I glance at the clock one more time.
Nine at night.
Where the hell are they?
I told Rowan I wanted to spend some time with Dakota when she got home from Inverness, so I skipped out on going to his place, even though I desperately wanted to. After the emotional drain of yesterday’s tasting, we both snuggled into his bed last night, and most of today, just holding each other. But now that I’m waiting for Dakota to show up, frustration washes over me—frustration that could easily be fixed by what Rowan hides under his kilt. I say that without ever having seen him in a kilt. Trust me, though, I have had fantasies of it.
Tapping my finger on the table, I stand from one of the red couches and start to pace the quaint living space.
I’m wearing one of Rowan’s shirts, and I can still smell his cologne on the fabric, the subtle scent occasionally calming my boiling anger.
Well, I’m not boiling—just simmering at this point.
Lights flash down the driveway, and I quickly run to the door and look out the window. Isla’s car moves down the gravel, and because I’ve reached a borderline psychotic level of “Is my friend dead or is she being rude and not letting me know her whereabouts?” I fling the door open and stand on the threshold.
Isla turns off the car, and the lights fade into the darkening evening. Dakota opens the passenger door and says, “Bonnie, is everything okay?”
Now, be calm. She might have a good explanation as to why she said she would be home around dinnertime and then shows up around bedtime.
There could be a very reasonable explanation. Whatever you do, do not snap at her—that will put her on the defensive.
“Where the hell have you been?” I ask, hands on my hips.
Good job, Bonnie.
She frowns and shuts the door to the car as Isla comes around with Dakota’s bag.
“I’ll, uh, leave you two alone.” Isla tilts Dakota’s face toward her and places a hand on her hip before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips. Like the angry voyeur I am, I stand there, staring at their sweet goodbye, not even bothering to look away and give them privacy. When they step apart, I hear Isla murmur, “Thank you for last night.”
Then she turns to me and waves. “Have a good night, Bonnie.”
“Yeah, you too,” I say awkwardly as anger boils inside me. When I turn to look at my friend, the same anger is mirrored in her as she stalks toward the cottage, bag in hand. She doesn’t even wait for me to move, bumping my shoulder as she enters.
I shut the door behind me and slip on my metaphorical boxing gloves.
But Dakota doesn’t say anything. Instead, she goes straight to her room.
“Uh, care to talk to me?” I call out.
“No.”
She shuts her bedroom door.
Why the hell is she mad?
She doesn’t get to be mad.
I’m the mad one right now.
Storming toward her door, I fling it open to find her texting on her phone, most likely to Isla about her psycho best friend.
“Where have you been?” I feel like the mother of a teenager right now, demanding answers, and from the annoyed look I get from her, I really am feeling the teenage vibes.
“With Isla.”
Duh.
“You said you were going to be here by dinnertime.”
“Yeah, well, we stopped somewhere and had dinner.”
“You could have told me.”
“Why? You’re not my mother.”
“Uh, excuse me?” I say, nearly blown over by her attitude. “First of all, where is this sass coming from? Second of all, pardon me for caring if you’re dead or alive.”
Dakota flings her arm to the side. “That was embarrassing back there, and you made Isla uncomfortable.”
“I was worried.”
“Worried about what? Your espresso machine and signage? Don’t worry, we dropped it off at the shop. You can go check if you want.”
“What? Are you serious? Dakota, I was worried about you.”
“So is that why you kept texting me all day yesterday and today about the sign but never thought to ask how our trip was?”
She stands, grabs her bag, and pushes past me.
“Where are you going?”
“Isla’s.”
“The hell you are.” I charge toward the door and stand in front of it, barring her escape. “We’re still talking, and I’ll have you know, I didn’t ask about your trip because I was hurt.”
“Hurt? About what?”
“We were supposed to go to Inverness together.”
Dakota opens her mouth and then closes it. The tension in her shoulders drops. “I thought that was a joke.”