The Highland Fling(68)
Anger eclipses me, and I have to take a brief pause before I say something that won’t help the situation—only magnify it.
Once I’m feeling calm, I take Dakota’s hand in mine. “I want to make one thing clear: being gay doesn’t define you. Do you understand that? I think sometimes people fall under the impression that if you’re gay, that’s who you are. You’re gay, and they leave it at that. But that’s not fair. And just like a beautiful, nonsmelly onion”—she chuckles—“you have layers, and being gay isn’t the outer ring; it isn’t even the second or third. It’s deep at your core, and you keep it there, close to your heart, because that’s the way you choose to live your life. You choose to define yourself as a good friend. As a beautiful artist. As a savvy businesswoman who has used her platform to grow her freelance work. You are so much more than a lesbian. Yes, that’s a piece of who you are, but it’s not the definition.”
She smiles softly and tilts her head, resting it on my shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I kiss the top of her head. “Isabella put you through hell, and she’s made you second-guess every piece of you that makes you special, unique, the best friend you are. Don’t let one person’s blinded opinion of you make you question the person you’ve grown to be.”
“I loved her, though. She was my first . . . ever. She helped open my eyes to a part of me I was hiding for such a long time. She was right about my being gay, which was the biggest revelation of my life. It’s hard not to trust her opinion on everything else, when she knew I was gay.”
“I can understand that.” I stroke her hair. “Yes, she might have opened your eyes, but that’s all she did. And if it wasn’t her, it was going to be another girl—you just happened to run into Isabella first. Don’t give her all the credit for something that was bound to occur.” I lift her chin up so she has to look me in the eyes. “This is your chance to grow, Dakota. Your chance to be yourself, not the person Isabella wanted you to be.” I motion to the valley in front of us. “And what better place to do it than here, in Scotland.”
She chuckles. “You’re right.”
“I know I am.” I smile, picking up my pie. “Give yourself some grace when it comes to Isla. It will take a bit of time to get used to navigating a new relationship, but she seems patient, kind, and understanding. The best you can do for her, and for you, is be yourself.” I take a bite of my pie and chew.
“When did you become so wise?”
“I think it’s all the shortbread and Scottish air.”
Dakota studies me, a smirk playing at her lips. “I think you’re starting to find yourself here.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “I see a new spark in your eyes. There’s excitement in your voice.”
“I am excited. The entire drive here, while we were taking in the landscape, I kept writing down ideas for the coffee shop and my plan of attack. Want to hear them?”
“I would love to.”
“Enjoy,” I say to an old man wearing a plaid shirt with SCOTLAND embroidered on the back as he leaves the shop, coffee in hand.
He told me he stopped in on this Monday morning because he heard the coffee was boring and that’s what he likes—boring coffee.
Yay for the sale, but serving coffee to a small demographic of cantankerous crotches isn’t really what I’m looking for.
Leaning against the counter, I pull out my goat notebook and look over my notes. There’s so much I want to do, but I honestly don’t know where to start. I really want to go over this stuff with Rowan, and that was the idea lurking in my head the other night, to maybe talk some things through. But then, when we started just getting to know each other and having fun, I didn’t feel like bringing up the coffee shop.
Nope, I brought up his dead brother instead.
Smart, Bonnie. Really smart.
Exhaling, I press my forehead to my hand and start doodling on the side of my notebook.
Dakota is over at the bakeshop—no shock there—and through the open door, I spot Lachlan and Leith, in just their kilts, of course, doing jumping jacks and lifting a log over their heads while Fergus watches over them. Tourists from the current bus circle around, counting along with them and taking pictures.
Yup, quite the sight to behold.
I’ve checked out a few of their training videos online, and they really have something going for them. And Dakota has been helping them out with some graphics—I’ve seen the rough drafts, and they are going to die over them.
A large frame steps through the door, pulling me from my doodling. Rowan’s face comes into focus as my eyes adjust to the light. I lift myself up off the counter, a smile stretching over my face.
“Hey.”
“Hey, is Dakota here?” He glances around.
“No.”
“Och, okay. Is she at the bakeshop?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just wanted a chat.” He turns to walk away, and I nearly trip over my own feet running after him.
“Wait a second. That’s all?”
Chuckling, he turns back and pulls me close. “Just kidding, lass. Wanted to see how you were going to react.”
“Pissing me off isn’t doing you any favors.”