What an ass.

  As if I would feel bad now.

  Oh no . . . he’d better watch out because I very well might kiss him again. Except this time, I’ll use tongue.

  “Was the Penis Stone everything you imagined?”

  “Boaby Stone,” Meredith, a tourist in a bright-green shirt that reads MAKING SCOTLAND MY BITCH, says.

  “Ah, yes, sorry. The slang word around here is ‘penis.’” Not true at all, but whatever. She’s from the States—she doesn’t know any better. “So, the Boaby Stone, was it everything you dreamed of?”

  We’re standing outside the entrance to the Boaby Stone cave, a pack of tourists filtering in and out, either completely satisfied or vastly disappointed by the sight before them. I’ve spent all morning pulling tourists to the side before they hop back on their buses to conduct a little survey I put together.

  “It was beautiful. I really felt the Iron Crowns energy in there, and I swear I could hear Sir Armaden’s screams when his penis was cut off.”

  Oh-kay, not a real thing that happened, lady, but whatever. She’s making Scotland her bitch, so I’m going with it.

  “Fascinating.” I pretend to write something down. “Did you take a picture in front of it?”

  “Oh yes. I’m here with a group of my friends, and we pretended to chop each other’s boobs off.”

  How . . . pleasant.

  “You guys are a gas,” I say, pushing her arm playfully. “Wish I got in on that action.”

  “We can go back if you want. Add you to the group picture.”

  “Oh no, no, that’s okay. You don’t want a stranger in those memories, anyway.” I clear my throat and add, “Did you get a chance to walk through town? Corsekelly is quite lovely.”

  “We did,” she says. “We petted Fergus and took a few pictures with him.”

  “Did he scream for you?” I ask.

  “No, does he do that?”

  “I guess only for the lucky souls,” I answer. Even though Fergus and I have started a little love affair, he still screams to make himself known. Not sure I’ll ever get over it. “So, did you visit any places of business?”

  “Stopped into the Mill Market for a boaby shirt and got a funny-looking candy. Curly Wurly—never heard of it.”

  “Oh, they’re good,” I say, knowing full well I have only one left. I purchased them as a bribery tool for Rowan, but somehow they ended up in my belly. Jury is still out on how that exactly happened.

  “Can’t wait to try them.”

  “So that’s it? No other places?”

  “Nope, that’s it.”

  “Uh-huh, no . . . coffee?”

  “Oh, well, we were craving some coffee, and this would be a great time for a pick-me-up, but from the reviews online, we knew this wasn’t the place to get it. So we’re waiting for two more stops.”

  “On-online?” I stutter, trying not to blow my cover.

  “Yes, the bus company has a forum for tourists where we can review places on the route and talk about all the musts to stop into. The Mill Market was one of them. So was Murdach’s Wee Bakeshop. My friend Kacee grabbed us some haggis pies for the road.” Meredith points to her chest. “Making Ireland our bitch.”

  “Scotland.”

  “What?” she asks.

  “Scotland.” I motion to her shirt. “You’re making Scotland your bitch.”

  “What did I say?”

  “Ireland.”

  “Ohh.” She laughs. “That’s next.”

  The bus driver honks the horn, and she looks back at her friends, who are waving for her to join them.

  “Well, I’d best be going.”

  “Yes, don’t want to miss out on any of the other stops. Thank you so much for your time. I really appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” She gives me an awkward high five and then takes off.

  I tap my pen against my chin as I watch the bus pull away. Once it’s out of sight, I make a beeline for the coffee shop.

  I need to see this online forum.

  “Not worth your time. Barely any seating, coffee leaves much to be desired. Nice owners, but horrible selection, there is none at all. What’s with the chairs? Were they made in the 1800s? I was served a hot chocolate packet, and I had to stir it on my own.” I look up from Dakota’s computer. “These are all comments on the tour bus forum, clear as day, right under the Corsekelly stop. No wonder no one comes in here. And this is just one tour bus company. How many others do you think are like this?”

