CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BONNIE
Days since last male-induced orgasm: ZERO!
Need I really say more at this point?
“So that’s it?” I ask Dakota as we both stare down at a flat piece of rock in a dank cave. Water glistens off the walls, and our feet are sinking half an inch into the muddy ground, something I wasn’t expecting when I wore my cute tennis shoes.
“I believe so,” Dakota says. “The Boaby Stone.”
I lean toward her. “Is it as unimpressive to you as it is to me?”
“Frankly, the only thing impressive about it is that it’s probably seen more dick than you have.”
“Hey,” I say on a laugh, shoving her to the side.
She chuckles and then pulls out her phone to take a picture. “Want to pretend your arm is a penis and take a picture?”
“Isn’t it obvious that’s why we’re here?”
“Just making sure.”
Squatting down to the height of the stone, which reaches just below my knees, I position my arm in front of my crotch and then hover it right above the slab. I don’t want to make actual contact, because there has been real dick on it—lots of real dick—and touching a melting pot of penis is not on my to-do list today.
“Smile,” Dakota says right before taking a picture.
I stand, and when she offers her screen, I quickly approve the picture. “Send that to me. Do you want one of yourself with a fake penis?”
“I’m good.”
I pause and stare at her. “Soooo . . . you made me take a picture, but you’re not going to take one?”
“I didn’t make you—you did it of your own accord. It’s Instagram worthy for you, but I keep it classy for my clients.”
“Ugh, if you start talking about keeping your brand cohesive on social media again, I’m going to tour the Highlands without you,” I say, striding away from the stone and toward the cave’s entrance. I duck past the dripping water at the opening as I hear Dakota trail behind me.
“It’s important, Bonnie. Influencers and companies find me through Instagram. I can’t have a picture on there of me pretending my arm is a penis.”
I whip around, halting her in place as I plant my hands on my hips. “It’s because my arms are longer than yours, isn’t it? You’re too ashamed to have your fake penis next to my fake penis.”
“Yes, Bonnie,” she deadpans. “That’s exactly right. I have fake-penis envy.”
I snap my fingers and smile. “I knew it.” I reach out and take her hand in mine. “Come on, now, we have much to see.”
We decided to visit a few spots in the Highlands today. We have plans to go to Inverness and explore later on, and when we can really squeeze in some time together, we want to hit up Edinburgh. We aren’t just here to work and find ourselves. We’re also here to take in the country.
And that is what today is about: exploring with my best friend.
My eleventh-grade English teacher was obsessed with England. A real lover of Shakespeare. He would drive us crazy with anecdotes and vacation pictures of him splashed around England.
Mr. Dorsey in a red phone booth.
Mr. Dorsey in front of Buckingham Palace.
Mr. Dorsey in the countryside.
Mr. Dorsey at Stonehenge.
At one point, Josh Flanders stood up in the middle of a slideshow of Mr. Dorsey prancing in an English field with sheep and told the man to get a life. Josh was sent to the principal, but mentally I applauded him. Who on earth would be so obsessed with another country?
*Ahem*
*Slowly raises hand*
Yeah, I get it now.
I so freaking get it.
Ugh, poor Mr. Dorsey. I want to write a letter to him and tell him . . . “I see you.”
And then I want to write him a letter describing in intricate detail the way the heather on the hills sways rhythmically with the wind, almost like it’s dancing.
To make my point: I’m obsessed with Scotland.
I came to that realization about five minutes ago, when Dakota slowly pulled around a bend on a narrow road that opens up to a valley. My heart caught in my throat as the landscape unfolded before us.
After pulling off onto a lookout with a bench, we sat in the car and quietly stared for a few good minutes before I got out of the car and breathed it all in.
The fresh air was the first thing to ignite my senses. So pure.
The second thing was the soft sound of a trickling brook winding and weaving through the valley. Not big enough to be a river, but powerful enough to set the soundtrack for the view in front of us.
The third thing was the contrast in bold colors Mother Nature has chosen to bless us with. A palette of whimsical childhood hues clashing together, making the soil pop, the clouds dance, and the peaks claim authority over the land.
The only word for it all: breathtaking.
“Wow,” Dakota says as she pulls a travel cooler with our lunches out of the car.
“I know. I think we found the spot.”
“We did.” She chuckles, and we both take a seat on the wide bench.
Before we left Corsekelly, we stopped at the bakeshop for some savory pies—both opting for cheese and onion today—and of course some shortbread, because what’s one more helping for my hips?
