The Highland Fling(3)

Grabbing my cheeks, Dakota brings me inches from her face, tequila fresh on her breath. “I’m not having a mental crisis. We are going to Scotland for six months, where we will take care of a coffee shop in a small town called Corsekelly.”

Carefully, I lower her hands from my face. “Honestly, I think you’ve lost your mind and you’re frightening me a bit. I’m unsure of what to do . . . should I call your parents? This seems like a ‘time to call the parents’ moment.”

Dakota sets her computer on the coffee table and turns toward me, frustration etched across her face. She can apparently sober up in an instant because she looks at me with clear, serious eyes. “The timing is perfect for both of us. You don’t have a job—”

“Well aware of my unemployment status.”

“We are being evicted.”

“Which I take full responsibility for.”

“And we both need a change,” she says, her voice growing soft now. “I can’t think of anything better than whisking off to Scotland for the summer.”

“What about your job?”

“You know I can do my graphic design work while we’re there.” True. She just rents a workspace so she doesn’t get stuck in our dank apartment trying to feel the creative flow while she hand draws pretty pictures on her tablet for multiple social media influencers. She’s paid well, she’s self-taught, and she can take it anywhere.

If only I were an artist like her—then all our problems would be solved and we wouldn’t be talking about moving across the world. Unfortunately, I’ve never truly found out what I’m good at. I was kind of hoping Los Angeles was going to help me with that, but all it’s taught me is that celebrities are particular about their coffee orders.

I scratch the side of my head. “But . . . we don’t know anything about Scotland.”

“We didn’t know much about Los Angeles, and we still moved here.” Yeah, and look where that got me. My parents’ disgruntled faces flash through my mind. I’ll never forget the looks they gave me when I told them I wasn’t going to college but instead pursuing a dream in the “business industry,” hopefully working my way to becoming a party planner or “something fun like that.” Yeah, used those exact words.

“Uh, we drove up the 15 from Hemet. We didn’t take a plane to another country,” I say. “I already made a big move, and I have nothing to show for it.”

She nods in understanding, but it doesn’t change her long sigh as her shoulders slump. A defeated posture if I’ve ever seen one. “I need this, Bonnie. I need this adventure, something to get me out of here, away from the memories. I know running away isn’t the answer to my problems, but I just need a chance to breathe, at least.”

I study her. Vulnerability shines through the tough armor she wears daily. “Did something happen?”

Her teeth roll over her bottom lip. “It was the day you were fired. I ran into Isabella . . . with her new girlfriend.”

“What?” I practically shout. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Because you’d been fired. You needed me, so I held it in, but it’s been eating at me. They were so happy and—” Her bottom lip quivers, so I quickly pull her into a hug.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold back the onslaught of curse words I want to call Isabella. I rub Dakota’s back, my eyes traveling to the open laptop. “You really want to go to Scotland?” I ask, still in denial that this is real.

Dakota pulls away and wipes at her eyes. “I really need this, Bonnie, and I think you do too. Let’s get you out of this rut you’re living in and find joy in the Highlands. This is our chance to reset, do something different, and just live freely for a few months.”

“So you’re dead serious? You want to move to Scotland for six months and run a coffee shop, even though we know nothing about coffee.”

She nudges me playfully. “You know coffee—you’ve been retrieving it for the past three years. Plus, you learned how to work that one espresso machine when you worked for Lisa. You were making all sorts of drinks by the end.”

“And getting a coffee order wrong was the excuse she used to fire me.”

Yeah, got a coffee order wrong. It was embarrassing, to say the least. But Daloria Day—America’s sweetheart—was looking for a reason to fire me. We didn’t get along.

She waves her hand at me. “Semantics.” She shakes my arm. “Come on. Accommodations are set, job security for six months, and the promise of adventure. Tell me you’re in.”

Damn those big blue eyes staring back at me.

I want to do this for her, but . . . there’s an inch of fear trying to take up space in the back of my mind.

I moved to Los Angeles, and I still haven’t found myself.

And now I could move to Scotland . . . to find myself. How could that possibly be any different? This is just one more risk that probably won’t pay off. I wanted nothing more than to prove my parents wrong, and to prove the five universities I applied to my senior year in high school wrong too. I wanted to show them all that I’m worthy, that I have potential. But all I’ve done is prove to the world that I’m dispensable.

Will it be the same in Scotland?