  Dakota is sitting in the chair across from me, legs crossed. “Uh-huh.” She stares off into the distance.

  “Hello,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of her face. “Did you hear me? These reviews are awful.”

  “What? Oh yeah, they’re bad. Totally killing business.”

  “Were you even paying attention?”

  “For the first ten minutes of reviews, I was.”

  “Dakota, what the hell? You’ve been drifting off all freaking day. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she says, her cheeks reddening.

  “Uh . . . I don’t buy it.”

  I look over at the coffee counter and notice a familiar box. My head snaps back to her. “Oh my God, you went to the bakeshop again.”

  “You were out of shortbread.”

  “Because I have no ability to control myself, which means you need to be the one cutting me off, not feeding into the madness.”

  “I’m a good friend.”

  “No, you’re using me as an excuse to go see Isla.”

  She grins. “Maybe.”

  I push the computer away and fold my arms over my chest. “Okay, tell me what happened.”

  “Well, she said hi.”

  “Oh yes, wow. Be still my heart, a greeting,” I deadpan. Dakota flicks her pen at me in response.

  Chuckling, I say, “What else happened?”

  “We talked a little about the weather, simple things, and then, when I was leaving, she asked what I was doing Friday night.”

  “What?” I sit up. “Uh, this is something you should have told me the minute I walked into the coffee shop. She asked you out?”

  “You were all hyped up on the research you conducted—I was letting you have your moment.”

  “Moment had, now tell me about yours.”

  She’s smiling so hard that my cheeks actually hurt for her. “Well, it might be a little lame, but I consider it a step in the right direction. She asked what I was doing Friday, and when I said nothing, she said I should bring you and meet up at the pub, to hang out and have some drinks.”

  “Ohhh, she did ask you out.”

  “And you,” Dakota says, a little defeated.

  “I’m just a buffer for you. She did that to be nice.”

  “Maybe. So . . . will you go?”

  “Of course. I’m one hell of a wing-woman. I got you—boo.” I wink. “God, how exciting.”

  “Don’t make it a thing.”

  I give her a side-eye. “You should already know I’m going to make it a thing.”

  “I’m asking you, please . . . don’t make it a thing.”

  “But I love making it a thing.”

  “Please, Bonnie.”

  “Ugh,” I groan. “This is painful.”

  “Bonnie . . .”

  “Fine.” I lean back in my chair. “I won’t make it a thing.”

  “Thank you. So, about the reviews—”

  “Oh my God, you’re going on a date.” I clap my hands excitedly.

  Dakota puts her head in her hand. “You’re making it a thing . . .”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ROWAN

  Curly Wurlys consumed: Seven.

  Curly Wurlys left in stash: One.

  Awkward, unexpected kisses: One.

  Missed opportunity to kiss back: One.

  A certain blonde has pushed me to blowing through my stash quicker than I care for, and I’m not fucking happy about it. And she’s made me consider why I didn’t kiss her back. Maybe because she drives me insane? Maybe because I have no idea how I really feel about her? Maybe because I’m out of my mind with my parents, her, the changes that are happening at a rapid pace.

  Can’t blame a guy, right?

  “Rowan, are you there? It’s your mother.”

  “Yes, Maw. I know. I can see that from the caller ID.”

  “Well, I can barely hear you!” she yells into the phone.

  “Because you don’t have the phone on speaker,” I hear my da say.

  “I pressed the button.”

  “You didn’t press the button. It’s not lit up.”

  “How do you know it has to be lit up?” Maw asks.

  “That’s how the phone works. Press the button.”

  “I did.”

  “You clearly didn’t.”

  “Jesus Christ, just someone press the button!” I shout.

  “Fine, I’ll press the button again—oh look, it’s lit up.”

  “I told you, you bawbag,” Da says, making me chuckle.

  “You watch your tone, Stuart,” Maw snaps. “Or I won’t fetch you that cola like you asked.”

  “Sorry,” he mumbles.

  Da and his cola.

  “Rowan, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m still here,” I answer while kicking my feet up on my coffee table.

