CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BONNIE
Perfect date I’ll never forget: One.
How many times I felt cherished last night: Too many to count.
Male-induced orgasms: Five.
Hot Scot who’s making me fall for him: One.
Rowan was insatiable. He wanted me, every chance he got. And frankly, I think I wanted him more. Also, listening to him come is really freaking hot. There’s a slight accent in his come noise: it’s sex gold.
“What do you think? Should I hang this one here?”
Dakota glances up from her computer. “It looks too big for the space.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
I glance down at all the black-and-white photos I had printed and framed of the local hairy coos. Thursday, Rowan and I went for a walk on the Hairy Coo Footpath and took a bunch of pictures of the long-haired cows. Lots of close-ups showing off their adorable snouts and soulful eyes. Dakota then edited and cropped them and sent them to a guy in Kyle who prints and frames pieces for their gallery. Rowan was supposed to go with me to pick them up, but Shona was having a plumbing issue at the Mill Market. I insisted I would be fine driving on my own.
I was . . . okay.
I hated every second of it, but at least I got the pictures, and they are so freaking good.
“Okay, what about this?” Dakota asks me now, turning her computer in my direction.
The logo.
And God, it’s adorable. Dead center is an outlined picture of a hairy coo, all shaggy hair and curving horns, and around it in a circle is the name of the coffee house—the Hairy Coo Coffee Company.
“Dakota, this is . . . amazing.” I squat down lower to get a better look. “This would be perfect on mugs and shirts. Oh my God, my nipples just got hard because I’m so excited.”
“You really like it?”
“I love it.”
“Think Finella and Stuart will?”
“Will they what?” Rowan asks, stepping into the shop, arms full of groceries. I haven’t seen him since this morning. It was a few hours ago, and yet it feels like days. When we make eye contact, he winks, and I nearly fling my body at him and maul his face.
“Will they like the logo?” Dakota says, completely oblivious to my urges.
Rowan sets the groceries down on the counter and walks over to the new tables we bought—which look positively amazing in the space, by the way—and bends down to take a good look. A small smile starts to form on his lips, and when he stands up, he possessively presses his hand to the nape of my neck. “They’re going to absolutely love it.”
“You’re not just saying that?” Dakota asks, eyes glinting with excitement.
“I don’t bullshit. I always mean what I say.”
“That’s true,” I add. “It’s perfect, Dakota.”
“Thank you. Okay, I’m going to send the file to the guy over in Inverness and then grab the signage with the espresso machine.” She stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, confused.
“Isla and I are staying in Inverness. The printer needs time for the menus and the sign. We decided to stay the night and sightsee a bit.”
“Oh.” I swallow down a pang of disappointment. “You’re going sightseeing—that should be fun.”
“I’m really excited, especially since we haven’t been able to see much of Scotland.” She leans in, gives me a hug, and then takes off out the door, computer tucked under her arm. “Bye.”
“Are you all right?” Rowan asks as the door swings shut.
“Huh? Oh yeah, fine.” I clear my throat and act like I’m studying the pictures, when in reality, I feel . . . sad. We were supposed to explore Inverness together. We joked about finding the rental car guy again and trying to see if we could understand him better now that we’ve been in Scotland for a while. We also wanted to visit Inverness Castle, and there were a few restaurants we wanted to try. Is she going to do those things without me?
“You don’t seem fine.” Rowan takes my shoulders and gently turns me toward him. “You seem really upset, actually.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, looking out toward the front window, where I see Isla meet up with Dakota. They exchange a quick kiss on the lips before linking their hands together and heading toward the cottage.
“Hey.” Rowan moves my head so I meet his eyes. “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m not about to cry, I just . . . I thought Dakota and I were going to explore Inverness together, that’s all.”
“Och.” He nods. “I see.” He looks back. “Go with them, then. We can bake another day.”
I shake my head. “No, clearly they have some romantic trip planned. I’m not about to be the third wheel.”
