I can still feel the palpable silence in my parents’ house as we all ate together, the forks clanging on crockery plates, the heavy weight hovering above all of us, the unspoken truth of what’s really going on in our family. We’re falling apart. We’ve been falling apart for years, and no one is willing to step up and fix things.

  After this whole holibags shite, I’m sure as hell not.

  “Sour you’re not going with them?” Lachlan asks.

  “No,” I shoot back. “Irritated they didn’t tell me until the night before they were planning on leaving.” I look around the pub, making sure no one is paying our conversation any attention before I lower my voice. “Have you heard anything around town about my da’s health?”

  “No,” Lachlan answers.

  “Why?” Leith asks, turning serious. “You worried about him?”

  “Just doesn’t seem like his full self. He’s weak, frail looking. Maw says he’s on a diet, but I don’t buy it. He never walks around town anymore. God forbid he’d talk to me about it, though. The man would rather die puffing his chest than let me in on any fault he might have.”

  “He seems like he’s lost weight,” Lachlan says. “But I thought he was just eating healthier, like your maw said. Haven’t seen him in the pub at all, or at the Admiral.”

  Aye. Another warning sign.

  Da loves this town, loves everyone who lives here, and thrives off talking to as many locals as he can.

  I’m the exact opposite.

  “Christ,” I sigh just as Isla, Lachlan and Leith’s younger sister, steps up to the table. “Hey, Isla.”

  She hands out another round of drinks and takes a seat at the table with us. “Saw your maw today, Rowan. She told me all about the new lesbian in town.”

  Hell.

  Thank God Isla is smirking. My maw is blunt as fuck and has no boundaries to speak of. Makes living in a small town difficult.

  “Said I should go make her acquaintance. Ask her out on a date.”

  “One of the Americans is a lesbian?” Leith asks.

  “Yes, well, according to Finella. She said Dakota—that’s her name—is recovering from a bad breakup.”

  “How uncomfortable was that conversation?” I say, shaking my head.

  “Not as uncomfortable as the conversation we had after she found out I was gay. Progress.” She winks.

  “Is the other one a lesbian?” Leith asks, seeming far too eager at the prospect.

  “Bonnie,” I say, staring down at my glass. “Her name is Bonnie St. James.”

  The table falls silent as all three Murdachs stare me down.

  “Och, do we know this Bonnie?” Isla asks.

  I tip back my glass of whisky, though I barely let the liquid wet my lips. “Ran into her at the cottage.”

  “And . . . ?” Leith asks. “Care to elaborate?”

  I take another sip. “She tried to attack me with a broom but barely even tapped me. Tiny thing.”

  “Everyone is tiny compared to you,” Isla points out.

  “Thinking on asking her out?” Lachlan asks.

  “No,” I answer, and I mean it. Yeah, her eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and behind her angry, furrowed brow, I spotted the softest of smiles, but I have zero interest in getting involved with an American, let alone one who’s only here temporarily. “She’s running the coffee shop—I don’t foresee us crossing paths.”

  “Have you forgotten where you live?” Lachlan asks. “I’d be shocked if you don’t run into her at least once a day.”

  “Trust me. I stay out of this town’s way.”

  “Uh-huh.” Leith laughs. “Ten pounds says you see her first thing tomorrow morning.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BONNIE

  Cake consumed: Zero, and I’m going through withdrawal.

  New job: One—not what I want to do for life, but it will do for now.

  Days since last male-induced orgasm: Seventy-two, but my dreams were pretty naughty last night.

  Attractive but surly Scotsman: One, and he was unfortunately the star of my naughty dreams.

  Tasks: One—make cake today.

  “Is Scotland on the surface of the sun?” I lift my hands to my eyes. “Dakota, are we on the sun?” I shout.

  “I have coffee,” she calls, her voice traveling upstairs to my bedroom, which feels more like a loft since there is no door and the ceiling is slanted on either side, barely giving me enough room to stand.

  The prospect of caffeine gets me out of bed.

  Last night, after Dakota got home from going over all the details of the coffee shop with Finella, I told her all about Rowan and his rudeness.

  Was he cute? she asked.

  Did he have big muscles?

  Was he as strapping as Finella said he was?

  Pfft, barely, I told her. Sure, if you’re into the rugged Scot type.

  After Dakota filled me in on some details about our stay, we decided I would take the upstairs room. Dakota took the downstairs room. It has a little more space than mine, but that’s because she has to sleep on a twin bed, whereas I have a full.

  There is no doubt my eyes are bloodshot right now from exhaustion. I didn’t sleep too well last night, even though I attempted to go to bed early—I only found myself tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable in a strange bed, in a strange cottage, in a strange country.

  Might be feeling a hair homesick.

  I shield my eyes as I trudge down the stairs and head to the coffeepot. “Why is it so freaking bright—?” I pause, my eyes landing on the time on the coffee maker. “What the hell? Is it really four fifteen in the morning?”

  “Yup,” Dakota mumbles from one of the red couches.

  “What kind of game is the sun trying to pull right now?” I fill up a cup and swirl some sugar around in it.

  “Summer in Scotland means longer days. Didn’t you notice it was still light out when we went to sleep?”