“Isla was right about this place,” I say, taking a bite of my pie and enjoying the hearty and acidic flavors of the cooked onion. “I’m so glad she told us about it.”
“Me too,” Dakota says quietly.
I know that quiet.
That quiet is a result of her thinking heavily about something.
That quiet has been present through almost our entire drive.
Yes, we were taking in the views and listening to traditional Scottish music, but she usually comments on a few things, at the very least. There was no commenting this time.
I bump her with my shoulder. “What’s going on in that head of yours? And don’t tell me nothing. We’ve been friends since the fourth grade—I know when you’re thinking too hard.”
“Do I really give it away?”
“Smoke comes out of your ears. I like to think of it as sort of a Batsignal, but just for me.” Cupping my hands around my mouth—pie balanced precariously on my lap—I say, “Alert, alert, Bonnie, help is needed. Help is needed.”
“You are so stupid.” Dakota laughs and then lets out a long sigh. “I’m scared.”
“Scared?” I ask, turning to face her. Sorry, scenery. “Why are you scared?”
“I don’t think I know how to navigate this thing with Isla. And I’m really starting to like her. I don’t want to make a mistake.”
“Dakota—”
“Isabella was always telling me that I was doing things wrong. I wasn’t holding her hand enough. I wasn’t giving her enough affection. I wasn’t dressing the way she wanted me to dress. I wasn’t posting enough about gay rights. I should be using my Instagram platform for the lesbian community, not for my business. I wasn’t . . . gay enough.” Shoulders slouched, she twists her hands in her lap. “Those words haunt me. I can still see her with that blonde, when I found them in bed together. She didn’t even care I caught her cheating on me. She just shrugged and said, ‘You’re not gay enough for me; I moved on.’ What if . . . what if it’s the same with Isla?”
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.”
“It has been since I met you.” He gives me the smallest of kisses and then releases me before walking over to a table and bringing me with him. We both take a seat, and he leans back, casually sitting in the chair while my body hums, ready for anything he wants to give. “Saw a man leave here with some coffee.”
“He said he liked boring coffee, so this was the place for him.”
“Ouch.” Rowan laughs and glances around the empty space. “So . . . what’s the plan?”
“Plan?”
“For the shop. What are you going to do?”
“Oh, well, I mean . . . I have some ideas, but I haven’t started anything.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted to run them by you first. This is your family’s shop, after all.”
“Aye, true.” He nods at me. “Then, run ’em by me.”
Simple as that, huh?
Excited to share, I run to the counter, grab my notebook and pen, and sit down across from him. “Now, these are just ideas—nothing is concrete.”
“Hit me.”
“Well, we need to power wash these floors—they’re grimy and need a new life.”
He glances down. “Aye. I have a power washer.”
“That’s amazing, really? God, I love power washers. Unsung heroes of renovating. I can’t wait to blow the dirt off these—”
“You’re not using it,” he says with finality. “I’ll do it.”
Uh, excuse me?
“Oh no. I’ll have the pleasure of doing it. I’ve spent way too many bored hours in here watching power-washing compilations on YouTube to not have the pleasure of doing it myself.”
“You’ve been watching power-washing videos on YouTube?”
Doesn’t everybody?
“Yes, it’s quite soothing. Like raking sand in one of those sand gardens people keep on desks. It’s crazy satisfying to watch dirt be blasted away by water. I’m afraid to admit I’ve probably committed at least ten hours to watching compilations online. Paired with fun music, and you’ve got yourself a wonderful way to waste some time.”
He blinks a few times. “You’re serious.”
“Do I need to show you my YouTube history? I don’t even need to search them out anymore—they just show up on the suggested feed. But do you know what really chaps my ass?” I lean forward conspiratorially. “It’s when these YouTube people compile some of the same power-washing videos. I’ve seen them already—we want new material.” I shake my fist in the air.
“I think I’m going to take back the other night.”
“Can’t,” I say with a smile. “Already had my mouth on your dick, and that means I claimed you.” His eyes seductively narrow as he shifts in his chair. “Oh, you like that, huh? Me talking about having your c—”
“Watch it, Bonnie, this teasing can go both ways.”
My mouth snaps shut. Based on past experience, I’m assuming he could do some real damage.
“Anyway.” I clear my throat, tapping my pen on my notebook. “Power washing and then some fresh paint on the walls. I think we stick with the beautiful white in here, but freshen it up, and the red door as well. I love the colors in here, but they’ve dulled over time. And do you think we could add shutters to the windows and some window boxes? Is that something you know how to do?”