“Isla’s pretty understanding. If you were honest with them, I’m sure she’d welcome you along.”
I shake my head and lean into his embrace as his strong arms wrap me up. “No, that’s okay. Dakota was most likely looking forward to this trip. I’ll get over it.”
He kisses the top of my head and gives me a squeeze. “I know it won’t be the same as going with your best friend, but I can take you some time, if you’d like.”
Smiling, I look up at him and kiss his jaw. “I’d like that.”
“Okay, once the butter is spread—wait, no, just two-thirds, stick to this side,” Rowan says, his voice patient and calm despite my anxiously trying to predict what we do next. And it’s not on purpose either. For some reason I feel flustered, like I need to impress him or something.
Before we started baking, Rowan took me over to the bakeshop, where Elsbeth, Isla’s assistant, was filling in for her. We ordered some chicken curry pies, grabbed some fruit and drinks from the Mill Market, and had a quaint lunch in front of the loch, where Rowan regaled me with story after story of him and the Murdach twins getting into trouble. And funnily enough, as Rowan was telling those stories, they ran by us, shirtless, wearing their kilts and hoisting logs, with their “cameraman,” a local boy named Dennis, following closely behind.
Once we packed up, we headed into the “wee” kitchen in the back of the coffee shop. It might be small, but there are multiple ovens, which is exactly what we need for our three types of baked goods.
While he spread out the groceries, I whipped open an apron and then reached for the hem of my shirt. As promised, I was ready to bake in the nude, but he quickly held my hands down and said he loved the idea of me naked, but not when anyone could walk in, especially with the way Fergus comes in and out of his own accord. Rowan claimed that being caught naked in front of a historically significant goat would read a little weird. I had to agree with him. Fergus feels like a brother at this point, and I’d never want my brother to catch me in the buff. So, the clothes stayed on.
“You don’t spread it all over the dough?” I ask now, staring down at the butter combination gracing my latest attempt at butteries.
“No. Just this section. Then we’ll fold the dough three times, roll it back out to the original starting size, and let it cool for forty minutes.”
“You let it cool?” A light bulb goes on in my head. “Oh, I wasn’t doing that when I tried to make them. I would just go into folding and rolling again. That’s why it was melting, huh?”
He nods. “Aye, you have to let the butter cool before you start working it again.”
“So then, these take forever to make.”
“But they’re worth it, and if you time it right, you can have multiple batches going at the same time, along with other items like the tattie scones. You could also make the dough the day before and bake them in the morning. That’s what my da would do. When things started to get slow toward the end of the workday, he’d always get the dough ready.”
“Oh, that’s a really good idea.”
Together we roll out the dough and then set it to the side to cool—as far away from the ovens as possible.
“Let’s start on the tattie scones.” He pulls out a large can of premade mashed potatoes, and I gasp out loud.
“You use premade mashed potatoes?”
He chuckles. “Old family secret. You can’t tell the difference, and it cuts down the work significantly.”
“Wow, the MacGregor clan, cutting corners. I kind of like it.”
“You’ll like it a lot, because the recipe calls for a pound of mashed potatoes, and I doubt you’re going to want to peel, chop, and boil multiple batches of potatoes every day.”
“I didn’t even think about that.”
He gives me a chaste peck on my cheek. “Stick with me, lass—I’ll show you all the tricks.”
He sets out everything we’ll need for the tattie scones, and even though I know he’s been weird about it, I still can’t help the question that flies past my lips. “Why are you so reluctant about baking for the coffee shop?”
“I knew you were going to ask that today.” He checks the recipe again. “Surprised it took you this long.”
“You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to. I was just curious. You seem to be so good at it.”
“I am. Growing up, we always helped in the kitchen. But Callum had a passion for it. He had plans to grow the coffee shop with Da, possibly expand over into Kyle. The butteries were their bread and butter—no pun intended. Not many people will take the time to make them, but a lot of people want them.”
“I can see that.”
