CHAPTER SIX
ROWAN
Number of unruly Americans saved from bats: One.
Seeing Bonnie flail about on the ground: Day made.
“Wh-why are you still here?” Bonnie says, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her head.
In all my years, I’ve never seen anything quite as comical as Bonnie being attacked by bats in front of the cottage. I was just around the corner when Dakota called, and then I heard the bats’ telltale screeching. I knew trouble was waiting just beyond the trees.
Sure enough, there was Bonnie, rolling around the ground, screaming and spewing off things like Don’t drink my blood, it’s American—you’ll think it’s too sour.
Humor beating through me, I lifted her up by her pants and brought her into the house. Light little thing that she is, she thought I was a goddamn bat carrying her away. Jesus, this lass.
“Clog in the pipes,” Dakota answers from the couch. “According to Kilty McGrumpyshire, the cottage hasn’t had a resident in a few months, which means the pipes are still getting acclimated to people using them again.”
Kilty McGrumpyshire?
“Dakota,” Bonnie hisses. “Don’t call him that to his face. That’s a behind-the-scenes nickname.”
“Well, now it really isn’t,” Dakota says on a chuckle. She’s pretty cool. Relaxed. Doesn’t seem to get her hairs standing on all ends like her friend. While I’ve been working on the pipes, Dakota has been working on her computer. She told me she’s a graphic designer, which I thought was pretty cool. I’ve always had a fondness for using the creative bone in your body.
I stand from my squatted position under the sink and dust off my hands. “You should be all set.”
Dakota sets her computer to the side. “Thank you. We really appreciate it. Don’t we, Bonnie?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Bonnie rolls her eyes.
I grumble a slew of Scottish curses under my breath while packing up my things. Stubborn. She’s so fucking stubborn.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Dakota asks.
“Dakota,” Bonnie hiss-whispers.
“What?” she snaps as if I’m not in the room. “He fixed our plumbing so you didn’t have to smell like loch and batshit anymore.”
“A wee tip—in Scotland we call our evening meal ‘tea.’” I catch Bonnie rolling her eyes before I focus back on Dakota. “But anyway, what are ye serving?” I ask, just to push Bonnie’s buttons.
“Uh . . .” Dakota stands from the couch and goes to the kitchen, where she paws through the barren pantry. “We can order something.”
“Aye, you think so?” I ask. “Where ye ordering from at eight at night?”
“Ugh, I forgot everything closes around here. Well, we can go to the market quick and—”
“Closed,” I say.
“Well . . . we . . . uh . . . Bonnie, grab the box cake you brought with you. We’ll bake that quickly, and we can all share that.”
“Oh hell no. He’s not worthy of my box cake.”
I hold back the chuckle that bubbles up inside me. Eyes trained on her lower half, I say, “Definitely not interested in your box . . . cake.”
“Did you hear that?” Bonnie asks Dakota, pointing at me again. “He was referencing my vagina.”
“Good God, Bonnie, he wasn’t!”
“Nah, I wasn’t. I was talking about your fud.”
“Gah, even worse.” She stomps her foot.
“Do you even know what a fud is?” I ask.
She goes to open her mouth, but she pauses, closing it. Then, “What is a fud?”
“A vagina.”
“Ahh,” she huffs. “You’re infuriating.” She flips her head over, unravels her towel, and drapes it over a chair before wrapping her wet hair up in her hands, twisting it around, and securing it with a hair band. To the room, she announces, “I’m going to the pub. I assume that’s the only thing open right now?”
“Are you asking me?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Aye, Fergie’s is open.”
“Then it’s settled.” She grabs her wallet and walks up to the door, which she cracks open. Most likely to see if the bats are still around. She pauses for a few seconds before heading out the door, closing it behind her.
Dakota sighs loudly and turns to me. “She’s usually much more pleasant.”
“Hard to believe.”
“I think you just rub her the wrong way, but that could be because she thinks you’re hot.”
“She say that to you?” I ask, a little shocked.
“No.” Dakota shakes her head. “But I know my friend, and based on the way she eats you up with her eyes, she at least finds you attractive, even if she can’t stand your personality.”
I let out a wee chuckle and push my hand through my hair. Could you imagine?
Shacking up with the ornery American?
Never.
“How did I know he’d be tagging along?” Bonnie asks, clutching a beer as she glowers at me from a high top.
I’ll give the girl a little respect: she’s drinking a dark beer. Can’t be sure exactly which one, but it takes a special kind of palette to drink an ale from a Scottish pub.
“Be nice,” Dakota says, taking a seat.
For some reason, I do the same. Maybe because Dakota insisted, or maybe because I’m a glutton for punishment. Either way, I can foresee this being an uncomfortable meal. That’s for damn sure.
“How does this work?” Dakota asks, picking up a menu from the table. “Wow, three choices. Okay.” She chuckles. “What do you suggest?”
