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two
The large sandwichboard emblazoned with an eye-searing tartan print let me know I’d found the loading zone for Hold Onto Your Kilts. The tour group’s goofy name had been part of the draw—it said they didn’t take themselves too seriously. I wanted to have a good time in Scotland, but nobody needed to get fussy about it.
An older woman stood next to the sign, apparently the first of the group to arrive. This was it. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to meet my traveling companions, Jill’s reminder playing in my mind.Don’t panic.
I moved closer, and the woman waved me over. “Are you going on the Highland tour as well, then?”
She looked to be about my parents’ age, sporting a short bob streaked with gray and a vaguely British accent. I nodded, and she glanced me over, sniffing as if she expected to find something more. I’d worn loose yoga pants and a flowy top for the flights, with my brown hair in a loose braid, but I didn’t look nearly as put together as she did in her neat lilac twinset.
“I’m Bea.” Her accent rolled it into “bee-uh.”
We shook hands, a quick, limp little exchange. “I’m Molly.”
“Oh, this must be your husband.” She nodded past me, smiling wide.
I turned to find this phantom husband and spotted Mr. Snarky Bearded Man just behind me. His eyebrows ticked up, like I wasn’t the only one surprised by our sudden reunion. Although, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges…maybe he was more than just surprised. Pleased? No. I didn’t care. I turned back to Bea before I wound up staring.
Ignoring the ridiculous thrill that had exploded to life in my chest like an uninvited Jack-in-the-Box, I addressed her assumption. “We’re not together.”
The man stepped forward and extended a hand to her. “We did bond over the importance of souvenirs, though. I’m Duncan.”
She shook his hand and introduced herself.
He turned to me, that secret smile back on his face. Or maybe it just felt like a secret because his thick whiskers hid it so well.
“Molly.” I slipped my hand into his. His firm, confident grip went right along with the alpha male thing he had going on. It also started those irritating tingles across my skin again. The handshake went on a beat too long, and I pulled my hand away. “You’re taking the Scotland trip? Seems like something a tourist would do.”
One side of his mouth kicked higher. “I hear it’s good for the economy.”
I snorted a laugh.
“You’re an American, I take it?” Bea said to me. “First time in Scotland?”
I nodded, but she didn’t wait for more information.
“You’ll love it, darling, just the time of your life. I’ve been many times, of course, but this is our first time on a guided tour. I’m quite looking forward to it. My husband and I are celebrating our fortieth anniversary.”
She preened a little over that, clearly waiting for praise.
“Congratulations.”
“But if you’re not together—” She waggled her finger between Duncan and me. “Where is your husband?”
“Lost in the mail, I guess.”
Duncan chuckled, but Bea’s mostly warm expression morphed into a prim smile. I probably shouldn’t dole out my own snark to someone I would be stuck with on the tour, but “Where is your husband?”Come on. I hadn’t flown all the way to Scotland for commentary on my marital status—I could listen to my mother’s voicemails when I wanted that.
Another woman joined us, giving me a rest from Bea’s curiosity. She introduced herself as Harlow in a thick Australian accent. Her blond, shampoo commercial hair fell in smooth, soft waves like she hadn’t been on a plane for hours, and she wore a velour tracksuit that showed off her every curve like she hadn’t been tempted by the airport concessions.
I’d snapped up several bars of Cadbury Dairy Milk and enough shortbread to last me the whole trip, but whatever.
“Did you come all the way from Down Under?” Bea asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m on my way to a six-month job as a yoga instructor in Dublin, but I wanted to see the Highlands first. I’ve already explored Edinburgh and Glasgow.” Harlow had the breathless air of someone perpetually on her way to someplace fascinating. Her passport was probably covered in stamps.
“Yoga instructor?” Bea gave her the same dissatisfied once-over she’d given me. “You have the right shape for it.”
Harlow lit up. “Thank you!”