Turning around, Rowan folds his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, his eyes looking toward the open window that’s letting in a nice, cool breeze. “Growing up, it was clear I wasn’t set on working in the coffee shop. I wanted . . . other things. Da wasn’t happy about that, but he accepted it because he had Callum. They were much closer than I’ve ever been with me da. But the day Callum died was the worst day of my life, and not just because I lost my brother. I also lost my father.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, stepping in close to him and placing my hands on his folded arms.
“Our relationship was already a bit . . . strained, but then he blamed me for what happened. Blamed me for Callum drinking, for not being cautious, for us being a bunch of eejits.”
“But it wasn’t your fault—you couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen.”
“He didn’t see it that way. I’m the older son, the protector, and that day, I didn’t protect my brother. It caused a huge rift in the family. Da was broken, and working in the shop every day—without Callum—just about killed him. Slowly, his spirit started to fall, his willingness to try new things vanished, and he stuck to simple things, because simple was all his heart could handle. Finally, by the time he was ready to retire, he would only serve butteries, and mainly to the locals.” He reaches out and pushes a strand of my hair out of my face and behind my ear. “I told Da I’d help him. That I would make it up to him, help him bake, make Callum’s dreams a reality.”
He chokes up, and my heart nearly breaks. I run my hand up to his chest and press my palm to his heart, letting him know I’m here.
“Da didn’t want my help. Said he never wanted to see me in this kitchen again. I was the one who didn’t want a part of this life, so I didn’t get to have it. And when I set out to find my own path, he shut that down too, said I needed to stay close for Maw and take care of the town. Corsekelly thrives off its own, and losing two MacGregor boys could break it. So . . . I stayed.”
“Oh, Rowan.” I hold back the tears that threaten to fall. “I’m so sorry.”
This man has sacrificed a lot in his life. From the outside, it wouldn’t look that way—he’d look like just another grouchy curmudgeon with something against out-of-towners, but peel back the layers and you’ll find a beautiful soul, with an equally beautiful heart, wanting to help. He’s just struggling to do so.
“So, why change? If you’re not allowed in the kitchen, why now?”
The corner of his lip tilts up. “Well, this stunning blonde walked into my life and begged me.” He smooths his thumb over my cheek. “I also saw the worry in Maw’s eyes before they left. She’s not the type to do something so extreme, like try to make an advert go viral. She’s always been the quiet one and speaks up when the time is right. Something must be going on for her to have brought you and Dakota in.” He looks off to the side, a clench to his jaw. “Something is going on with them, and they’re not telling me. So I figured, if they’re not going to tell me, then at least I can help you make their life’s work into something more. Restrictions be damned.”
I take a second and move my finger up to his jaw, where I turn his head. “You’re a good man, Rowan MacGregor,” I say, gazing into his eyes.
“It means a lot to hear you say that, lass.”
“I believe it wholeheartedly.” I roll up onto my toes, grip the back of his neck, and bring his mouth to mine. I linger longer than I should, especially since we have a lot of baking to do, but I want him to know how important he is, how wonderful he is.
When I pull away, he lazily smiles. “I hope you don’t plan on doing that a lot—I’m not sure we’re going to get much accomplished if you do.”
I chuckle. “I want more cherry cake, and since you saved that for last, I think we both know there will be no more kissing.”
“Not no more,” he says, looping his arms around my waist and pulling me in so I can’t escape.
“Minimal.”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “I can agree to minimal, as long as you come over tonight.”
“As if I would be anywhere else.”
One more kiss and he releases me. “Okay, tattie scones, let’s get to it.”
“Hey.” I place my hand on his arm. “Thank you for sharing with me. It means a lot that you trust me with this part of your life.”
“You make it easy, lass.”
We turn back to the ingredients, and he shows me the next steps in preparing the dough—but the entire time, all I can think about is how much Corsekelly is starting to feel like home, how this man makes me feel more special, more important, than any person I’ve ever met, and being here, in the kitchen, with something to do, I feel . . . purpose.
Maybe this is what I was meant to do. Where I was meant to be all along.