  “I just assumed we were going to bed early.”

  “We went to bed at ten last night,” Dakota says, staring out the window.

  “What?” I groan. “Good God, where the hell did you take me? Accents, sheep stomach, water buckets for toilets, and endless sun. I don’t think my body is ready for this.”

  “It’ll get better, once we’re here for a bit. It’s just a bit of a culture shock at first.”

  “A bit?” I ask, sitting on the sofa across from her. “A Scotsman saw me in my towel yesterday and was unfazed when I pushed him with a broom. There is something fishy about the people out here.”

  “He’s probably thinking the same about Americans, since you tried to defend yourself with a broom.”

  “That’s not being weird—that’s being innovative.” I sip my coffee. “What the hell are we supposed to do for six hours before we open the coffee shop?”

  “Explore? Get some food?”

  “Uh, earth to Dakota, nothing opens up around here until nine.”

  “Oh yeah.” She scratches the side of her head. “Man, I forgot about that. Uh, we could go look at the Penis Stone.”

  “Ah yes, six a.m. adventures to go look at a penis stone—that’s exactly what I want to do.”

  “There’s food here—I saw some muffins in a cupboard. We can pack them up and go for a walk along the loch, have a picnic breakfast.”

  The internet is shoddy at best, there’s no TV in the cottage, and our only mode of entertainment is a bookshelf full of romance novels that I plan on tackling while I’m here, but my eyes are too busted for reading at the moment.

  So a picnic by the loch sounds like a plan.

  “Okay, let me go change.”

  “Yeah?” Dakota asks, looking surprised.

  “Yeah.” I nod and stand, taking another sip of my coffee.

  I head upstairs, where I unpack a pair of leggings and a long-sleeve shirt. I toss them on quickly before I put my long hair up into a messy bun—a look I’m sure I’ll adopt with the ever-changing weather. No use doing my hair if it’s just going to get rained on all the time. I slip on my workout shoes and then head downstairs, where Dakota is pouring our coffee into to-go cups.

  “Did you pack the muffins?” I ask.

  “Not yet. They’re in the cupboard above the fridge. I think there are some apples in the fridge too.”

  “Perfect.” Dakota brought her hiking backpack, so we load it up and head out the door into the crisp morning air.

  Calm greets us. The air doesn’t seem to shift, but it carries a fresh weight that seeps into my bones and wakes me faster than the coffee. Birdsong surrounds us as a light haze lifts off the ground and dewdrops cling to each blade of grass from last night’s rain.

  Peaceful.

  Serene.

  Exactly what I need.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, feeling like if I talk any louder I might wake the entire town, though we’re tucked away in our little grove of trees.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything like it,” Dakota whispers back. She reaches over, grabs my hand, and presses our palms together. “Thank you for coming with me, Bonnie.”

  Turning toward her, I match her grateful smile and pull her into a hug. “Thank you for drunkenly applying to the job for both of us.”

  She chuckles and pulls away. “From the look of it, we’re not going to have any problem with coffee.” We start down the gravel path as the sun peeks through the leaves, truly making this entire experience feel like a dream. “I did ask for help when it came to the currency here. Finella made a little chart for us so we understand the worth of each bill and coin.”

  “Oh crap, I totally forgot about money. Does it seem hard?”

  Dakota shakes her head. “Finella did a good job laying it all out. I can show you later.”

  “They leave today?”

  “Yeah,” Dakota says as we near town. “As we were saying goodbye yesterday, she said the shop was in our hands and she trusts us.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing, I guess.” As we hit Corsekelly Lane, we both look left, then right. The stone dwellings are quiet, the street empty. A complete ghost town. Not a soul awake besides us. A stark contrast with LA, where time doesn’t seem to stand still but moves past you at light speed.

  In front of us is Loch Duich, the sun glistening off miniscule ripples of water. Off in the distance are the pointy peaks of the Highlands, decorated in green and peppered with evergreens, the perfect view for a deathly-early morning.

  “Want to go down to the bank over there?” Dakota asks, pointing. “We can sit on the rocks so our butts don’t get wet from the grass.”

  “That’s a great idea. It’s so wet here—completely different from California. I’m going to have to remember that when walking around.”

  We find two flat rocks that sit right at the water’s edge and take a seat. Dakota divvies out our breakfast, and together we watch the water rippling in the sun, lapping just below our feet.

  We’re silent for a while, just enjoying our muffins and nature, until my mind starts to turn, reflecting on the last few years of my life.

  I was never the best student, and it wasn’t from a lack of trying. I just didn’t . . . get it. I never truly excelled in any topic, and I settled with solid Cs my entire high school career, which didn’t translate over into college.

  Higher academics weren’t looking for average.

  They were looking for someone like Dakota. Perfect grades. President of the art club and the chess club—quite the brainiac. The girl took online college classes during high school, for crying out loud. And funnily enough, she quickly realized college was going to be a waste of her time once she found a niche in the social media marketing community. She’s paid well, constantly has work flowing in, has built a phenomenal portfolio, and continues to grow.