“Go with the fish and chips,” I say. “Never can go wrong with them.”
“Perfect. Is there a waiter . . . ?”
“I’ll order at the bar. What do you want to drink?”
“Water is good for me. I don’t need to drown in my sorrows like Bonnie over here.”
At that moment, Bonnie tips her drink back and takes a large gulp, leaving a mustache of froth along her upper lip.
With a smirk, I hop off the chair and go up to the bar, where Hamish is filling up a pint. I’ve known the man since I was a wee lad. Younger than my father but older than me, he took over Fergie’s Castle when his father retired and handed over the establishment. Now Hamish and his wife take care of the place, keeping the menu simple every day and the locals happy with never-ending drinks.
“Three orders of fish, a Wolf for me, and a water.”
He nods at me and starts pouring. He spots the girls over my shoulder, and his eyes widen in interest. “The Americans?”
“Aye.”
“Leith and Lachlan called it.”
“Called what?” I ask.
He hands me my beer and works on the water. “That you wouldn’t be able to stay away.”
“Their plumbing wasn’t working. What was I supposed to do? Not answer the call?”
“Nay, you help.” He hands me the water. “But eatin’ with the lasses, now, that wasn’t necessary.” He winks and flashes a knowing smile as he turns away. “I’ll put in your order.”
Ignoring him, I head back to the table and hand Dakota her water, debating if I should sit down or not. It would be weird if I didn’t at this point. Hamish had a point, though: I didn’t have to join them, but I wanted to see how many of Bonnie’s buttons I could push.
“Thank you,” Dakota says, holding up her water and taking a drink. She eyes my beer. “What did you get?”
“The Wolf.” I take a sip and let the malty flavors sit on my tongue. “It’s going to be really good with the fish and chips.”
“Isn’t that what you got?” Dakota asks Bonnie.
“Aye, ’tis the name that caught me wee eye,” Bonnie replies in an over-the-top Scottish accent.
“Poor impersonation.”
“I don’t know, I thought it was pretty spot on.” She sips her beer, and for a second, I think I catch a humorous glint in her eye, but she looks away before I can assess it.
“Awright, me lad!” I hear Leith’s voice call out behind my back right before his hand lands on my shoulder.
Fucking great.
“Isla and I thought we’d find you here, but I didn’t think I’d see you with two lovely lasses.” Leaning to Bonnie and Dakota, he whispers, “The big guy is kind of a loner.”
Bonnie stretches out her hand immediately. “I’m Bonnie, and I can already tell we’re going to be best friends. Come sit right next to me.”
Leith takes her hand in his. “Leith, and it’s nice to meet you. This is me sister, Isla.” He takes a seat next to Bonnie, who looks far too happy, and Isla sits next to me. I can see she’s feeling shy, from the way she leans a little closer to me and hunches her shoulders.
So I decide to do the intros for her. “Isla, this is Bonnie and Dakota. They’re both watching over the coffee house while my parents are on holibags.”
She smiles. “Nice to meet you.” When she makes eye contact with Dakota, they both quickly turn to their respective drinks and bring them to their mouths.
“So, Leith, tell me all the dirty details about Rowan.” Bonnie jabs a thumb toward me. “How do you know each other?”
“Best mates since we were wee lads,” Leith says. He smirks at me, and I know that grin. He’s about to take the piss out of me like any other good friend would. Though taking the piss can go both ways, and I have way more dirt on him.
“Oh, so you know a lot. Has he always been this grumpy?”
“Aye.” He points his fingers at my brow. “See that crinkle between his eyes? It’s been there since he was five.”
“Don’t let him fool you.” Isla speaks up, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Rowan might be grumpy, but he has a heart of gold.”
“Is that so?” Bonnie asks. “I have yet to see this heart of gold.”
“Nay, you saw it when I picked you up by your breeks and hauled you into the cottage.”
“You tossed me on the floor.”
“Where’s this story going?” Leith asks, rubbing his hands together.
“The numpty thought she could get water out of the well, but instead she summoned a wave of bats. I arrived just as they were—Bonnie, how did you put it? Trying to suck her blood?”
“They were. I felt fangs.”
I roll my eyes. “I took care of it.”
“Tossed me around like a wet rag.”
“You’re welcome.” I tip my beer in her direction.
Leith looks between us. “Is it just me, or am I sensing some sexual tension between the two of you?”
“Nope”—Dakota raises a hand—“I’ve been feeling it for the past two hours.”
Isla smiles over at her. “I feel it too. It’s practically bouncing off them.”
With a sly grin, Bonnie tilts her head to the side. “Do you find me attractive, Kilty?”
Without skipping a beat, I say, “If I found the Loch Ness Monster attractive, then yes.”
Bonnie’s eyes narrow.
Leith claps his hands and laughs, while Dakota and Isla both chuckle and sip their drinks.
