She’s proud, like me. Defensive like me. Stubborn . . . like me.
I press my thumb down, savoring the feel of the clay gliding under my skin and forming another bowl shape.
I think I might have met my match—and she’s wrapped up in a tiny, feisty, all-American package.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BONNIE
Cake consumed today: None, but that’s about to change.
Days since last male-induced orgasm: Seventy-three? Seventy-four? It’s getting up there.
Hangovers: One massive head-cracking hangover.
Annoying Scottish men who treat women like potato sacks: One, but God does he smell good. Like a really sexy pheromone-filled kilt.
I don’t know what they put in their beer over here, but golly is it strong. Did I poke an ass last night?
“You’re walking too fast, and my retinas are bleeding.” I shield the sun from my eyes as Dakota drags me along the stone-paved street, away from the coffee shop. “I demand to know where you’re taking me.” Instead of answering, Dakota comes to an abrupt stop before a teal door.
I blink at the door, struggling to truly see anything in this godforsaken sunlight—I thought Scotland was all rain and clouds; bunch of turd wash that is—before Dakota opens it and pushes me inside. I stumble into the sweetest-smelling room I’ve ever been in.
Two bakery cases rest next to the intricately carved counter—a Murdach clan crest shaved into the middle. On the other side of the beautifully wood-paneled space is a high bar attached to the wall with accompanying seats for those who want to eat in the bakery. There isn’t much decor, but there doesn’t need to be, given the wood-stained corbels in the corners and the wood-slatted ceilings.
Adorable.
“Hey, ladies.” I look up to find Isla walking toward us, an apron around her waist and a towel in her hands. “How are you feeling?”
Isla is adorable too. Really freaking adorable. Vibrant red hair brushes her shoulders, and she has these steely eyes that she barely highlights with a touch of mascara. A light splattering of freckles decorates her nose, and the smallest of nose rings glimmers in the light.
When she walked up last night and Rowan introduced us, I gauged Dakota’s reaction—blushing cheeks and light smirk—and I knew my best friend was a little smitten.
I don’t blame her. Isla is a bombshell with a sweet accent. Every word that comes out of her mouth is like a melody.
And, most importantly, she owns a bakery, which means . . .
“Caaaaake,” I groan like a woman looking for water in a desert.
Isla chuckles. “That good, huh?”
Dakota places her hand on my back. “We need a little pick-me-up for this girl before we head over to the coffee shop.”
Why the bakery is open before the coffee house, I have no idea, but right now this is working in my favor.
“I think I can help you out with that.” She works her way behind the counter near the bakery cases. “You’re looking for cake? Or breakfast.”
“Both,” Dakota answers as I slink over to the food display. One side is full of what look like Hot Pockets, and the other contains a plethora of pastries and yumminess. I float over to that side.
“Well, we have some breakfast pies. All have egg in them, and then we add different things like spinach, bacon, haggis.”
I hold my hand up. “No haggis, please . . . no haggis.”
Isla chuckles. “Aye, it’s an acquired taste.”
“What’s that cake?” I ask, pointing to a round loaf with almonds decorating the top.
“That’s Dundee cake. A Scottish specialty. I actually won second place at the Highland Games for mine. It was the first time they had a Dundee cake competition—it’s usually just shortbread, which I placed third in.”
“Wow, that’s incredible,” Dakota says. “If that’s the case, we’re going to have to try both.”
“Not so fast,” I say and raise a brow at Isla. “What’s in the Dundee cake?”
She smiles. “It’s a much tastier version of America’s fruitcake. But this is made with currants, sultanas—which are white grapes—and almonds.”
I tap my chin. “Yeah, I feel like I would like that. Wrap it up.”
“And the shortbread?”
Dakota nods. “And two breakfast pies, egg and spinach. We need protein too.”
“I need cake first. I swear the withdrawal is real.”
As she packs up everything, Isla asks, “Did you have fun last night?”
Dakota leans against the counter, taking over the conversation, and if I weren’t so hungover I would make it hard on her, tease her like any other good friend, but I give the girl a break. Also, it’s nice to see her stepping out of her comfort zone.