  “How are you?” Maw shouts, nearly breaking my eardrum.

  “You don’t have to shout, Maw, I can hear you just fine.”

  “Och, sorry.” She chuckles. “You’d think I’ve never used a phone before. How are you?”

  It’s rare when she does use a phone, though. If she wants to talk to someone, she usually just walks over to them. The only person she talks to on the phone is her sister, and that’s pretty much it.

  “I’m doing fine.” I twist my water bottle in hand, staring down at the fizz tablet that’s reacting to the water. “How’s holibags?”

  “Lovely, lovely. We had the most wonderful chicken today. I asked the waitress for the recipe, and she said they didn’t do that.”

  “Yeah, Maw.” I push my hand through my hair. “It’s not like the Admiral, where you can go up to Alasdair and ask him for his piecrust recipe.”

  “Well, it should be. We paid enough. You would think they’d allow you to take home the recipe.”

  “Where exactly are you?” I ask.

  “Oh now, now, none of that business.”

  “Don’t you think it’s well mad that you’re in another country and I don’t know about it? It’s not settling well with me, Maw. I’m worried, ye ken?”

  “You have nothing to worry about, Rowan. We’re safe.”

  Yeah, well, easy for her to say.

  I take a deep breath, trying not to grow frustrated with my parents and stress them out. “Given what’s happened in the past, I’d assume you would be more sensitive to me fretting about the well-being of my family members.”

  A sigh. “Rowan, I promise you, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?” I ask, sounding harsher than I wanted.

  “Just drop it, Rowan,” Da chimes in with his stern voice.

  And now that he’s spoken up, it’s done. But I don’t think it’s nothing to worry about. They’re not saying where they are. Da sounds weaker. Something is going on, and it’s really starting to concern me that they aren’t involving me in their lives.

  I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “Fine, but you’re being smart? Taking all precautions? You know how people can treat tourists, especially older ones. They take advantage.”

  “We’re not that old,” Maw scoffs. Old enough. “And yes, we’re being safe. Now, let’s talk about you. Shona was telling me how you’ve become familiar with Bonnie. She couldn’t remember who was who at first, but she described her as the long-haired blonde.”

  Fucking Shona.

  “I’m not familiar with Bonnie, whatever the hell that means.”

  “Well, that’s not what I’ve heard. Seems like you’ve been carrying her all around town. Going on hikes. Apparently, you appeared from the trees all muddy and wet. Care to explain? She assumed you two were rolling around together.”

  “Shona shouldn’t assume and just keep to herself. We were stuck in a rainstorm, got wet and muddy. That is all.”

  “You two danced together.”

  Jesus Christ, does she have a camera crew following me around?

  “You know, you don’t want to talk about where you are, and I don’t want to talk about Bonnie—got it?”

  “Watch your tone, lad,” Da cuts in again.

  “You know, I have to go. I have some things to do.” I stare down at my fizzy water.

  “Oh, okay, dear. Well, stay in touch, and make sure the lasses are taken care of. Anything they need, lend a helping hand.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “We love you, Rowan.”

  Exasperated, I blow out a low breath. “Love you too.”

  I hang up my phone and take a look at the time. Little past six thirty. I could use more than just an electrolyte water at this point. I could use an entire bucket of beer.

  I stand from the sofa, head to my bedroom, and pick out some fresh clothes before turning on the shower. I’m heading to the pub.

  Friday night at Fergie’s Castle is always packed, but Hamish opens up the doors and allows outdoor seating during the summer. Makes the space less crowded, and having a few pints with the loch lapping at the shore across the way is soothing.

  Because everyone is at the pub on Friday, I put on a nice pair of jeans and a simple white button-up shirt, making sure to roll the sleeves up to my elbows. I’ve styled my hair for once and am about to leave when I quickly spray a bit of cologne that I never wear. My friends might appreciate some cologne.

  This has nothing to do with possibly seeing Bonnie.

  Not even a little.

