Rowan looks Dakota up and down, but it doesn’t feel like the same intense perusal he gave me yesterday while I wielded my broom.
“And you are?”
“Dakota.” She holds out her hand, but he doesn’t take it. Ugh, he’s so freaking rude. “You must be Rowan.”
“Aye. And you must be the responsible one.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, hands on my hips. “I’m responsible.”
His intimidating eyes flash toward me for a brief second before he focuses back on Dakota. “Me maw and da asked me to stop over at the shop today to make sure you two were all set with everything you need. To my surprise, you weren’t here.”
“Not on purpose. We would never disregard your parents like that,” I say.
His eyes remain trained on Dakota. “I don’t babysit. I told my parents I won’t be babysitting you two, but it looks like I might have to, judging by how day one is going.”
“No, you won’t,” Dakota says, using her best mom voice. “This is all an honest mistake. I promise, we will be better.”
“We don’t have to prove anything to him.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Bonnie,” Dakota says, chastising me.
Rowan shifts in front of us, hands falling to his hips. Challenging.
“What? He’s being rude. It was an honest mistake. He doesn’t have to be so mean about it. I see his intimidation tactics. The way he towers over the ‘wee lasses,’” I say in my best Scottish accent. “I see right through you, Rowan.” I move two fingers between my eyes and his, but he doesn’t flinch, not even a blink. “I won’t stand here and let you attempt to intimidate us. No, sir.” I push past him, my shoulder brushing his, the stone of his arm sending my shoulder back as I continue forward. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some coffee to make. Come on, Dakota.”
From behind me, I hear Dakota say, “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
I watch through the front window as Rowan angrily walks away. “You don’t have to suck up to him,” I say as Dakota steps inside and the door swings shut behind her.
“He’s Stuart and Finella’s son. I think it would be helpful if we were nice.”
“Why? He’s not being nice to us.”
“Because what if we need help with something? He’s the handyman, isn’t he?”
“We’ll be fine. What could possibly go wrong?”
Dakota strides behind the counter and starts scooping ground coffee into the coffee maker. “These are centuries-old buildings—pretty sure anything can go wrong, especially when you put words like that out into the universe. You’re just asking to be jinxed.”
“Please. We have all the luck on our side, remember? We’re going to go rub our faces on the Penis Stone. That’s all the luck we need.”
“Once again, it’s not the Blarney Stone. It’s where a man’s dick was chopped off.”
“In the name of women,” I declare, raising my fist. “Trust me, we are going to be completely fine.”
“Why do I let you talk?” Dakota asks, pressing her hand to her face as we stare at the kitchen faucet—which is turned on and completely dry.
“Are you alluding to me jinxing us?” I ask, hoping to the high heavens that I didn’t.
“I don’t know. You go and piss off the handyman, then after a long, boring day at the coffee shop, we come home to no running water when the water was just fine earlier today and yesterday.”
I gasp and spin toward Dakota. “Oh my God, do you think this is sabotage?” I start moving around the cottage, sniffing the air, running my fingers over the surfaces. “I can smell him. He was here.”
“You can’t possibly smell him.”
“I can,” I insist.
“Then what does he smell like?”
“A kilt,” I answer, not even thinking about it.
“You’ve never smelled a kilt in your entire life.”
“False,” I say, running my nose over the back of the couch . . . oof, musty. “Last fall, Bath and Body Works sold a candle called Scottish Kilt. That’s what Rowan smells like.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Have I?” I ask. “Or have I cracked the code on this man?”
“You’ve lost it.” Sighing, Dakota grabs her phone and pulls up her contacts.
“I don’t think calling your dad is going to be helpful right now. Not sure he knows much about Scottish plumbing.”