“Yeah, it is,” I say, feeling a little lighter. “But why do I still feel like I’m missing something?”
“Because you are, and it will take some time to figure out what that is, but while you’re here, with all this beauty in your backyard, you should try to find that missing puzzle piece.”
“You’re right.” I sigh and again lean back on my hands, stretching my legs out. “Do you think this trip is going to change us?”
“Us, as in our friendship? Never. But us as in individuals? I hope so.”
She rests her head on my shoulder and I rest my head on hers, letting the birds fill the silence with their morning songs.
I truly hope Dakota is right.
“Aye, they’re dead,” a voice says as something stiff and hard pokes me in the shoulder.
“Should we call the police? Look for a medic?”
Poke.
Poke.
Poke.
“What are you doing?” I mumble, shifting, only to feel a million needles pierce my back.
Oh dear God, my ass is numb.
“Och, she’s alive,” someone calls out. “What about t’other one?”
The sun is blazing on me as I try to open my eyes. Lifting one hand in front of my face, I block out the intense rays and squint them open. Dakota is lying near me, her head resting on my lap.
“Dakota.” I sit up and give her a gentle shake.
“Hmm . . .”
“Wake up. We fell asleep on the rocks.”
“What?” She tries to open her eyes as well but must realize—like I did—that Scotland resides on the surface of the sun. “Oh God, why is it so bright?” She sits up and blinks at our surroundings.
I do the same.
Our backpack’s contents are strewn about the rocks, along with our bodies. Our thermoses of coffee have been tossed to the side, and our feet dangle above the lapping water, just begging to be dragged in.
“What time is it?”
“Half ten,” the voices above us answer.
“Half ten?” I ask, my mind mush. “What is that? Half of ten? So, five in the morning? Good God, it’s this bright out at five in the morning?”
“Nay. Half ten.”
I finally turn and spot two older-looking women standing over us. They both have red hair and matching concerned expressions. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what ‘half ten’ means.”
“The Americans,” one of the women scoffs.
“Aye, they are bonny, aren’t they?”
“Yes, that’s me, Bonnie—and you are?”
“Full of themselves too.” They chuckle together and reach out, giving us a helping hand. “I’m Innis, and I run the inn here. This is Shona—she owns the Mill Market.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, straightening up as much as I can, even though I can’t feel the entire back side of my body. “This is Dakota, and I’m Bonnie.”
“Oh, Bonnie is your name?” Innis asks. “Aye. Nice to meet you. Are ye Scottish?”
“One-sixteenth,” I say, puffing my chest. I watch Innis and Shona exchange a quick look of amusement.
“Well, then, the coffee shop is in good hands, even if you are tardy to open.”
“What?” Dakota and I say at the same time.
“It’s half ten,” Shona says. “We went to get a cup but noticed it was closed, and then we saw two lifeless bodies down here by the rocks and decided to investigate. We thought you were dead.”
“What does ‘half ten’ mean?” Dakota asks, looking panicked.
“Ten thirty.”
“Oh my God,” we both say. Quickly, we gather our things and take off toward the coffee shop, but not before thanking the ladies. They just laugh at us as we sprint up the gray brick road and straight to the coffee house, where . . .
Oh crap.
Standing tall, his arms crossed over a red-and-black-plaid shirt, is none other than Rowan MacGregor, as I’ve learned is his last name.
His eyes narrow and we run toward him, and I know I’m about to be met with a whole storm of grumpy.
“Taking it light on the job?” he asks.
I take a moment to catch my breath as he glowers down at me. “We were eating breakfast by the loch and fell asleep on the rocks.” I clutch my aching back. “It was an accident.”
“My parents trusted you to take care of their shop while they’re gone, and this is how you act on the first day?”
“We’re so sorry,” Dakota says, jogging to my side. “It was not our intention to slack. We’re just tired and jet-lagged, and the birdsong and lapping water were so peaceful, and we just couldn’t help ourselves.” There she goes, rambling. She gets that from me.