“Why was she starting her own makeup line?”
“She was on a reality TV show, Wives of Basketball Players, and she was trying to capitalize on her fame. She teamed up with a shitty company that didn’t actually care about the product, just the sales, so of course it was awful. I don’t think she sold many because of the whole lip-swelling issue. She tried to pass it off as a tingle, but it was done.”
“Karma.” I wink at her.
“Exactly, and the last person who fired me was the best by far. Daloria Day.”
“Oh damn, I’ve heard of her. Isn’t she in that popular TV drama?”
“Yup, portrayed as America’s sweetheart, but she was a pill to work with. I knew that going in and I was prepared. I took notes on everything, made sure to never make a wrong step, and I didn’t. But then a costar she was crushing on said hi to me. She was furious that he gave me the time of day and had never done the same to her. So, she said I didn’t make her coffee right and fired me on the spot.”
“Isn’t that ironic,” I say. “Given what you’re doing now.”
“Orders haven’t been super complicated at the shop.”
“Doesn’t matter—you get it right every time.”
She laughs, just as our food is delivered. “Oh wow, this looks amazing.”
Together, we ordered the seafood platter, and it’s just as big as I remembered, piled high with crab legs, lobster, smoked salmon, oysters, clams, tatties, and lemon wedges. Holy hell, my mouth is watering. I can’t remember the last time I came to Kyle, or treated someone out to a nice meal, but I’m glad I asked Bonnie—for many reasons.
I hold up an oyster. “You should really eat all of these.”
She quirks her brow. “Do you really think I need an aphrodisiac to get frisky tonight?”
“You tell me.”
“I could have stayed in the minute you showed up to my door.”
“Aye . . . me too, lass.”
“This isn’t going to work.” Bonnie shakes her head and slaps her napkin on the table. “We’re going to need to leave, actually. I’m going to ask Dakota to come pick me up so I don’t have to ride back with you.”
“Could ye be any more dramatic?”
“Dramatic?” Her voice rises before she leans in and whispers, “You’ve never seen one Star Wars movie. How is that even something? Is that a Scotland thing?”
“No, I just never felt the need to watch them. Not a sci-fi person.”
“It’s not—” She presses a hand to her forehead. “It’s not really sci-fi. I mean, yeah, it’s in space, but it’s a space opera. There’s drama and love and lasers and sassy droids and hairy seven-foot-tall beasts that speak a language everyone understands for some reason. And all the hidden identities, ugh, and the new ones, a little bitch of a supreme leader who might make you laugh when you’re not supposed to because of how whiny he is. Talk about daddy issues. And strong females. I don’t think people give Princess Leia enough credit, but she’s one badass leader and, frankly, the glue that holds everyone together.”
I stare at her blankly. “Sassy droids?”
“Ugh,” she groans. “You’re killing me, Rowan. Why are you like this?”
“Just to annoy you.”
“Clearly.” She tosses her hands in the air. “Well, you’re going to have to watch them with me.”
“Don’t be that person.”
“Oh, I’m going to be that person, and I’m not even sorry about it, because for every movie you watch, I’ll bounce up and down on your lap.”
That makes me laugh out loud. “The way you use your words—I’ve never heard someone express themselves the way you do.”
“I aim to please.” She claps her hands together. “Okay, so when is this movie marathon?”
“How about after we set up the coffee shop and you learn to bake?”
She thinks on it. “I don’t know, I was thinking tonight.”
Fuck no.
“No.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “No. You’re mine tonight.”
“Since we just passed the cottage, I’m assuming we’re going back to your place?”
“You assumed right,” I say, the buildup of the evening driving me to the brink.
Her little touches here and there, the stolen kisses, that dress, the conversation, the teasing—it’s all added up to this phenomenal prospect of what’s to come.