He nods. “Aye.”
“Will it take you long?”
“Few hours.”
“Really? Gah, okay. I think it will dress up the outside and make it more inviting. And as for the inside, we need some new tables. These”—I tap on the table—“are firewood. Is there a place around here where we can get some tables and chairs?”
“Kyle of Lochalsh.”
“Uh, what?”
“Quick fifteen-minute drive to the west. Larger town, has a woodworker there. Hamish and Alasdair both bought their tables and chairs from there, and reasonably priced. Maw’s been wanting to purchase some, but Da said only once these tables fall apart.”
“Well, looks like I’m taking an ax to them, because they need to fall apart.” I make a note in my notebook. “Would you be willing to take me over there? I don’t ever want to drive on these roads myself again.”
“Aye, I can take you. We can go eat at the Waterside Restaurant after.”
I pause, look up. “Are you . . . are you asking me out?”
With that devilish smirk, he leans over the table and pinches my chin. “Aye, lass. I am. Are you saying yes?”
“I don’t know . . . ,” I tease.
He chuckles, leans over, and plants a chaste kiss on my lips. “Offer stands for as long as it takes to be accepted.”
My oh my, he’s the charmer. He knows exactly how to make me weak in the knees.
“I would love to go out with you, Rowan.”
“Good. Wednesday night.”
“Okay. After we close tonight, I would like to power wash the floors. Can you bring over the machine?”
“You’re not power washing.”
“This is not up for discussion, Rowan.” I stab my pen to the table. “I am power washing, and then tomorrow we can paint.”
“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.
“What are you doing?”
I startle, dropping my phone on the counter. With a smirk, Rowan picks it up and glances at the screen. He raises a brow as he shows it to me, as if I don’t know what’s on it.
“Power-washing videos?”
“Don’t judge!” I snatch my phone away and put it in my back pocket. Once we closed, I moved the tables and chairs outside. Earlier, Rowan said he would take care of them by literally chopping them into firewood. I told him I didn’t care what he did with them, but if he did decide to chop them up, I was going to need a slo-mo video of that, of course with his shirt off. From the look in his eyes, I think he’s going to deliver. We decided to close the shop for the next few days while we do small renovations. Pretty sure the public isn’t going to miss us much.
“Did you bring it?” I ask, rubbing my hands together.
“Yes, but you’re not—”
“Balderdash, I’m doing it.” Pushing past him, I walk over to the door, where I spot the hefty machine. Beautiful in all its splendor, a knight of destroying grime. A fighter of fungus. A true champion of cleanliness. The one, the only . . . the power washer. “Ryobi 2300, nice choice,” I say, taking in the robust beast. “Does it come with the bonus turbo nozzle?”
“It’s disturbing how much you know about power washers.”
“Does it?” I ask, needing to know the answer.
“The nozzle’s attached,” Rowan says, sounding slightly terrified.
“Beautiful. And you hooked it up to the hose already. This is a dream.” I pick up the metal spray wand and test the weight.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Bonnie.”
“From what I’ve read, you just press this button.” The power washer turns on with a soothing hum. “And then—” I pull on the handle and blast water out of the nozzle. The small kickback startles me. I back into the doorframe of the shop, flinging my arm out—and spraying Rowan directly in the crotch.
Uh-oh.
Man.
Down.
“Oh God.” I drop the spray handle and run over to his body, curled on the floor. “Rowan, are you okay?”
“Told you . . . not to,” he says, breathing hard and cradling his crotch.
“Did it . . . did I . . . ?” Oh God. “Did I spray your balls off?”
He lets out a dry cough and shakes his head. “Nah, baws are in place, but you definitely took out a few of the cadets.”
“Sperm?” I ask, rubbing his back.
“Yes, Bonnie . . . sperm.”
“Hopefully they were going to be slow swimmers anyway.” I pat his back, and my eyes stray to the power washer. Even in my guilt, I can’t help a tug of longing. “I hope you know, I truly wish the best for your crotch at this moment, but I’m going to need you to get up so I can go to town on these floors.”
He glances up at me from his fetal position. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. I can feel it in my bones that I’m a power-washing wizard.” I tug on his arm. “Let’s get you up on the counter, out of range, and you can watch over me while you nurse your boaby and baws.”
“I don’t think anything is out of range for you,” he groans, slowly getting up.
I keep a steady grip on him as he hobbles to the counter and hoists himself up. “I wasn’t prepared for the wand to jump like that. Knowing the kind of power that electric puppy is packing, I’ll be in a properly prepared stance now.” I pat him on the leg and am moving to walk away when he snags my arm and spins me toward him.