“Well, in case you were wondering, you’re pretty revolting yourself,” she snaps.
“I wasn’t wondering,” I say, only pissing her off even more, though I couldn’t really care less what she thinks.
“So far, what have been the biggest culture shocks for you?” Isla asks Dakota and Bonnie, though she’s really looking at Dakota.
Among the five of us, we’ve all split three large plates of fish and chips while the band’s been striking up a folksy tune in the back of the pub, setting the mood. And hell, I’m in a good mood. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m on my fourth beer, the fiddle is upbeat in the background, or I’m surrounded by friends, but I’m having a hell of a time. It has nothing to do with the blonde sitting across from me and the way she’s poking her fingers in the air in a dance move she claims is all-American, or how she swapped seats with Dakota when Leith was asking about graphic design, so now I can smell her flowery scent as she sits right next to me.
None of that.
Nope.
It’s the beer.
Most definitely the beer.
Her shoulder sways against mine, and I swallow hard as I catch a whiff of her shampoo.
God, it smells amazing.
“Biggest culture shock?” Dakota asks, nursing a beer now, her glass of water long forgotten. “Probably nothing being open. We’re so used to having everything at the tips of our fingers. Stores are open twenty-four seven, food delivery is always available, and in LA there are so many different food choices that it’s hard to make a decision.”
“That and the daylight,” Bonnie says, swaying to the music now. “I was not expecting it to be so sunny all the time. Four in the morning felt like nine.”
“Our summer days are long, but it’s nice, since we all shut down at five—at least most of us,” Isla says. “We get to enjoy the summer weather.”
“Are there any hiking trails around here?”
“Lots,” Leith answers. “Plenty of outdoor activities. Sunday, when everything is closed, we can plan a hike up to Corsekelly Castle. It’s half in ruins, but it’s a great place for a picnic.”
“We love it up there,” Isla adds.
“Up where?” I hear Lachlan say as he comes up to the table and stands behind Leith.
Bonnie grips my arm and sways. “Holy shit, how many beers have I had?” She blinks. “Is anyone else seeing two Leiths?”
“’Tis my twin brother, Lachlan,” Leith says, laughing.
“Two of you?” Bonnie looks me up and down. “Are there two of you? Is the other one nicer?”
“Just one.” I sip my beer. “You wouldn’t be able to handle two of me.”
“Aye, this must be Bonnie and Dakota,” Lachlan says, grinning. “I can already tell Rowan’s smitten with Bonnie.”
Jesus Christ.
“I recall him comparing my attraction level to the Loch Ness Monster,” Bonnie says. “I don’t think ‘smitten’ is the right word.”
“That’s Rowan for ya—truly knows the way to a lass’s heart.”
Fucking bawbag, doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.
I stand from the table and push my stool in. “Off to the cludgie.”
Without another word, I walk toward the back of the pub and pass some of the locals, who give me nods, and straight to the back, where the stall is vacant. I make quick work of relieving myself and wash my hands. By the time I exit, I catch Lachlan dancing near the band with Bonnie.
I pause for a moment, taking her in. Her long blonde hair flies about her shoulders, released from her hair band about an hour ago. Music from our local band fills the small confines of the pub, the fiddle taking center stage. Her contagious smile stretches from ear to ear as she shakes with the beat, using those pointy fingers to guide her movements.
She looks happy.
Relaxed . . .
Everything I’m not as I stand here staring at her, realizing very quickly that the girl in front of me is catching my attention.
Hell, not just catching my attention, but making me think stupid things like What do her lips taste like?
She gives Lachlan’s chest a playful push, and they both laugh. He takes her hands in his, spinning her around the floor. All eyes are on them, and if I didn’t know any better, I would say Lachlan is trying to goad me with the smirk he shoots my way when he’s done spinning her.
Well, it’s not going to work.
Not interested.
But even as I think that, jealousy pricks at the back of my neck.
Jealousy of what, though?
That they’re having a good time?
Or that Lachlan has his hands all over Bonnie and I don’t?
Either way, it shouldn’t matter—this is my opportunity to leave.
I head toward the table just as Bonnie is flung in my direction, spinning away from Lachlan, laughter falling past her lips. She twists and trips toward the ground. Dread fills me as she flails her arms, still laughing, and on instinct, I reach out, catching her right before her head hits a table.
Light in my arms, she looks up at me in surprise, and then the maddest thing happens.
She smiles at me.
And before I know it, she’s straightening up and taking my hands in hers and pulling me toward the dance floor.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my body feeling as stiff as a board.
“Dancing. Don’t you dance, Kilty?”
“No.”
“I don’t buy it.” Keeping my hand in hers, she coerces me into dancing by spinning under my arm and moving me back and forth.