  When I make my way into town, I can already tell that Fergie’s has a little bit of a crowd, based on the noise emanating from the building. A few summers ago, Hamish spent a great deal of time working on the pub’s outdoor courtyard and repairing the stone wall that borders Loch Duich. He added planters that hold flowers during the summer and sprigs of spruce during the winter. He evenly spaced out picnic tables with large red umbrellas securely fastened in the middle, providing protection from what sun we do get. And then, toward the wall, he built a ladder ball court for those drunken nights when you think your ability to throw balls on a string is on point, when it’s really not. I suppress a smile at a few rowdier memories as I step onto the courtyard. To my surprise, a few picnic tables are still available.

  Excited to be able to sit outside and enjoy a pint, I’m making my way past the picnic tables—just as someone grabs my hand.

  “Rowan, you look nice.”

  I glance down to find Isla, looking nice as well in a summer dress, her red hair gathered high on her head in a ponytail.

  “Hey, Isla. You look good yourself. I didn’t even recognize you.”

  “Oh really? Am I that squirrely day to day?” She smirks at me.

  “You know what I mean.”

  She tugs on my hand. “Join me. I ordered a pitcher and two plates of nachos. They’re the special tonight, and you know I’m not going to pass up some nachos.”

  “Two plates’ worth?” I chuckle. “And a pitcher—you’re going to need someone to carry you home.”

  “No, it’s not all for me. I’m expecting company.”

  “Who . . . ?”

  “Hey, Isla.” I don’t have to turn around to know who just excitedly greeted her, but I do anyway. “Who’s your friend—?”

  Bonnie is standing next to Dakota, and they’re both dressed up as well and . . . hell, Bonnie, uh . . . fuck, she looks drop-dead gorgeous.

  Her long blonde hair is styled in waves and is pinned back half up, half down. Heavy black mascara highlights those mesmerizing eyes, and a light shade of pink paints her plump lips. And that dress. Hell. Light blue, it’s tight around her waist and breasts and flares out at her hips. Mouthwatering, that’s the only way to describe her.

  “Oh, Rowan.” She chuckles. “I didn’t recognize you in a button-up shirt.”

  “Should say the same about the dress,” I say, and her eyes narrow.

  “You both look really nice,” Isla says sweetly before clearing her throat and turning to Dakota. “I love your hair.”

  Dakota blushes. “Thank you. You look great too.”

  And oh my God, they’re on a date . . . with a third wheel.

  Bonnie is the dead giveaway—she’s stepped off to the side and is twiddling her fingers together in front of her chest, looking far too excited.

  We both stare at Dakota and Isla, who are staring at each other and smiling. I don’t know much about Dakota, but from what I’ve seen, she could be a good match for Isla. They’re both calm, thoughtful, and take good care of their friends.

  Hence the reason I’ve been asked to become this date’s fourth wheel.

  Normally I would quickly bow out and grab a pint to myself, sit on the stone wall, and stare out at the loch, but I have a feeling—from the way they’re staring at each other—that they’re going to want some alone time, but there is no way they would dingy Bonnie. They’re not that kind of people.

  So . . . looks like I’m on Bonnie patrol tonight. Great.

  “I ordered us the beer you two said you liked and some nachos. I hope that’s all right,” Isla says with a nervous smile.

  “I love nachos,” Bonnie says, taking a seat at the picnic table. Dakota sits next to her, and Isla takes a seat across from Dakota, which leaves me with sitting across from Bonnie.

  When I take a seat, Bonnie’s eyes widen.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Isla invited me.” I smirk.

  “I hope that’s okay,” Isla says, always the people pleaser. “I can kick him out right now, and he could get his own nachos.” I know she’s not serious, but I’d allow it if she was.

  “Please kick him—”

  “The more the merrier,” Dakota says, elbowing Bonnie.

  Just then Hamish delivers the beer and the nachos, something he never does, but then again, he’s always had a soft spot for Isla. Who doesn’t here? She owns a bakeshop, is incredibly sweet, and is always one of the first locals to volunteer to help out wherever it’s needed.