At first, Bonnie and I don’t say anything to each other.
It’s awkward.
Uncomfortable.
And this is not how I planned on spending my Sunday.
Meanwhile, Leith and Lachlan are laughing up ahead, while Dakota and Isla seem to be deep in conversation.
Once we make it out of town and start onto the footpath that leads to the castle, I start to feel Bonnie brushing against me and grumbling something under her breath. Ignoring her, I continue to walk, trying to at least enjoy the silence. That’s until . . .
“Can you stop hogging the trail with your mammoth body?” Bonnie says, shoving me with her shoulder, but given our size difference, she doesn’t move me an inch.
“I’m just walking.”
“You’re manspreading.”
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know—you tell me. You’re the one walking like a Neanderthal with his arms all puffed out, knocking me into the bushes.”
“I’m not manspreading; this is just the size of my body.”
“You’re too big.”
I snort. “I’ve never had that complaint before.”
“Ugh, I should have seen that coming.”
“For someone who’s in a foreign country with a plush job, you seem to be cranky all the time.”
“I’m not cranky, just . . . irritated.” She blows out a long breath.
“You get irritated that easily?”
“Well, yes, but your manspreading is not the only reason I’m irritated.”
“I’m not manspreading,” I repeat, glancing down at her. Her ponytail sways from side to side with each of her steps, and she looks cute in her leggings and tank top, a jacket tied around her waist. I half expected her to be one of those girls who shows up for a hike in heels, but she’s not. When she doesn’t say anything after that, I figure I might as well pry. This is a long hike, and walking it with someone who is silent is going to be painfully awkward. I hate to admit it, but . . . even though I enjoy silence, I also hate when I can feel people are mad. Takes away from the peace I’m trying to capture while hiking. “Why are you irritated?”
“Do you really care?” The hostility is clear in her voice, but I can also sense she wants to get this off her chest. Contrary to what she must think about me, I’m not a complete asshole.
“Try me.”
She doesn’t answer right away but instead falls silent, the crunch of the ground beneath our feet the only sound either of us is making.
Finally she says, “I was trying to make something to bring to the picnic today. You know, contribute to the group, since the Murdachs were so kind to invite us.”
“Okay . . .”
“It didn’t go as planned.”
“Mess up?”
“Six times.” She sighs heavily. “Six freaking times, and I swear, on the sixth I almost burned down the cottage. Dakota came home to smoke filtering out the front door and windows.”
“What were you trying to make?”
“Butteries.”
“Butteries?” I ask. Haven’t had those since . . . well, since Da stopped working at the shop. “Why were you trying to make those?”
“Lachlan and Leith came to the coffee shop the other day to invite us on the hike. They were also looking for Fergus, who announced himself with an ear-piercing scream minutes before they arrived.”
“Fergus has a set of pipes on him.”
She chuckles, and the sound actually puts me at ease. For a moment, I feel the tension dissipating between us. “He sounds like an actual human, and it’s startling. I thought some psychopathic Boaby Stone–loving tourist was coming to murder us.”
That makes me grin. “We’re used to him by now.”
“Not sure I’ll ever get used to that.” She trips over a rock, and I grab her arm, steadying her. She glances up at me, and those eyes nearly gut me as she says, “Thanks.”
Clearing my throat, I quickly look away. “Sure.”
“Anyway, they were telling us about what the shop was like before your dad retired—how it was always full of customers, thanks to the butteries he’d bake.”
“Aye,” I say. And it could still be full if Da wasn’t so stubborn. “He’d sell out by noon, thanks to all the tourists. He started making a special batch for the locals and opening an hour earlier, just so they could get their fill before the buses started rolling through.” I run my hand over my jaw. “I can’t tell you the last time I had a buttery.” I lift up a tree branch for us to duck under as the path starts to become more cumbersome. The others are farther up ahead, spaced evenly, and it doesn’t bother me. It’s kind of nice hanging back and walking with Bonnie, though I’d never tell her that. She’d gloat too much—I know I would.