He kisses me quickly. “You might have destroyed any possible boners for today, but hearing your confidence . . . well, it very well might restore what you just destroyed.”
“Is my confidence a turn-on?”
“Your confidence makes me happy, Bonnie,” he says seriously. “Makes me believe you’re starting to find that purpose, and that’s what matters.”
Taken aback, I say, “Wow, McGrumpyshire, you’re about to get yourself laid.”
He groans, shifting to the side. “Wait until tomorrow.”
Chuckling, I give him one more kiss and then go back to the power washer and pick up the wand. “Should I start in the corner?”
“Aye, and then work all the dirt toward the door.”
“Okay. I got this.”
With a deep breath, I get into my stance, hold the wand with a good stiff arm, and then pull back on the trigger. I get a small kickback, but this time I’m prepared and hold strong, immediately blasting grime off the old wood floors. I perform a spot test, like all good power washers, no more than a few square inches, but as the water blasts against the hardwood floors, I immediately see how much this is going to change the look of the shop. When I release the trigger, letting the water slosh for a second and clear out, I lean forward and marvel at the stunning oak floor that’s been here this whole time.
“Rowan, it’s beautiful.”
“Is it? I honestly can’t remember at this point.”
“It is, and the power washer doesn’t seem to pull up any of the wood or stain. Shall I continue?”
“You’re apparently the expert. Go ahead.”
Excitement pulses through me. I get into position . . . and blast.
“Bonnie, oh my gosh,” Dakota says, walking into the coffee shop for the first time since I cleaned the floors. She had her date with Isla last night, so while she was out, I took care of business. Honestly, I don’t know which was more satisfying: having Rowan between my legs or washing all the dirt off these floors.
Of course, I would never tell him that.
Don’t want to give the man a complex.
He was amazing the other night and all . . . but . . . power washing . . .
“They look brand new.”
“Right? I’m so pleased. I made Rowan take a few photos.” I pull out my phone and show her the pictures Rowan reluctantly took of me wielding the washer while he nursed his manhood.
“You look like a total boss.”
“Right? I made this one my Instagram profile pic.”
“How could you not?”
Just then, Isla and the twins come into the coffee house. All three of them stop and take in the floors.
“Holy crap,” Leith says first.
“Wow,” Lachlan adds. “We need to do this to our floors.”
Isla walks up to Dakota and slips her hand in hers. “You did a wonderful job, Bonnie.”
“Thanks.” I beam with pride. “It was pretty easy and extremely satisfying. I’m more than happy to do it for anyone else who might need something power washed. I think I’ve found a new hobby.”
“Just keep your crotch covered,” Rowan says, walking into the shop behind them.
“Yeah, Bonnie told me she blasted you in the balls,” Dakota says. “Are you okay?”
“Nothing’s been damaged, but I did feel like I took a classic football toss to the old lad.”
“Rowan told us about it this morning,” Leith says. “Glad I didn’t follow through with asking you out, or else that could have been me.”
“As if she would have said yes,” Lachlan says.
“She showed interest.”
“Sorry to tell ye, but she only had interest in me, lads,” Rowan says, walking over and pressing his lips to mine. Soft, yet firm. Best kisser, hands down.
“Full of yourself much?” I ask, even though he’s exactly right.
“Nay, I just know infatuation when I see it.” He winks and then nods to the door. “Leith, Lachlan, grab the paint supplies while we lay down the paint cloths. We don’t want anything to mess up these floors.”
My oh my, look at Rowan taking action. The bossiness is kind of a turn-on.
Bossy McGrumpyshire . . . has a nice ring to it.
While the twins are out, the rest of us get to work on the cloth drapes, lining them up with the baseboards and taping them down. “Heard you two were snogging last night,” Rowan says to Isla and Dakota with a grin.
What? I snap my head toward them.
They snogged?
As in, they had their first kiss?
Why wasn’t I informed of this monumental occasion?
“Wait, you had your first kiss last night and you didn’t tell me?” I try to hide the hurt, but it’s heavy in my voice. Dakota and I tell each other everything, and a first kiss with a Scottish lass is definite must-need information.
“We technically kissed on Sunday.” Isla winces.
“Sunday?” I shout. “When? I was with you the whole day, Dakota.”
She glances around the shop, looking uncomfortable. “Uh, you know those flowers I picked when we were out exploring that field? I brought them over to Isla when I went on that walk after we got back. We kissed then.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” I roar.
