puffed out with pride.
His bare, wet chest…
“Some of our people are multi-generational employees,” he said. “Been with us for decades.”
“I didn’t see your father today. Does he work here too?”
Stuart’s eyes saddened; his smile disappearing. “Dad’s retired.”
“He’s in a wheelchair.” I spun around to find Mrs Mac in the doorway, watching Stuart. “Had an accident two years ago while tending the boilers. He slipped and fell from a ladder and landed just the right way to fracture three vertebrae. Stuart took over the business immediately after that.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I looked back at Stuart, who looked back at his mother with sad eyes.
He shook himself and frowned.
“What are ye both doing in my room?” he hissed, his face red.
Mrs Mac chuckled. “Oh, Stuart, the real question is what are ye doing here? And without clothes no less?” He made a noise and clutched his towel tighter around him. “Ye told me ye were staying with James.”
Stuart shrank back, his lips in a tight white line.
“I… I moved in when I came back from London. Needed my own space.”
Mrs Mac looked over the moving boxes and back to her son, looking delighted and not at all surprised. “Well, lassie! Ye won’t be alone up here in Kerrera House. Stuart will be right next door if you need anything. Oh, and dear, your bathroom is through there.”
Mrs Mac pointed to a door on the opposite side of my studio, an obvious and visible entrance which I’d completely failed to notice.
My eyes strayed back to Stuart.
“Mr McAlister, I’ll leave you to your …
Drying off… dressing… nakedness… Shit!
“Just… leave,” he rumbled.
“I promise I’ll stay out right of your way while I’m here to do this job!”
I retreated back to my room without waiting for a response, with Mrs Mac on my heels. She apologised, for what I didn’t know, and I assured her I was fine. She squeezed my hand and left.
I slapped a hand to my forehead. What must Mrs Mac think of me, staring like that at her almost-naked son? And Stuart too?
And I hadn’t locked the door. I hurried over, wanting to be sure I had a barrier between me and Stuart.