“I’m nervous,” I say, wringing my hands together as we wait for a few select locals to arrive.
“Don’t be nervous, lass.”
We spent the entire day baking. I’m exhausted, but I’m invigorated as well. Rowan was very pleased with how everything was looking, especially the butteries, and now we’re holding a small tasting party for a few close people who know the kind of quality Stuart would provide with his baked goods.
I haven’t tasted anything yet—I wanted to taste with everyone else. I didn’t trust myself to judge if my baking actually is any good. Rowan decided to wait with me as well.
Also, between you and me, I was too damn nervous. The possibility of failure hangs over me, ready to rain down on me like a brilliant Scottish storm, and I’m trying to prolong things, hoping and praying the clouds will part and the success of the sun will shine through.
We invited four people: the Murdach twins, Shona from the Mill Market, and Hamish, all of whom were avid patrons and buttery eaters before Stuart retired.
Rowan glances down at my fidgeting fingers and kisses the side of my head. “Relax.”
“You didn’t prep them, did you? They’re not going to be nice, just to be nice, right?”
“Trust me, they would never do that. They’re all excited about the changes being made, but they were most worried about the baking. If you’re bringing the coffee shop back to life, they want it done right.”
“Oh, not to add any pressure . . .”
He chuckles. “Lass, I was there the entire time you baked, and I know you followed every direction carefully. This is going to go really well.”
“I hope so.” I look out the window, wondering when they’re going to get here. “I just kind of wish Dakota was here. She was supposed to be.”
“Did you tell her about the tasting?”
“Yeah. I assumed she would be here to support me.”
“Maybe she forgot.” Because she’s wrapped up in Isla . . .
“She probably did.” Which doesn’t make me feel any better. I finally find something that I might be good at—might being the key word at this point; we’ll find out soon if I’m not—and she’s not here. She knows how important this is to me. I even sent her a text a while ago with pictures of all my baked goods, but I haven’t heard back from her.
I don’t want to admit it because I think I might be acting like a dramatic teenager, but I’m starting to feel a little bitter.
I know, I know, she’s fresh in a relationship—I should cut her some slack.
Deep breath, Bonnie.
You don’t need your best friend for everything.
At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of.
“Here they come,” Rowan says. “They’re going to love it.”
Leith and Lachlan walk in first and immediately stop at the threshold of the shop. Leith presses his hand to Lachlan’s chest. “Holy shite, it smells good in here.”
Lachlan sniffs around and then grasps Leith’s hand. “Hell, I was just brought back to secondary school, when we used to sneak in here and steal butteries with Rowan.”
“Told you, lass,” Rowan whispers to me before turning to Leith and Lachlan. “Take a seat, lads.”
Hamish and Shona walk in next, and since they haven’t seen the changes we’ve made to the shop, I giddily watch the awe in their eyes as they take it all in.
“Wow,” Shona says, “it looks great in here.”
“Thank you,” I say, stepping up next to them. “We have some pictures of the hairy coo we still need to hang, and Rowan still needs to install the inside shutters that match the outside ones. And he needs to make some shelving for merchandise, but that’s last.”
“It’s quite lovely,” Hamish says, taking a seat and running his hand over the new tables. “Are these from Campbell’s?”
“Aye,” Rowan says. “He let us do some mix-matching.”
Shona takes a seat as well. “I love it. Och, darling, Finella and Stuart are going to love these changes.”
Pride surges through me as Rowan places a plate of our baked goods in front of everyone, as well as a small cup of tea and a small cup of coffee.
“Bonnie made classic butteries, tattie scones, and then cherry cake. On the table there is jam and butter, and the tea and coffee, whichever you prefer.”
“We hope to offer five varieties of tea and ten different coffee drinks,” I add. “We don’t want to do more than that. We’ll keep it simple, but with a little bit of flair.”
“Good choices,” Hamish says, looking over the little mock-up menu we have on each table as well. “These will work well for the tourists coming in and out. Now, you’re just sticking with these three baked goods?”
