The Highland Fling(24)

Jealousy of what, though?

That they’re having a good time?

Or that Lachlan has his hands all over Bonnie and I don’t?

Either way, it shouldn’t matter—this is my opportunity to leave.

I head toward the table just as Bonnie is flung in my direction, spinning away from Lachlan, laughter falling past her lips. She twists and trips toward the ground. Dread fills me as she flails her arms, still laughing, and on instinct, I reach out, catching her right before her head hits a table.

Light in my arms, she looks up at me in surprise, and then the maddest thing happens.

She smiles at me.

And before I know it, she’s straightening up and taking my hands in hers and pulling me toward the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my body feeling as stiff as a board.

“Dancing. Don’t you dance, Kilty?”

“No.”

“I don’t buy it.” Keeping my hand in hers, she coerces me into dancing by spinning under my arm and moving me back and forth.

I feel all eyes on me. Every local in the pub knows I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I’m surprised they’re not all pulling out their phones to record the rare sight of me on a dance floor.

“Bonnie, I don’t—”

She grips my hips, and my face burns as she sways them back and forth. “Sheesh, your pelvis is as hard as a rock. Are you hiding the real Boaby Stone in your pants?”

Move your hands a little bit more inward, and you’ll know exactly what hard is.

“Loosen up. Maybe that’s why you’re always so grumpy—you’re not loose. You’d think with some beer in your system, you’d be more willing to shake your booty.” She turns me to the side and pokes me just as I move to the side, and she accidentally pokes me directly on the arse. “Oh dear Lord, I poked your behind.” Laughing, she cups her mouth and says, “Pardon me, dear sir, but . . . did it at least make things come to life?”

Annnd, she’s sloshed.

There is no way in hell sober Bonnie would be asking me if things were “coming to life,” let alone dancing with me.

Bending down, I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.

“What the—put me down at once. I demand it!”

“Your time here is up,” I say, bringing her to the table, where Dakota’s just finished paying the bill.

“You aren’t the boss of me. I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions.”

Dakota quickly says goodbye to everyone before following me out the door.

“Dakota, tell this Highland beast to put me down at once.”

“It’s time for bed, Bonnie,” Dakota says, and I’m grateful she’s on the same page as me.

“I was just starting to have fun,” she whines.

“You were poking Rowan’s ass.”

“Accidentally,” she complains, still draped over my shoulder as I trudge down the road, the sun finally starting to set in the west. She’s not heavy, but I’m still grateful Fergie’s is close to the coffee shop, and we’re soon turning down the gravel driveway. “You saw the way he was dancing. There was no sway in his hips at all. I was simply waking them up.”

“You’re going to be hurting tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep,” Dakota says. “We can’t be late again.”

I pause. “Och, do you want me to drop you off on your sleeping rocks to pass out? Seems like you sleep well there.”

“You’re an asshole,” Bonnie mutters while Dakota chuckles.

That puts a smile on my face.



I pull my shirt over my head and toss it into the hamper. Slipping my boots off, I tuck them away where they belong and then remove my socks. As I walk out of my bedroom, I take one quick glance in the mirror and notice how rumpled my hair is.

It wasn’t from me pushing my hand through it.

No, it was a little gift from Bonnie. Once it became clear I wouldn’t put her down until she was in her bed, she decided she’d mess with my hair, sticking it on all ends.

“Take that and that and that,” she said, over and over again while digging her fingers through the thick strands.

Hell, it felt fucking good.

She thought she was annoying me, but in reality I was hoping she’d keep doing it. And that’s how I knew I might be a bit sloshed too.

I walk into my kitchen, grab the glass that I keep next to the sink, fill it up with some tap water, and guzzle it down, only to fill it up again.

Too wired to even consider going to sleep, I push through my front door, the evening air putting life into my chest while I walk over to my shed. Crickets chirp in the distance, and my front door light illuminates my path as my bare feet close the distance.

Slowly, I unlock the shed door and slide it open. I flip on the light I installed a few months ago when I realized I do my best work at night.

My small but comforting space comes to life from the overhanging light, instantly relaxing me. Shelves of drying projects, half-glazed pots, and finished products line the walls. My kiln, which I replaced last year after my first one broke down, sits in the corner. And then there’s my wheel, my place of solace.

It’s been a long fucking day of repairing things here and there before giving my parents a quick send-off. I didn’t get much more than a hug from my maw and a grunt from my da. After that, I helped some of our older residents with menial tasks, and then, of course, assisted Bonnie and Dakota. I’m exhausted but exhilarated at the same time.