Chapter 3
Chapter Three
T his whole trip was doomed from the start, and Grace knew it. She had known when her agent and editor conference-called her to demand an update on her manuscript the day after she won the trip, but she’d ignored her intuition. She had known it when Rebecca backed out at the last minute because her husband didn’t want her to go, but Grace had pretended it was no big deal and invited Wes instead. There had been red flag after red flag, if one believed in signs from the universe. Grace had ignored them all, and now she was being punished.
She tried not to eavesdrop while Mr . Bee Tattoo hashed things out with their B & B host, but her mind was always doing too many things at once. It was a blessing and a curse. Even when she turned around and saw her brother’s old bestie, Teàrlach Buchanan , of all people, some part of her brain was still listening to their hushed argument, panicking that she and Wes would be put straight back onto the plane.
Would the airport refund their bag storage fee if Teàrlach returned them to Glasgow tonight?
Had she known he was a pilot when they met at Diego’s wedding nine years ago? Was that why they’d sat in the back corner of the ballroom at some rich guy’s mansion, sipping virgin mojitos and making snarky comments about the bridal party all night? As outsiders among the fashionable London set, they had certainly found each other to be kindred spirits, but what were the odds of running into him here?
“Don’t worry about a thing, Miss Rivera ,” Caitriona was saying as she drove along the beautiful island road. “ There’s plenty of room.”
“How many rooms, exactly?” Wesley asked cheerfully.
“Well. Just the two bedrooms. But Ryan’s related to half the island. We’ll sort it out.”
“We don’t want to inconvenience Ryan ,” Grace found herself saying.
The name didn’t really suit him. Ryans should be charismatic and fun. Like Ryan Gosling . Except Mr . Bee wasn’t exactly bringing the Kenergy .
“It’s no inconvenience. And it would serve him right, showing up here unannounced after all this time. Are you here for the festival?”
Wes chuckled. “ We absolutely love a good festival, don’t we Gray ?”
“I’m here to write a book.”
“I see,” Caitriona said with a tone that implied the very opposite. “ What sort of book? One of those travel diaries?” she asked, knitting her brow like she was worried about what sort of mention her B & B might receive given this whole scheduling kerfuffle.
“A young adult novel.”
“Like The Hunger Games ?” the woman asked, brightening, and this time Wes snorted.
“Slightly less sociopolitical.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place for inspiration. Our wee island is very romantic and full of all sorts. Especially just now. You’ll have to be sure and attend some of the special events while you’re here. Are you a writer too?” she asked Wes .
“No. I’m a frustrated interior designer on sabbatical from insurance at the moment.”
“I see,” Caitriona said again, sounding more confused than ever.
“I won this trip off the radio,” Grace explained. “ Six days and seven nights traveling around the whole of Scotland? —”
“Seven nights? I have you down for?—”
“Yes. I probably should have turned down the prize because my manuscript is massively overdue, but my friend convinced me to ask if I could stay in one place the whole time and work on my book. NPR agreed, and they saved so much money they extended our stay three extra weeks.”
“You’re a good friend,” Caitriona told Wesley .
“It’s true, I am. Not in this specific case, though. That was our friend Rebecca . She has the bad luck of being married to a raging narcissist. I’m simply the beneficiary of her bad luck.”
“I see…”
“Does it seem like all our friends are with narcissists?” Grace murmured.
“Are you married, Caitriona ?” Wes asked. “ To a narcissist?”
“Wes!”
“What? As a writer, you must appreciate the value of field research.”
“Americans have such a sense of humor,” Caitriona said sounding like she’d never heard so much nonsense in her life. “ Oh look, the seals have come out to welcome you.” She pointed to an inlet with a rocky beach just off the road, where dozens of seals were sunning themselves lazily on the sand.
“How fun,” Wes breathed, squinting vaguely in the right direction, still adamantly refusing to put on her glasses even for the sake of the seals. “ Are they friendly?”
“Uh…”
“No petting wild animals,” Grace warned her, glancing out the back window at Mr . Bee Tattoo , only to find him scowling out towards the seals himself. She’d clearly been right about his perma-scowl. Resting scowl-face. It suited him more than his name.
Soon they arrived at a cute little white-washed stone house on the edge of town. Mr . Bee Tattoo used those brawny forearms to lift the luggage out of the truck bed before Wesley and Grace had set foot on the pebbled driveway, more’s the pity. Now he stared at the house with glistening eyes like a soldier come home from the war.
“I know it’s not ideal,” he murmured. “ But you’ll be comfortable here.”