I nod. “Yes, we figured if they want more they can go to the bakeshop. We also didn’t want to step on Isla’s toes.”
“Aye,” Hamish says.
“Dig in,” Rowan says as he takes my hand and sits me down at one of the other tables, facing away from everyone. “Time to taste test, lass.” He hands me a plate, and I gaze down at all the hard work I put into today. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d be living in Scotland, baking traditional treats with a hunky Scotsman, but here I am, living out the wildest dream I never knew I had.
I’m about to pick up my buttery when a long, loud moan erupts from behind me. I turn around to see Leith slouched in his chair, buttery in one hand, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. “Sweet Jesus, these are outstanding.” He takes another bite. “God bless America and Bonnie.”
I chuckle just as Lachlan has the same reaction. “Hell’s bells, these are phenomenal.” He takes a huge bite, nearly stuffing it all in his mouth.
The nerves I was feeling quickly vanish as pleased sounds fill the coffee shop. Rowan winks at me and takes a bite of his buttery. As he chews, a smile plays at his lips.
“Bonnie, these are really fucking good.”
“Yeah?”
He slowly nods. “Aye. They’re perfect, lass.”
They’re perfect, lass. I don’t believe anything I’ve ever done has been perfect. I’ve never found that something that has made me special. I’ve never uncovered a hidden talent that set me apart from everyone else. Never once have I exceeded expectations. I’ve been average. Average my entire life.
But to hear Rowan say something I created is perfect?
It brings tears to my eyes. For the first time in my adult life, I actually feel accomplished. I feel like I’m contributing to something bigger than myself, and I’m not just running errands and making sure there is a certain kind of candy in someone’s dressing room. I’m actually providing a service with my very own hands—and it makes people happy.
And even though this moment feels monumental to me, one person is missing, and I want her approval more than anything. I wish she could have seen Leith’s and Lachlan’s reactions, could have heard Shona’s kind words.
My best friend’s—the one opinion I truly care about.
I might have done a good job, but it feels bittersweet.
“Bonnie, you okay?” Rowan asks. “You haven’t taken a bite yet.”
“Oh, yeah . . . fine.” I try to push back my thoughts of my floundering relationship with Dakota and enjoy this moment. I lift up the buttery and smile. “Here goes nothing.”
I glance at the clock one more time.
Nine at night.
Where the hell are they?
I told Rowan I wanted to spend some time with Dakota when she got home from Inverness, so I skipped out on going to his place, even though I desperately wanted to. After the emotional drain of yesterday’s tasting, we both snuggled into his bed last night, and most of today, just holding each other. But now that I’m waiting for Dakota to show up, frustration washes over me—frustration that could easily be fixed by what Rowan hides under his kilt. I say that without ever having seen him in a kilt. Trust me, though, I have had fantasies of it.
Tapping my finger on the table, I stand from one of the red couches and start to pace the quaint living space.
I’m wearing one of Rowan’s shirts, and I can still smell his cologne on the fabric, the subtle scent occasionally calming my boiling anger.
Well, I’m not boiling—just simmering at this point.
Lights flash down the driveway, and I quickly run to the door and look out the window. Isla’s car moves down the gravel, and because I’ve reached a borderline psychotic level of “Is my friend dead or is she being rude and not letting me know her whereabouts?” I fling the door open and stand on the threshold.
Isla turns off the car, and the lights fade into the darkening evening. Dakota opens the passenger door and says, “Bonnie, is everything okay?”
Now, be calm. She might have a good explanation as to why she said she would be home around dinnertime and then shows up around bedtime.
There could be a very reasonable explanation. Whatever you do, do not snap at her—that will put her on the defensive.
“Where the hell have you been?” I ask, hands on my hips.
Good job, Bonnie.
She frowns and shuts the door to the car as Isla comes around with Dakota’s bag.