I feel all eyes on me. Every local in the pub knows I’m so far out of my comfort zone that I’m surprised they’re not all pulling out their phones to record the rare sight of me on a dance floor.
“Bonnie, I don’t—”
She grips my hips, and my face burns as she sways them back and forth. “Sheesh, your pelvis is as hard as a rock. Are you hiding the real Boaby Stone in your pants?”
Move your hands a little bit more inward, and you’ll know exactly what hard is.
“Loosen up. Maybe that’s why you’re always so grumpy—you’re not loose. You’d think with some beer in your system, you’d be more willing to shake your booty.” She turns me to the side and pokes me just as I move to the side, and she accidentally pokes me directly on the arse. “Oh dear Lord, I poked your behind.” Laughing, she cups her mouth and says, “Pardon me, dear sir, but . . . did it at least make things come to life?”
Annnd, she’s sloshed.
There is no way in hell sober Bonnie would be asking me if things were “coming to life,” let alone dancing with me.
Bending down, I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.
“What the—put me down at once. I demand it!”
“Your time here is up,” I say, bringing her to the table, where Dakota’s just finished paying the bill.
“You aren’t the boss of me. I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions.”
Dakota quickly says goodbye to everyone before following me out the door.
“Dakota, tell this Highland beast to put me down at once.”
“It’s time for bed, Bonnie,” Dakota says, and I’m grateful she’s on the same page as me.
“I was just starting to have fun,” she whines.
“You were poking Rowan’s ass.”
“Accidentally,” she complains, still draped over my shoulder as I trudge down the road, the sun finally starting to set in the west. She’s not heavy, but I’m still grateful Fergie’s is close to the coffee shop, and we’re soon turning down the gravel driveway. “You saw the way he was dancing. There was no sway in his hips at all. I was simply waking them up.”
“You’re going to be hurting tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep,” Dakota says. “We can’t be late again.”
I pause. “Och, do you want me to drop you off on your sleeping rocks to pass out? Seems like you sleep well there.”
“You’re an asshole,” Bonnie mutters while Dakota chuckles.
That puts a smile on my face.
I pull my shirt over my head and toss it into the hamper. Slipping my boots off, I tuck them away where they belong and then remove my socks. As I walk out of my bedroom, I take one quick glance in the mirror and notice how rumpled my hair is.
It wasn’t from me pushing my hand through it.
No, it was a little gift from Bonnie. Once it became clear I wouldn’t put her down until she was in her bed, she decided she’d mess with my hair, sticking it on all ends.
“Take that and that and that,” she said, over and over again while digging her fingers through the thick strands.
Hell, it felt fucking good.
She thought she was annoying me, but in reality I was hoping she’d keep doing it. And that’s how I knew I might be a bit sloshed too.
I walk into my kitchen, grab the glass that I keep next to the sink, fill it up with some tap water, and guzzle it down, only to fill it up again.
Too wired to even consider going to sleep, I push through my front door, the evening air putting life into my chest while I walk over to my shed. Crickets chirp in the distance, and my front door light illuminates my path as my bare feet close the distance.
Slowly, I unlock the shed door and slide it open. I flip on the light I installed a few months ago when I realized I do my best work at night.
My small but comforting space comes to life from the overhanging light, instantly relaxing me. Shelves of drying projects, half-glazed pots, and finished products line the walls. My kiln, which I replaced last year after my first one broke down, sits in the corner. And then there’s my wheel, my place of solace.
It’s been a long fucking day of repairing things here and there before giving my parents a quick send-off. I didn’t get much more than a hug from my maw and a grunt from my da. After that, I helped some of our older residents with menial tasks, and then, of course, assisted Bonnie and Dakota. I’m exhausted but exhilarated at the same time.
I take a seat, set my glass down, dip my hands in water, and then grab a chunk of clay. I set it on the potter’s wheel in front of me, where I spiral wedge it, letting out the air bubbles. The feel of the clay beneath my fingers soothes my busy soul, giving me the chance to clear my mind and just breathe. I turn on the wheel and slowly start to move my hands over the clay. Normally I listen to music while throwing, but the sounds of the night filter through my shed instead, and I get lost.
My annoyance at my parents and their evasiveness washes away.
The irritation of doing a job I hate, to appease my duty-driven father, disappears.
The anguish of not living the life I want slowly vanishes.
The horror of my past fades.
All that’s left are my hands and my clay . . . and Bonnie.
Fuck.
Those eyes, that attitude, that smile.
I dip my fingers into the center of the clay, forming a hole.
Her brazenness, her quick wit, her eagerness to dance with me.
My teeth pull on the corner of my mouth as I round the clay back together.
She’s proud, like me. Defensive like me. Stubborn . . . like me.
I press my thumb down, savoring the feel of the clay gliding under my skin and forming another bowl shape.
I think I might have met my match—and she’s wrapped up in a tiny, feisty, all-American package.