“It’s fine,” Grace said. “ So it was your grandfather’s?”
“Been in the family generations,” Caitriona explained. “ It’s one of the oldest modern structures on the island. We’re trying to get a plaque.”
“He would hate a… plaque,” her brother growled, spitting the word plaque with a mouthful of venom.
“Oldest modern ?” Wes repeated and he nodded curtly.
“There’s tumbledown church ruins that are older.”
“Can I walk to them?”
He assessed her. Wesley was fair and blonde, tall and lean, with a hearty build. She was often mistaken for a lacrosse player, though she’d never played any sports to Grace’s recollection, unless you counted the occasional round of frisbee golf in college.
“Aye, you could probably walk if you’ve a mind. But not today.” He looked up at the cloudless blue sky. “ It’s going to rain.”
“Back five minutes and he thinks he can predict the weather,” Caitriona grumbled, rolling her eyes and unlocking the red front door. “ Tell me, Ry , is it the rheumatism or your trick knee that gives it away?”
He glowered at her, gesturing Wes and Grace inside and holding out his hand for the key, which his sister reluctantly handed over before following them in.
“There’s live music on the beach every night during the festival, and a big ceilidh at the hall to finish it off,” she told them, offering Grace a flyer. “ You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“Something like, it helps Jack pay his bills?” Grace quipped, handing the flyer off to Wesley , and Mr . Bee’s lips twitched like he was actually fighting back a smile. The crooked expression made his green eyes sparkle in a rather arresting sort of way. Good lord. Absolutely not, Gray .
Caitriona led them through the little house, pointing out the single bathroom, awesome, and two small but tidy bedrooms.
“It’s very cute,” Wes whispered. “ We can share a room.”
“At least for one night. Maybe we’ll get lucky and somewhere will have a cancellation tomorrow. But I don’t want to bug you with my typing,” Grace warned.
Smiling, Wesley shook her head. “ I grew up in boarding school dorms. I think I can sleep through it.”
“Really? Is that why you and your friends rearranged all the keys on that poor girl’s keyboard?”
Wes snickered. “ No , that was because she told Tommy Perkins that Melissa wet the bed. Besides , I won’t be indoors much. I want to soak up every last sight I can.”
Grace squeezed her hand and turned to their landlords, who were hovering in the living room like a pair of displaced ghosts. “ Thanks for everything,” she said. “ Which room is yours, and which should we take?”
He visibly relaxed, though Caitriona began to splutter. “ Don’t be silly, he can?—”
“That one gets more light. For writing,” he said, nodding to the room on the left of the small bathroom. Grace nodded back, then she and Wes piled into the little room with their suitcases. It was fresh and bright, with cream-colored walls and an old braided rug on the stone floor. The bed looked old and simple, but the mattress was memory foam and covered with a cozy green-checked duvet. A sort of dressing table stood along one wall, drawers on either side, and a mirror with space to pull up a chair.
“We’ll take it,” she called over her shoulder. The only thing that would stop her from finishing this manuscript would be herself.
She laid her laptop bag on the makeshift desk and tucked her suitcase in a corner as Wes flopped onto the bed.
“Might get noisy,” Mr . Bee warned. “ I’ve a fair amount of work to do around here.”
“What work?” his sister demanded. “ We’ve taken care of everything—fresh paint, a new boiler.”
“No one asked you to,” he replied gruffly.
She huffed but seemed to bite back further retort. “ Will you come and have a meal with the family? Ma’s making lamb souvlaki and spanakopita.” Her grimace suggested this was a terrifying culinary departure for their mother.
“Not tonight.”
“When?”
“Later.”
“Well just… be sure to look in on her. Only let me warn her first so she doesn’t drop dead from the shock.”
“Aye,” he said, sounding utterly exhausted.
“You’re welcome round for tea too, of course, though I imagine you’ll be wanting to do your own thing,” Cait added to Grace and Wesley . “ You can walk to pretty well whatever you like. The Three Puffins is good if you want pie and karaoke. The Mustard Seed if you want something a bit more upscale.”
“Pie sounds divine,” Grace admitted, despite her insubstantial lunch.
Wes agreed, and then they all stood around awkwardly until Caitriona realized they were waiting for her to leave. “ Is there anything you need before I go?”
Grace shook her head.
“My number’s on the fridge if you do.”
“Thank you,” Grace and Wesley chorused.
“It was nice meeting you both,” Caitriona told them, reluctant to leave as though she thought her brother would toss them out and lock the door the moment her back was turned.
“Good night, Cait ,” he said.
