“Yes,” I growl in frustration. “We’re lucky something more serious didn’t happen. If you’d just listened to me, we wouldn’t be covered in mud and drenched to our core.”
“But we’re fine.”
“We could have been hurt.”
“‘Could have’ being the key phrase.” She presses her hand to my shoulder. “No need to get so upset.”
“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say—you weren’t the one responsible for another life.”
“You don’t have to be responsible for me, Rowan. I can take care of myself.”
“Okay, then, take care of yourself,” I say, pushing past her and heading toward my cottage.
Jesus Christ.
What the hell happened today? I was supposed to go on a leisurely hike with my friends, and I spent most of it arguing with a smart-mouthed blonde, getting stuck in a torrential downpour, and then letting that smart-mouthed blonde get under my skin.
Hours later, after a long shower and a hearty helping of beef stew, I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling, my eyes focused on its arched wooden beams. Bonnie weighs heavily on my mind.
She drives me crazy.
She makes me want to scream, throw things, and then kiss her all in the same moment.
I shake my head. There is no way I’m developing feelings for her. No way in hell.
Yes, she’s attractive, but feelings . . . no.
I need to go back to my initial plan: stay as far away from the lass as possible. In the week she’s been here, my life has never felt more chaotic, and the last thing I need is to be out of control whenever she’s around.
Distance. I need solid distance from her, and everything will be fine.
CHAPTER NINE
BONNIE
Cake consumed today: Three slices of Dundee cake.
Days since last male-induced orgasm: Eighty-one.
Boredom: Massive amounts, too much to count.
Rainstorms since arrival to Scotland: Fourteen. No wonder it’s so green here.
Serving coffee to invisible humans is frankly borderline lunacy. At least Fergus is still showing up unannounced. Last time, he screamed so loud that I piddled. A goat made me piddle. But then I petted him, and now I think we’re starting to build a strong bond. This is my life now.
“Coffee? Yeah, you—I know you want coffee.” I wave a cup in the air. “It’s tasty—true Scottish flavors. Ever taste a kilt? We squeeze them right into the brew. We actually use kilts as coffee filters. Delivers the true essence of the land’s ancestors.” The tourist I’m verbally accosting puts his hand up over his face and walks right on by.
Sheesh, he’s rude.
“A simple ‘No, thank you’ would suffice!” I shout out before walking back into the shop.
“Why are you saying everything smells or tastes like a kilt?” Dakota asks. She’s standing behind the counter, hovering over her computer and drawing pad. “You know there’s so much more to Scotland than just kilts.”
I tap my chin and lean against the wall. “Think I should have said we stir each cup of coffee with bagpipes?”
“You’re losing it.”
“I am, Dakota,” I say as I walk over to the counter, where I hoist myself up, letting my feet dangle down. “What the hell are we doing here day in and day out? We’re wasting away.” I motion to her computer, which she’s been parked behind since we got here. “You’re at least doing something.” I squint at her screen. “Is that a soup can with an inspirational quote on it?” I wave my hand, dismissing the new freelance job she received from an up-and-coming influencer who specializes in dishing out “inspirational soup.” Dakota was telling me about it last night. I swear, marketing is getting cornier and cornier. “I’m so bored here. I’m just staring at the wall.”
“Then do something.”
“Okay, so what do you suppose I do? Play some music and come up with a tap dance routine that might bring in more customers?”
“Nooo,” she drags out and then motions to the space. “Fix things up.”
“Pardon?”
She sighs and lifts herself away from her computer. “If you want more customers, figure out how to get them. Catcalling them from the doorway about kilt-flavored coffee is not the way to do it. You want to keep busy, and, well, here’s a project sitting right in front of you. Take advantage of it.”
“You mean . . . fix up the coffee shop?”
“Why not? I told you Finella left us with her credit card when you were taking care of your haggis situation—remember? She told us to use it however we need to make the store shine.”