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The Highland Fling(31)

Author:Meghan Quinn

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs and takes a bite of the cake. “She really is pretty.”

“Total smoke show,” I say, dropping crumbs into my mouth as I tilt my head back.

“You know I’m going to make your life a living hell whenever Rowan is around, though, after that whole bakeshop scene.”

“What? Why? The circumstances are completely different.” I stand up from the table, walk over to the two coffee thermoses, and start making coffee. How this place is still open with only two options, I have no idea. “I don’t like Rowan, but you like Isla.”

“Oh, please,” Dakota scoffs. “You can’t tell me you don’t find him attractive.”

“I mean, yeah, is he all brawny and beautiful to look at? Sure. But that only takes you so far. You need a connection, and the only thing connecting us is stubbornness.”

“Mark my words, I think you two are going to hook up . . . multiple times before we leave Scotland.”

“Ha! Never. Not interested. Plus, I’m not here to hook up—I’m here to find my passion.”

“Maybe your passion is Kilty McGrumpyshire, and you don’t even know it.”

Doubtful.

“Is that the third tour bus that’s come into Corsekelly today?” I ask, standing from my chair. I walk over to the propped-open door and stare down the tourists, who don’t even look our way. “Why aren’t they coming in to get some coffee? Are they really just here for the Penis Stone?”

“It is odd that we haven’t seen one person today besides a few locals,” Dakota says, furrowing her brow. “Just like yesterday. Makes me feel uneasy. The sign blatantly says COFFEE. It’s been a drizzly day—why don’t they want anything to warm up with?”

“Exactly what I’m saying.” I toss my hands up in the air and head back into the shop, where I sit at one of the uneven tables. “I don’t think I can take six months of this boredom. At least you’re getting work done. I’m just sitting here on my ass taking career assessment quizzes that have turned out to be more depressing than anything.”

“What are they saying?” Dakota asks, shutting her computer.

“That I have great organizational skills and should be an assistant.”

“Oof, that’s harsh.”

“Tell me about it. Last thing I wanted to hear today.” Groaning, I slouch in the chair and glance around the bleak space. “Finella is a nice lady and all, but could she add some charm to this place? Anything to liven up these serial killer–white walls. Look at these tables: it’s like they were constructed by someone just learning to use a hammer. And the floors, I mean—”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Mother of Jesus!” I scream, clutching my heart, my eyes snapping to the open door. I gasp. A goat stands on the threshold. What the ever-loving—

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!” it screams again, startling me right out of my chair and onto the floor with a thump.

“Satan’s beast,” I say, scrambling to my feet and holding one of the dilapidated chairs in front of me. “Why does it sound like a human?” I brandish the chair in the goat’s direction. “Back, you. Back. Hee-ah, hee-ah.”

But the goat doesn’t move. It just screams again, this time with a bit of a moan to it, and I’ll be honest—the sound makes me 90 percent scared for my life and 10 percent horny.

It steps into the shop, and I back up against the wall, chair out in front of me, ready for any sudden movements.

“Dakota, do something. It clearly wants to communicate with us.”

Dakota is up on the counter, arms wrapped around her tucked-in legs. “What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to him, see what he’s come for.”

“Do you think I developed magical goat-speaking powers overnight?”

“Maybe,” I say, clucking at him now, but he just steps deeper into the shop. “Oh God, he’s going to make this a thing. Scaring the Americans with his screeches. I can sense it.”

“I wonder if this is Fergus,” Dakota says.

“Who’s Fergus?”

“The town goat. Centuries ago, during one of the Scottish uprisings, Corsekelly was about to be attacked when a goat came screaming into town, waking everyone up. They were able to escape before they were killed and then rebuild Corsekelly after the enemies burned down their homes. Fergus is a direct descendent of that hero goat. Didn’t you see the goat statue out in the town square?”

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