“I’ll, uh, leave you two alone.” Isla tilts Dakota’s face toward her and places a hand on her hip before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips. Like the angry voyeur I am, I stand there, staring at their sweet goodbye, not even bothering to look away and give them privacy. When they step apart, I hear Isla murmur, “Thank you for last night.”
Then she turns to me and waves. “Have a good night, Bonnie.”
“Yeah, you too,” I say awkwardly as anger boils inside me. When I turn to look at my friend, the same anger is mirrored in her as she stalks toward the cottage, bag in hand. She doesn’t even wait for me to move, bumping my shoulder as she enters.
I shut the door behind me and slip on my metaphorical boxing gloves.
But Dakota doesn’t say anything. Instead, she goes straight to her room.
“Uh, care to talk to me?” I call out.
“No.”
She shuts her bedroom door.
Why the hell is she mad?
She doesn’t get to be mad.
I’m the mad one right now.
Storming toward her door, I fling it open to find her texting on her phone, most likely to Isla about her psycho best friend.
“Where have you been?” I feel like the mother of a teenager right now, demanding answers, and from the annoyed look I get from her, I really am feeling the teenage vibes.
“With Isla.”
Duh.
“You said you were going to be here by dinnertime.”
“Yeah, well, we stopped somewhere and had dinner.”
“You could have told me.”
“Why? You’re not my mother.”
“Uh, excuse me?” I say, nearly blown over by her attitude. “First of all, where is this sass coming from? Second of all, pardon me for caring if you’re dead or alive.”
Dakota flings her arm to the side. “That was embarrassing back there, and you made Isla uncomfortable.”
“I was worried.”
“Worried about what? Your espresso machine and signage? Don’t worry, we dropped it off at the shop. You can go check if you want.”
“What? Are you serious? Dakota, I was worried about you.”
“So is that why you kept texting me all day yesterday and today about the sign but never thought to ask how our trip was?”
She stands, grabs her bag, and pushes past me.
“Where are you going?”
“Isla’s.”
“The hell you are.” I charge toward the door and stand in front of it, barring her escape. “We’re still talking, and I’ll have you know, I didn’t ask about your trip because I was hurt.”
“Hurt? About what?”
“We were supposed to go to Inverness together.”
Dakota opens her mouth and then closes it. The tension in her shoulders drops. “I thought that was a joke.”
“You might have thought it was, but I thought we were going to sightsee together.”
“We did. We went through the Highlands.”
“A portion, but there is so much more of Scotland, and Inverness is a day trip.”
“I didn’t know,” she says calmly, the steam quickly fading. “Isla was excited to show me around, and I didn’t want to say no. I was thrilled she even asked me, you know, since Isabella never wanted to take me anywhere. I’m sorry, Bonnie.”
Two words, that’s all it takes. Two words to break me down into a bubbling mess.
Tears well up in my eyes.
Throat constricts.
And then I’m a pile of emotions, sitting on the floor.
Dakota sits next to me and wraps her arm around my shoulder. “Hey, I didn’t know it meant that much to you. I really am sorry.”
“It’s not that.” I take a deep breath and consider telling her how I’ve been feeling lately.
Left out.
Forgotten.
Like I’m losing my best friend to someone else.
Like I’m no longer needed or important to my person.
But in the grand scheme of things, it seems so juvenile and not something that needs to drag down this moment. Dakota is here now, and we have a little more time before we truly have to go to bed. We should make the most of it.
“Then, what is it?”
“Stressed,” I answer. “I’ve just been really stressed lately, and not knowing where you were only added to that. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“No, you’re right, I should have texted. It was just a good day, and I got lost in the moment. But I don’t want to talk about that.” She pulls me to my feet. “Did you sleep over at Rowan’s again?”
I smile. “I did.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Dakota wiggles her eyebrows like a dork.
“I’m going to break the news to you right now—anytime I’m over at Rowan’s, you can count on us having sex. No need to wiggle your eyebrows.”
She chuckles and then yawns. “Figured as much. Hey, I’m super tired from the last two days. I think I’m going to head to bed, okay?”