  I was the one who wanted to go to college. My parents didn’t know that. They never knew about the applications, and I was sure to always grab the mail before them. I wanted it to be a surprise. To show them that even though they were constantly on me about getting my grades up, I could do things on my own and go to college, major in business, be my own event planner. But every time I picked up the mail, I was greeted with rejection after rejection.

  With every pass, every apology letter from a university, it became blatantly clear that my parents were right—I couldn’t do it.

  I had to get out of their house, away from their disappointed faces. Once again, I’d let them down.

  Los Angeles held promise, but I was still just average. Never truly excelling.

  “This isn’t how I expected things to go for us,” I say quietly.

  “You mean bouncing off to Scotland out of the blue?”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that, but I also wasn’t expecting to be put in a situation where bouncing off to Scotland was really my only chance at repairing myself.” I sigh and lean back on one hand as I tilt my head up to the sky. “I’m twenty-four and don’t have much to show for it. I was so sure I knew what I wanted to do. Move to Los Angeles, make connections, get into the party-planning scene . . .” What a joke that was. Three-time personal assistant with nothing to show for it besides knowing where every Starbucks is in Hollywood. Pathetic. “At least you know you’re good at graphic design—you can easily do that wherever you go. But I don’t really know who I am.” Tears well up in my eyes. My throat grows tight as hopelessness overtakes me, a dark cloud ready to pour down.

  “Your job doesn’t define you as a person, Bonnie.”

  “But it gives you purpose. I haven’t felt purpose in a while, not since . . . hell, I don’t think I’ve ever felt purpose. I haven’t felt genuinely needed. Even with Harry, he never truly needed me. And I know I didn’t need him, but that breakup was painful because it was another blow to my self-esteem, another thing that made me wonder if maybe . . . maybe I’m not important enough.”

  “Stop it,” Dakota says, reaching over and taking my hand. “You’re important to me. Ever since you helped me take down Tijuana and Theresa on the handball court.” I snort. “I’m serious, though, Bonnie. You are very important. I need you. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know how I would have made it through my breakup with Isabella. And even before that, you were . . . you are my other half. We complete each other, and you might not feel important, but you are vastly important to me.”

  And that does it to me. My tears spill over, and I let out a low sob. Dakota scoots closer as she wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes tight.

  “Do you realize how valuable you are to me?” Dakota asks as I try to gain control of my emotions. “Like I said, I never would have made it through my breakup with Isabella without you. You have been my confidante, my rock, my laughter, my entertainment. I don’t just choose you as a best friend because you’ve been in my life for what seems like forever—I choose you because I rely on you, because I need you . . . I always have.”

  And cue more tears.

  Damn it, Dakota.

  “You know I value our friendship, right?” I ask, wiping away my tears.

  “I know.”

  “It’s also gotten me through all the tough times, and I’m proud we’ve made it through all the ups and downs.”

  “But . . . ?” Dakota says with a chuckle.

  “It doesn’t feel like enough, and I don’t want that to sound mean—”

  “I understand what you’re trying to say. You need more in your life. There’s purpose behind our friendship, but you want that individual purpose too. You want to feel like you’re accomplishing something.”

  “Exactly. And I have no idea what that is. I thought moving to Los Angeles and working closely with celebrities would spark something within me, but looking back over those years, nothing grabbed me, nothing made me feel excited. And the personal-assistant jobs I had weren’t all mundane tasks—I did do some fun things, but those small moments never amounted to what I thought I wanted to do.”

  “Event planning?” Dakota asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, even thinking about it now . . . do I really want to throw parties? Or was I just good at attending them in high school?”

  “You were the life of the party,” Dakota says with a smirk when I glance at her.

  “And look where that got me.” I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my shins. “By now, people our age at least have a direction they want to take their life. I’m still lost.”

  “Not true. They might have adult jobs and degrees, but a lot of people our age aren’t really doing what they want to do. They’re working to pay the bills. You have a unique opportunity to truly reflect and figure out who you want to become.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” I say. “My self-worth is pretty low. I know I’ve tried to laugh everything off, make jokes about my situation, but after just a day here, I already see that our fast-paced life was a distraction. We’re surrounded by peace and beauty, and all it’s doing is bringing all my fears to the forefront of my mind. What if I truly never amount to anything? What if I never live up to my full potential?”

  Dakota shifts on her rock while picking a piece of lint off her pants. She’s taking her time responding. Dakota is always thoughtful and insightful. She doesn’t spew nonsense, and when she has to be real with me, she is. There is no fluff in our friendship, just pure love for each other, and honesty.

  “What would you define as a successful life? Does a job really matter that much to you? Is that how you think you’re going to find purpose?”

  “It will give me something to strive for, something to challenge me.”

  She slowly nods. “You know, sometimes I think we get caught up in the idea that our jobs make or break us as humans, when that’s not the case at all. A job is a means to make money and provide for yourself. I think it’s the relationships we cultivate, the energy we put out into the world, that define us. You could be a billionaire with all the riches in the world, but that wouldn’t mean your life was truly rich. I think we’re both lucky, because we have each other—a true friendship that has stood the test of time, especially through the teenager hormone years.” We both chuckle. “We’re an example of women lifting each other up, and to me, that’s powerful.”