“Favorite thing about Corsekelly?” Bonnie asks, curled up on my sofa. She looks good in my house—comfortable, relaxed.
“I like that it’s tucked away in the Highlands. Makes me feel like we have our own little clan here.”
“I can feel that. I grew up in a smallish town—well, small for California—but it didn’t have the same kind of feel that Corsekelly has. Just feels magical here.”
“We get that a lot.”
A smile crosses her face. “Ever have a one-night stand with a tourist?”
I roll my eyes. “What do you think?”
“Easily.”
I just lift my brow and look away.
“Oooh, there are some stories there. Listen, I’m all for getting it when you can. No judgment here.” She holds up her hands.
“What about you?” I ask. “Doesn’t Los Angeles have a bunch of tourists?”
“Not the kind of tourists I’m sure you get here. A lot of families go on vacation to LA, strutting down the Walk of Fame and taking pictures with their favorite actors’ and actresses’ handprints. I’ve never found a tourist who was single and looking for a good time. But have I had the odd one-night stand? Yes. Sadly disappointing the three times it happened.”
“Shame,” I say, sipping from my mug.
“Tell me about it.” She groans. “Ugh, it’s been so long since I’ve copulated. I’ve almost lost count at this point. What about you? When was the last time you had sex?”
Not quite what I had in mind for conversation topics.
“Uh, not sure. Not recently.”
“Look at you, not counting the days. Good for you.” She gives me an approving nod.
“Well, in a small town like Corsekelly, not many opportunities present themselves.”
“Understandable.” She taps her chin. “Have you ever taken a picture with your boaby on the Boaby Stone?”
“No.”
“Have you set your naked boaby on the Boaby Stone?”
“No.”
“Why not? Ladies put their breasts on it and take pictures.”
“Because there are crazy fans out there who will lick the Boaby Stone. Not exactly hygienic. And I don’t even have a TV—never seen the show.”
“Why don’t you have a TV?”
“Never wanted one. I like to read, listen to podcasts, do puzzles.”
“Oh my God, you’re a cute old man.”
“I’m not old.”
She leans over and touches my temple. “There are a few gray hairs in here.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“Is that so?” She gives me a slow once-over. “Eight years my senior and in impeccable shape—must be all those runs with the hairy coos.”
“And the ability to pace myself with cake,” I say with a pointed look.
She whips out her index finger. “Don’t you dare cake shame me! I enjoyed every last bite of that cake, and if you weren’t sitting in front of me, being the cake guard, I would have helped myself to more already. So I’ve been showing some restraint, if you must know.”
“Shocking,” I tease, which only makes her grin. “What’s your favorite thing about Corsekelly?” I ask her this time, playing along with her little game.
“Besides the bakeshop, I truly do enjoy the people here. I like how everyone is so nice and welcoming and willing to help. They knew we were coming, and instead of pointing and saying, ‘There are the Americans,’ they welcomed us into their little world.”
“Scots get a bad reputation about attitude. We’re usually portrayed in the media as angry brutes, shouting constantly, but in reality we’re quite passionate, but kind, human beings.”
“I could see that. It’s clear in the way Dakota and I have been welcomed.” She picks up her mug, takes a sip, and then sets it back down. “What’s the juiciest gossip you’ve heard since we arrived?”
“Juiciest?” I ask, rubbing my jaw. “Probably that you were caught coming out of the pub bathroom with Lachlan.”
“What?” Her eyes widen. “Who’s been saying that?”
“Everyone.” I chuckle.
“Everyone? Who’s everyone? That . . . that’s—” She eyes me. “Are you lying?”
“Aye.” I laugh some more.
“Not funny, Rowan.”
“I thought it was.”
“Think you can make one of these for me?” Bonnie asks, finishing off her second serving of cake.