The Highland Fling(42)

“I guess only for the lucky souls,” I answer. Even though Fergus and I have started a little love affair, he still screams to make himself known. Not sure I’ll ever get over it. “So, did you visit any places of business?”

“Stopped into the Mill Market for a boaby shirt and got a funny-looking candy. Curly Wurly—never heard of it.”

“Oh, they’re good,” I say, knowing full well I have only one left. I purchased them as a bribery tool for Rowan, but somehow they ended up in my belly. Jury is still out on how that exactly happened.

“Can’t wait to try them.”

“So that’s it? No other places?”

“Nope, that’s it.”

“Uh-huh, no . . . coffee?”

“Oh, well, we were craving some coffee, and this would be a great time for a pick-me-up, but from the reviews online, we knew this wasn’t the place to get it. So we’re waiting for two more stops.”

“On-online?” I stutter, trying not to blow my cover.

“Yes, the bus company has a forum for tourists where we can review places on the route and talk about all the musts to stop into. The Mill Market was one of them. So was Murdach’s Wee Bakeshop. My friend Kacee grabbed us some haggis pies for the road.” Meredith points to her chest. “Making Ireland our bitch.”

“Scotland.”

“What?” she asks.

“Scotland.” I motion to her shirt. “You’re making Scotland your bitch.”

“What did I say?”

“Ireland.”

“Ohh.” She laughs. “That’s next.”

The bus driver honks the horn, and she looks back at her friends, who are waving for her to join them.

“Well, I’d best be going.”

“Yes, don’t want to miss out on any of the other stops. Thank you so much for your time. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She gives me an awkward high five and then takes off.

I tap my pen against my chin as I watch the bus pull away. Once it’s out of sight, I make a beeline for the coffee shop.

I need to see this online forum.



“Not worth your time. Barely any seating, coffee leaves much to be desired. Nice owners, but horrible selection, there is none at all. What’s with the chairs? Were they made in the 1800s? I was served a hot chocolate packet, and I had to stir it on my own.” I look up from Dakota’s computer. “These are all comments on the tour bus forum, clear as day, right under the Corsekelly stop. No wonder no one comes in here. And this is just one tour bus company. How many others do you think are like this?”

Dakota is sitting in the chair across from me, legs crossed. “Uh-huh.” She stares off into the distance.

“Hello,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of her face. “Did you hear me? These reviews are awful.”

“What? Oh yeah, they’re bad. Totally killing business.”

“Were you even paying attention?”

“For the first ten minutes of reviews, I was.”

“Dakota, what the hell? You’ve been drifting off all freaking day. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she says, her cheeks reddening.

“Uh . . . I don’t buy it.”

I look over at the coffee counter and notice a familiar box. My head snaps back to her. “Oh my God, you went to the bakeshop again.”

“You were out of shortbread.”

“Because I have no ability to control myself, which means you need to be the one cutting me off, not feeding into the madness.”

“I’m a good friend.”

“No, you’re using me as an excuse to go see Isla.”

She grins. “Maybe.”

I push the computer away and fold my arms over my chest. “Okay, tell me what happened.”

“Well, she said hi.”

“Oh yes, wow. Be still my heart, a greeting,” I deadpan. Dakota flicks her pen at me in response.

Chuckling, I say, “What else happened?”

“We talked a little about the weather, simple things, and then, when I was leaving, she asked what I was doing Friday night.”

“What?” I sit up. “Uh, this is something you should have told me the minute I walked into the coffee shop. She asked you out?”

“You were all hyped up on the research you conducted—I was letting you have your moment.”

“Moment had, now tell me about yours.”

She’s smiling so hard that my cheeks actually hurt for her. “Well, it might be a little lame, but I consider it a step in the right direction. She asked what I was doing Friday, and when I said nothing, she said I should bring you and meet up at the pub, to hang out and have some drinks.”

“Ohhh, she did ask you out.”

“And you,” Dakota says, a little defeated.

“I’m just a buffer for you. She did that to be nice.”

“Maybe. So . . . will you go?”

“Of course. I’m one hell of a wing-woman. I got you—boo.” I wink. “God, how exciting.”

“Don’t make it a thing.”

I give her a side-eye. “You should already know I’m going to make it a thing.”