“Oh . . . okay, sure,” I say, a little caught off guard.
“Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Dakota asks, sensing my hesitancy.
“No, I just thought we could catch up, but I get it.” I fake yawn. “Long day over here too.”
“Bonnie, we can catch up tomorrow, at the shop.”
“True. Doye.” I playfully hit my forehead, knowing for damn certain that I’ve never said the word doye out loud in my entire life. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll catch you on the flippity-flop.”
Dakota’s eyes narrow. “You’re being weird.”
“Too much sugar. You know how I get.” I twirl my finger next to my ear. “Crazy. Anyhoo.” I pat my stomach for some reason and then jab my thumb toward the stairs. “Guess I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh-kay,” she drags out, watching me moonwalk to the stairs. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
When I reach my bedroom, I fling myself onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. What the hell was that?
For certain, it was the most awkward interaction I’ve ever had with Dakota, even worse than the time I thought I got my period when we were playing in her backyard and she hadn’t gotten hers yet, so I knew she wouldn’t understand the severity of not being prepared. What just happened was way worse than that.
With a sigh, I roll to my side and pick up my phone to set an alarm for my morning hairy coo walk. That’s when I catch a text from Rowan.
I quickly open it, ready to cling to anything that might possibly take away this heavy buildup that’s sitting on my lungs like a ten-ton weight.
Rowan: Hope you’re having fun with Dakota. Wanted to quickly say I was very impressed with you yesterday. Proud to call you me girl. Night, lass.
I press my lips together as they tremble. A single tear falls down the side of my face.
How did he know I needed that text more than anything right now?
Through blurred vision, I text him back.
Bonnie: Thank you, Rowan, that means a lot. Must be that one-sixteenth Scottish in me that makes me such a good baker, huh?
He texts back right away.
Rowan: Sorry to break it to you, lass. One sixteenth is barely a blip in the gene pool.
Bonnie: Don’t you belittle my heritage.
Rowan: Not belittling, just helping you understand, your one-sixteenth has nothing on this one hundred percenter.
Bonnie: If you were one hundred percent Scottish, then I would have seen you in a kilt already.
Rowan: All in good time, lass. Good night. Wish you were here.
Bonnie: Wish I was there too. Good night, Rowan.
I clutch my phone to my chest and stare up at the ceiling as a long sigh flows out of my lungs. Oh God . . . I like the man. A lot.
I like how he cares for me.
How he teases me.
How he’s protective and can sense when something is bothering me.
I like his smile and his deep voice that rattles me to my very core when he whispers in my ear.
I like that he’s proud of me . . .
I like . . . oh God . . . I think I love him.
“Bonnie, hey, wait up.”
I turn to find Isla jogging up to me just as I step onto the Hairy Coo Footpath. It’s early, the fog still lifting off the grass as the sun barely peeks over the horizon. I had a hard time falling asleep last night and wound up waking early, my mind whirring over all the changes in my life.
Rowan.
The coffee shop.
Dakota.
It’s weighing heavily on me.
“Good morning, Isla,” I say, slowing down so she can catch up.
“Morning to ye. Are you open to having a walking partner?”
“Sure,” I answer, right before giving her a hug hello.
Together, we walk down the path and around the bend where I ran smack into a shirtless Rowan, though he’s absent from this go-around. Unfortunately. Wouldn’t mind another sweaty stone wall to the face right about now, especially after not seeing him last night.
“Sorry about getting Dakota back late. If I knew you were worried, I would have never suggested we go out for a bite.”
“Oh, no need to apologize. It’s fine,” I say as the back of my neck heats up with embarrassment. “I’m sorry if I was rude to you.”
She chuckles. “Look at us, apologizing for something so small.”
“Typical ladies,” I joke.
“I do want to make sure you like me, though, because I really like Dakota.”
Shocked, I turn toward her and stop her with a hand to her arm. “Isla, I do like you. Have I given off the vibe that I don’t?”