“You’ve been a little occupied.” She nods toward Rowan.
I push Rowan out of the way. “Uh, that’s not a reason to not tell me. Your first kiss is way more important than that irritable doof.” He grumbles something next to me, but I ignore him, turning my attention to Isla. “How was it? Did my girl win you over? I kissed her once, and she had the softest lips. Was it a good kiss?”
Isla smiles. “Aye, it was a very good kiss.”
“God.” I toss open a drop cloth. “And then you made out. Where did you make out?”
“Isla’s place,” Leith says, walking in with Lachlan, their arms full of paint cans, pans, and rollers.
“Can we not air out all the details?” Isla says.
“Why do they know all the details?” Dakota asks.
“Yeah”—I plant my hands on my hip—“why do they know all the details?”
Cautiously, Isla looks between her brothers and Dakota. “They were perverts and looked through the windows.” Isla squeezes Dakota’s hand. “I promise I didn’t tell them.”
“Okay,” Dakota says quietly, and they exchange a look, the kind of look I’d exchange with my best friend. The kind of look that tells everyone around them that they are close enough to communicate without words.
And that’s not something I like very much.
Is that why she didn’t say something to me? Because they’re not sharing their relationship with many people? Though, apparently, news gets around.
I get keeping it quiet, but why wouldn’t she want to share with me?
“Looked like a good snogging session,” Lachlan says, clearly not reading the room as he starts pouring paint into paint pans.
“Can you shut up?” Isla snaps.
“I mean, I can, but I don’t want to.”
“Enough with the snogging talk,” Rowan cuts in. “We need to focus on the painting.” Rowan to the rescue, like always. “We have to do the ceiling, moldings, and walls. The only things not getting painted in here are the wood beams on the ceiling and the wood floors. Please be careful to keep those clean. And pair up. Leith and Lachlan, take the ceiling. I’ll work on the right side with Bonnie, and you girls cover the left. I’m buying drinks if we get this done by eight.”
That encourages the boys, who quickly get to work, while Dakota and Isla start on their side. I watch from across the room as they murmur to each other, laughing and smiling. I feel a pang of jealousy.
When Dakota was with Isabella, I never saw her act the way she’s acting now—content and carefree. That should have been clue number one that Isabella wasn’t the girl for her. But seeing her with Isla, it almost feels like—and I know this might sound stupid—but it almost feels like my best friend is being stolen away from me. I know I encouraged her to go for it, but still . . . a girl can feel left out.
With Isabella, she told me everything. From every hand hold, every look, every kiss, I was there, step by step, helping her realize that it’s okay to like a girl. It’s okay to come out of your shell and realize exactly who you are.
And now, with Isla, I selfishly expected to be involved every step of the way as well. But, sadly, I’m starting to see Dakota grow wings and pull away. Going to talk to Isla alone, the double date that turned into a single one, and now this.
It’s almost as if . . . she doesn’t need me anymore, and that strikes me hard, because, if anything, Dakota gave me an ounce of purpose while fighting through these unknown feelings I’ve absorbed.
Now what?
Doubt and loneliness start to creep into the back of my mind.
I’m tempted to ask Rowan if I can switch partners, but that’s just an overreaction. Right? I’m overreacting. I’m thrown off that everyone knew about their kiss and I didn’t. I’ve known Dakota forever. We’ve known every little thing about each other’s lives, and being left out of this important factoid—her kissing her second girl ever—stings, for sure, but I’ll get over it. She looks happy, and I don’t want to make a big deal over something that will probably seem so trivial to her.
In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter.
What matters is Dakota’s happiness. And with one glance in their direction, I can tell she’s truly finding her place here in Corsekelly.
Deep breaths, Bonnie. It’s fine. You’re fine.
“Hey, you all right?” Rowan asks.
“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. Just, uh . . . thinking.” I tack on a smile, but I think we both know it’s fake.
It’s fine. It will all be okay.
You’re not losing your friend.
Stop overreacting and have fun.
I take a deep breath, grab a roller from Rowan, and head to the wall. Before we start, he leans in and kisses me on the side of the head. “Date tomorrow.”
That brings a smile to my face. “Are you going to dress up?”
“Are you?”
“Naturally. I plan on dressing up under my clothes as well.” I wiggle my brows, and he laughs.
“Dressin’ down would be better.” He wiggles his brows back.
“If you expect me to wear a dress with no underwear, you’re out of your mind.”
“Worth a shot.” He dots my nose with some paint and then gets to work.