“Not looking for a relationship,” she says.
“Me neither,” I say quickly. Who knows who this Rowan guy is—I’m almost certain I don’t want anything to do with him. The whole grumpy thing doesn’t work for me.
“So what brings you to the Highlands, then? On your application, you said adventure.” Finella studies us both. “But I see darkness in your pretty eyes. There’s more to it.”
“A break,” Dakota confesses. “A break from it all.” And I know exactly what she means. She needs a break from the memories, from the chance of running into her ex. She needs to clear her head.
Just like me.
“A moment to breathe,” I say. “To figure out what I’m doing with my life.”
Finella smiles and clasps her hands together. “Then Corsekelly is the perfect place for the both of you.”
Gravel crunches under our shoes as Dakota and I follow Finella down the tree-lined lane to the coffee house. A light sprinkle of rain starts up, and I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt.
“Nay, not to worry about the rain, lass,” Finella says. “It’s a given here in Scotland. Embrace it.”
Well, if that’s the case, I lower my hood and let the droplets of water scatter over my head and face. If I’m going to be here for six months, then I really should live like the locals.
“Here she is,” Finella says as we round the bend and approach the coffee shop. “She might not be pretty on the outside, but she’s warm on the inside.” She opens the door, and to my surprise, the shop is completely empty—no one working, not a single soul in the building.
Even more shocking: the place is practically barren.
Two tables, each with two chairs, sit haphazardly in the middle of the room, looking like they were carved by a ten-year-old. Nothing decorates the walls, and the old wooden floors are coated in dirt and goo. To the left is an empty pastry case, and behind the counter are two coffee thermoses.
No espresso machine.
No fancy menu.
Just . . . coffee.
Umm . . .
“We open at ten and close at four.”
“You open at ten?” How on earth do they open at ten when I was ordered to get coffee at six in the morning?
“Aye, not much activity in the area until ten. Most businesses around here open at nine and close no later than six, besides Fergie’s Castle, the pub. The Admiral, our local eatery, will close at six on the weekdays and seven on the weekends, so if you’re craving—what do you Americans call it, ‘dinner’？—be sure to plan ahead. Fergie’s will have some generic pub food, but it can get rowdy once the town shuts down and everyone gathers for a whisky.”
“Wow, okay. Good to know,” I say, just as my stomach does a weird somersault at the mention of food. Oof. That didn’t feel good.
“We’re closed on Sundays—almost the whole town is. The tour buses don’t drive through here on Sundays, so we all take the day off, besides the pub. Hamish always has the pub open.”
“Tour buses come through here?” I ask as Dakota walks around the small space, arms crossed, surveying our new job. There’s no doubt she’ll be able to keep up with her graphic design work while we’re here. From the looks of the two coffee thermoses, it seems like I might have some spare time on my hands as well.
“Aye. For the Boaby Stone. We are quite proud of it, actually. Shona down at the market screen prints Boaby Stone Tshirts. ‘I kissed the Boaby Stone,’ they say. Quite clever. Stuart and I have a matching set.”
Yeah, I’m going to need one of those. “I love a good penis shirt.” Dakota elbows me in the side. I glance at her and shrug. “What? I do.”
“Have you watched Iron Crowns?” Finella asks.
I’m about to answer when my intestines gurgle. An instant sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
Uh, that doesn’t feel right.
Not at all.
We might have a situation brewing.
“I have,” Dakota says. “Haven’t gotten to the Boaby Stone part yet. Can’t wait for it.”
“Thrilling. They show his actual boaby, ya know. The actor didn’t have a standin. Sir Richard MacLain is quite endowed, I must say. Such a shame they pretended to castrate him.” Finella sighs and goes to the counter. “Really simple here. Dark roast and decaf. We also have some hot chocolate packets if the kids want any. We haven’t had food here in a while. Stuart used to bake, but he’s slowed down a bit.” Finella grows quiet just as my gut churns, the sound deafening in the small coffee shop.