The Highland Fling(70)

“We?” He lifts a brow.

“Yes. We. I’m going to ask Dakota to ask Isla as well. Think you can ask the Murdach twins?”

“What’s in it for me?” He taps his fingers on the table, casual, looking as handsome as ever.

“Our date Wednesday night.”

“You’re the one who wanted a date.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to take me out,” I scoff. “You’re looking for a reprise of the other night.”

“I’m looking for a lot more than that, and I’m not talking physically.”

Oy. This man.

“When you say things like that, you give me chills and butterflies at the same time,” I admit. “Makes me feel really special.”

“’Cause you are, lass.” He nods toward my paper. “What else you got?”

How he can just bounce around topics like that, unfazed, is impressive. My mind is still running through last night, and he’s just chugging along through the conversation.

Gathering my wits, I ask, “Is that a yes to the Murdach twins?”

“Aye.”

“Thank you.” I slip my hand in his, and he holds it tight. “I found an espresso machine online that’s for sale in Inverness. It’s a year old, and the coffee house is going out of business—a Starbucks took over.” Rowan rolls his eyes. “They’re selling everything they can, and they said they’re putting the machine on hold for me. Dakota was going to go pick it up with Isla, and then we’re going to start testing new drinks. Nothing too fancy—just enough to entice more people into the shop. There’s also a local tea brand I’ve seen around town that I would love to carry in the shop, to offer something to customers who don’t drink coffee. They carry a Scottish breakfast, Earl Grey, and a Highland blend that is positively delightful.”

“Good idea.”

His approval sends a surge of confidence through me.

“As for food . . .” His jaw ticks, his eyes narrow. “Would you help me—?”

“No,” he says, his voice stern. What is the deal?

“Rowan.”

“I’m not baking for the shop.”

“I wasn’t asking you to—if you’d let me finish,” I say, parroting his words from the other day. “Teach me how to make butteries—oh, and maybe that cherry cake and tattie scones? I’m pretty good at following directions, and since we open up at ten, I could wake up early—now that I’m used to the time difference—and start baking for the day.” When he doesn’t say anything, I squeeze his hand. “Please, Rowan. Food is going to make a huge difference, and it won’t compete with Isla. I think if we have three solid options, we’ll do just fine, especially since we’ll be more of a stop for the tourists. We’d offer just enough for them.”

He drags his hand over his face. “I haven’t made butteries in years.”

“I’ll bake with my top off, or even completely naked . . . just an apron.”

That piques his interest. He raises a brow. “You’ll let me teach you, naked?”

“Yes. However you want me—that’s how I’ll stay the entire time. And if you want a break, to do . . . whatever,” I say in a seductive voice, “then, we take a break.”

“Sex and baking.”

“Aye,” I say with a wink, which makes him chuckle and then blow out a long breath.

“You drive a hard bargain, lass.”

“Enticing, though, yeah?”

He slowly nods, wetting his lips. “Especially since I haven’t seen you completely naked yet.”

“Your fault, not mine. I stripped you down. You’re the one who only pushed up my shirt.”

“Regretting that mistake now.” He scratches the side of his face, his nails scraping along his thick scruff. “Deal.”

“Yeah?” I ask, excited.

“Aye, but you wear nothing but an apron.”

“Done.” Eeep. Excited—for many reasons—I make another note in my notebook. “That leaves us with merchandise. Dakota is going to design new signs, and we would love to come up with a fun name for the coffee shop, since everything else in town has one. Then we can make and sell merchandise based on what we call the shop. We can easily play off the Boaby Stone, Fergus, or the hairy coo . . .” An idea pops into my head. “Oh my God, what if we called the shop the Hairy Coo Coffee Company? We could hang cute black-and-white photos of the cows on the walls, make some hairy coo–themed merchandise, and then direct people to the footpath, so it gets more visitors than just locals.”

He twists his lips to the side, considering the idea. “You know, I really think Maw and Da would like that. They’ve always loved the hairy coo, and they were a driving force behind the path being made in the first place.”

“Really? Then it’s meant to be. I bet Dakota could make an adorable sign with the ‘Hairy Coo’ front and center.”

He nods slowly, a smile playing at his lips. “I really like the idea.”

That little smile, the excitement in his voice. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this much pride in my entire life, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel . . . useful.