With a sigh she plodded out the front, and they all three continued to stand awkwardly in the hallway staring at each other.
“We’ll try to find somewhere else ASAP ,” Grace assured him.
He shrugged. “ Stay as long as you like, Rivera ,” he said, and it shot a little thrill through her, whether he meant it or not.
“Are you sure we won’t be in the way?”
“You’ll definitely be in the way, but it’s not your fault. I won’t throw you out on your arse.”
The awkward silence grew as Grace tried to think what else to say. She should apologize for the airport. “ It’s Rios , actually,” she said instead. “ Caitriona got the sign wrong. Rios Rivera . Or just Rios .”
His cheeks burned beneath his beard. Grace had never really liked beards before, but the scruff suited him and his prickly demeanor.
“Want to go for a walk?” Wes asked brightly, to cut the tension, Grace suspected.
“All I want is a bath. Er , shower,” she amended, glancing towards the bathroom. There was no tub. What kind of B & B didn’t have a tub? She’d really been hoping for a long, hot soak to sort out her book problems. Honestly , it was a matter of public welfare. Sometimes a bubble bath was the only thing that kept her from getting stabby.
Wesley’s shoulders sagged.
“Maybe we could walk to dinner?” Grace suggested. “ Twenty minutes? Then we’ll explore?”
“Deal, but I’m timing you,” her friend said, glancing at a non-existent wristwatch.
So Wesley unpacked her one small suitcase like someone who was staying put for four whole weeks, while Grace scrounged up a clean pair of jeans and a hoodie. When she turned back around, Wes was checking the batteries on her favorite toy.
“You brought your vibrator on vacation?” Grace whisper-shouted.
“Hell yeah, I did. Vacation is for food and orgasms. If I was going to go without, I might as well have stayed home with Pierce .” Wes held out the vibrator. “ You can borrow him if you like. I call him Pablo , but he’ll be anyone you want him to be.”
Grace coughed on her own spit she inhaled so fast. “ Thanks . I’m good,” she exclaimed, rushing from the room and closing the door behind her, lest their landlord get embarrassed over Wesley’s toy. Not that there was anything to be embarrassed about, she wasn’t a prude. But he might be.
In the tiny bathroom, she spent a full five minutes staring dully at the faucet handle, trying to figure out how it worked.
She didn’t want to ask for help. She shouldn’t need to ask for help, for goodness’ sake, it was a faucet. She’d earned two master’s degrees and taught children life skills for a living, and he was a smug, self-righteous Scot with interesting forearms. If she asked for help, he’d probably lecture her on the evils of wasting water.
Ultimately, though, her desire to drown herself under a hot waterfall outweighed her pride, and she opened the door to find him seated on a barstool in the kitchen poring over his tablet.
“Can you?” she asked, losing her train of thought when he turned those green eyes on her. “ The water. Your faucet is weird and confusing.”
He stood and followed her back to the bathroom, glowering. “ It’s not weird. Let me just…” As he attempted to squeeze past her in the tiny space, his arm brushed lightly across her breasts and she squished herself against the door of a linen closet, its knob jabbing into her ribs. Why hadn’t she waited for him to go in first?
“Apologies,” he murmured as the back of his neck flushed and he fiddled with the faucet. “ It’s a wee bit temperamental, is all,” he said.
Grace wanted to retort, Not unlike its owner , but suddenly the lack of a window or any ventilation in the small room made her feel trapped. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t breathe. Why would she cram into a bathroom with a strange man? Not for nothing, the bath was her sanctuary. There was no place for men in her sanctuary. She’d feel better if she just stepped out into the hallway, but a dizziness overtook her, turning the edges of her vision black.
Finally, he got it running, and Grace had no idea how he’d done it, so she’d better enjoy this shower because she couldn’t bring herself to ask for help a second time.
Her host flicked the water off his hand and waved towards the faucet muttering something about how to adjust the heat. She blinked back the cloudiness and tried to focus on his words. Unable to maintain eye contact himself, he slid his gaze heavenward and pushed past her once more, shutting her inside the bathroom alone.
Grace gasped in a breath. Her skin was clammy. She wanted to lie down. What was wrong with her?
As a young college student, any boy with a mere hint of an accent— English , Irish , Australian … Cute or not, the accent alone would make her practically hyperventilate while her stomach did cartwheels and her face flushed ruby red. This wasn’t that. She was definitely not doing cartwheels over his accent. It was a lot more like fight or flight.
Still damned inconvenient though. She had work to do. First thing tomorrow, they would have to figure out a plan B .