“No, not really. I mean, maybe a little, and when I asked Dakota about it, she said you’ve just been busy—but I wasn’t sure if that was a cover-up.”
Confrontation—with someone other than Dakota—is not something I’m comfortable with. When it comes to my friendship with Dakota, I can tell her anything, talk to her about anything, and truly express my feelings. But with anyone else, I just turn into an apologetic mess and try to smooth things over quickly so I can be done with the awkward tornado that just blew in and blew out.
“It wasn’t a cover-up.” We start walking again. “I’ve been stressed and maybe . . . a little jealous of the two of you. I know that sounds stupid and I shouldn’t be jealous. I was the one encouraging Dakota to start dating again, but I just felt her pulling away, and it made me a little crazy. If that makes sense.”
“Aye, I understand. You two have such a strong bond.”
“Yes, and after things ended with Isabella, I had Dakota all to myself again, and I soaked that up. Isabella took a lot of Dakota time away from me, and it was painful. Maybe I was having some flashbacks, I don’t know. Either way, I really do like you, Isla. I think you’re lovely and sweet, and I know your intentions are honest. Plus, Rowan has nothing but the best to say about you. He once told me if I should trust my best friend with anyone, it should be you.”
“Thank you. I think very highly of Rowan myself. You two are the perfect balance for each other.”
“We can drive each other mad at the drop of a hat, but we also make each other very happy.”
“And that’s what matters.” We pass the first cattle pasture, but unluckily for us, the cute shaggy beasts are too far away to try to pet, so we keep walking. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, anything,” I answer.
“Isabella . . . what did she do to Dakota? I had a lot of fun this past weekend, but I felt Dakota shutting down on me at some points, especially when it came to going to bed. She was very stiff. I ended up holding her to try to get her to relax, and once she did, we were able to have a . . . er . . . a really good evening.”
“When you say ‘really good,’ do you mean you two got frisky?” I laugh, and so does Isla.
“I mean, I don’t kiss and tell.”
“But you sure do blush when you mention it.”
“Damn these Scottish cheeks.” She presses her hands to her red face.
“Spare me the details, but if we’re being serious, yeah, Isabella did a number on Dakota. It’s taken her a year to get back into dating.”
“What did she do?”
“What didn’t she do?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “She was Dakota’s first girlfriend ever, which is a revelation on its own, but pair that with someone who is vindictive and manipulative, and you have a recipe for disaster. Dakota started to equate her gayness to everything Isabella didn’t like about her. So she thought if she dressed in a way that Isabella didn’t like, she wasn’t being a proper lesbian. If she didn’t kiss a certain way, talk a certain way, publicly display her affection a certain way, that it was all wrong.”
“Och, that’s awful.”
“It was really bad. Dakota felt broken for a very long time. She would second-guess herself, wonder if she was actually gay or if it was Isabella. She was completely mind-fucked.”
“Well, that would explain why she apologizes or second-guesses every move she makes and everything she says. When we kissed for the first time, she pulled away and apologized right before she tried to flee the scene. I had to reassure her I desperately wanted her to kiss me. And I feel like I do that more often than not.”
“Reassure her?”
“Aye,” Isla sighs. “I’m not irritated with having to tell her how beautiful she is or talented or thoughtful. It’s that I wish she saw it herself, ye ken?”
“I know exactly what you’re talking about, and I think it will all come in time. She needs to be with the right person, and once she starts seeing the value in herself, it will shine through. Trust me, Dakota can’t be knocked down for that long. She’s strong willed and has always been bound and determined to make something of herself. Keep working on her, don’t let her apologize for something she shouldn’t be apologizing for, and show her what it’s like to be in a healthy, normal relationship.”
“That’s really good advice. Thank ye, Bonnie.”
“Of course. Always feel free to come to me with questions. I’m the Dakota whisperer.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” She bumps my shoulder, and even though I haven’t spoken to Dakota yet today, deep down I feel just a little bit closer to her after talking to Isla.
See, Bonnie, everything is going to be okay.