Chapter 4
Chapter Four
A fter helping his guest with the tricky faucet, Bryan returned to his barstool perch, unable to concentrate on the business plan before him. She’d been pale as a ghost, and he half feared she might keel over right there in the shower. She must be exhausted and more stressed than she let on about the living arrangements.
He couldn’t blame her. Of course he’d never chuck them out with nowhere to go, but coming home, fixing the place up—it was a lot, even without the American Invasion . He ought to have climbed straight back aboard Teàrlach’s plane the moment he saw Cait standing there with her chauffeur sign.
Should it make him feel a smidge better knowing his sister had gotten her guest’s name wrong too? Of course not, but did it? Well . Bryan was only human, and it bound him to Grace in a strange sort of solidarity, whether she realized it or not.
Fate sure had a fickle sense of humor though. You accidentally insult one stranger in an airport, and suddenly you’re saddled with them as a house guest for the better part of a month.
On second thought, maybe it wasn’t a joke. Maybe Fate had his mother’s sense of justice. The same way she used to tie his and Cait’s wrists together with a bandana until they could stop fighting and work together, was Fate now shackling him to Grace until they could exist in the same space without sniping at each other?
They’d declared a truce, but how long would peace take when she instinctively knew just how to needle right under his windswept, freckled, clearly-not-so-thick-as-he-once-thought skin?
She had nice skin, he’d noticed. Figuratively no thicker than his own, given how easily he’d upset her, but her actual skin was flawless and dewy. Danger , Will Robinson , he reminded himself, taking a long drink of cool water to stop those kinds of thoughts in their tracks.
But then she scurried out of the loo wearing nothing but a towel and a messy pile of curly brown hair, and he couldn’t clear out of his own house fast enough.
He snatched up his tablet and left to meet Teàrlach at the pub, still choking on the water he’d been drinking. The pub might be loud and chaotic, but he would have zero peace knowing Grace was getting dressed on the other side of his guest room door.
* * *
The little Barra library was still open for the day when Bryan walked past. What possessed him to step inside for maybe the second time in his life, he couldn’t say, and he almost instantly regretted it.
“Ryan MacNeil . Heard you were back,” the librarian, Jenny , another Buchanan cousin, said warmly.
He grimaced at her greeting. “ News travels fast.”
“Well, now that our mothers can text instead of having to ring up after tea, none of us stand a chance.” She rolled her eyes ruefully. “ How can I help?”
“Ehh… I was looking for a novel by…” he stopped to think. “ Graciela Rios ?”
“Gracie Rios ? The young adult writer?” she asked, a little surprised, no doubt, hearing him ask for any book at all, let alone fiction for kids.
“You know her?”
“She won the Printz Award with her debut novel. I wouldn’t be much of a librarian if I didn’t,” she replied.
“Then you have it?”
“Checked out. It pretty well stays checked out. But I tell you what,” she said nodding at his tablet. “ If you download the app and give me a tick, I’ll buy a digital copy.”
“Don’t spend your budget on my account,” Bryan said, looking around at the book-filled shelves.
“Nonsense. If you’re back for good, you’re my responsibility too,” Jenny answered, tapping away on her keyboard. “ And honestly, I should’ve bought a digital copy ages ago.”
She handed him a library card, and he briefly wondered what name she’d registered him under.
“If the dyslexia still troubles you, it might be easier reading on the app, anyway. There’s a special font.”
Bryan stared at her. No one on knew about that, not his teachers or his parents. Not Grandad Mac . Or at least no one had ever mentioned it to him. Bryan hadn’t been officially tested or diagnosed, though he figured it out after leaving the island.
“How did you…?”
She grimaced. “ Sorry . Is it a secret?”
“No, no,” he said. “ The font will be grand.”
She smiled sympathetically, and Bryan fidgeted with the stupid spinner in his pocket while he joined the library’s Wi - Fi and waited for the app to download. Then he tucked the tablet into his jacket pocket and headed on to the pub.
* * *
The Three Puffins was more packed than Bryan remembered for a random weeknight, but then it would be, thanks to the festival.
Bàgh a’ Chiùil .
The Bay of Music festival wasn’t a thing when he was young. It had been his father’s brainchild sometime after he stopped representing Na h- Eileanan an Iar in Parliament , a way to lure more visitors to the Hebrides in general during pleasant summer weather, and to Barra in particular. According to Teàrlach it was a big hit, particularly with the American set. A real boon for the local economy. After all, who could resist the allure of Celtic music, ceilidh dancing, and a sun that hardly set?
It only galled Bryan because it was his father’s brainchild.
Attempting to leave that particular chip at the door, he shouldered his way through the crowd to a table in the back corner and slid onto the bench opposite his cousin’s wheelchair.
“Everyone settled?” Teàrlach asked, not trying very hard to disguise his amusement.
Bryan rolled his eyes. “ You knew Cait was renting it out?”
“Afraid not, mate. I’ve been preoccupied with other things.”
Relieved to hear his cousin wasn’t keeping family secrets from him, Bryan felt a bit crap for being so self-centered. He was about to ask what was on Teàrlach’s mind, but his cousin pivoted before he got the words out.
“Will you let them stay?” Teàrlach asked.
Bryan scoffed. “ What else can I do? Throw them out in the rain with only the clothes they arrived in?”
His cousin snickered, but damn if the notion didn’t conjure up a picture of Grace , damp from her shower and wrapped in only her towel— his towel, actually—as she hurried back to the guest room. She had a pattern of freckles on her left shoulder that looked like the Big Dipper , and he rather wished they could have used it in the Rionnagach whisky label design.
He tried to swallow, but his throat was tight and his trousers tighter. He shifted uncomfortably as a smirk spread across Teàrlach’s face. Then his cousin slid a large faux leather glasses case across the table. “ One of them left their specs on the plane.”
“Neither of them mentioned it.”
“Americans.” His cousin laughed as he shook his head, but Bryan wasn’t sure if he was actually laughing at the two women or at Bryan’s predicament of having to play host to them when all he really wanted was to be left alone.
“Not exactly the homecoming I was hoping for.”
“We did our best to take in the red carpet so you wouldn’t trip over it.”
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere long forgotten, and out of habit, Bryan fought to keep it contained. But Christ , he’d missed Teàrlach taking the piss.
“Anyone using this chair?” a voice asked, as another cousin emerged from the crowd. Eòghann —first in everything: first cousin, first hero, first person Bryan betrayed by running away from home.
Scrambling to his feet, Bryan stretched out an arm to his cousin, but then hesitated. Joining them for a pint might be a peace offering, a willingness to bury the past, but Eòghann might not be ready for more.
“Can’t believe you’re back, you rascal,” Eòghann said, shoving that worry aside and yanking Bryan into a bear hug. “ Can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming,” he added, shoving Bryan playfully away before calling to a nearby server for three meatless pies with mushy peas and three stout ales.
Thank Christ some things hadn’t changed. There might be a little grey scattered through his dirty-blond hair and beard, but from Eòghann’s all-black attire like a lifetime spent in mourning, to his Commes des Garcons Kyoto cologne with its teakwood and patchouli notes, this was the same Eòghann Bryan had left behind, and he was overwhelmed that after so many years away, his cousin still remembered he was vegetarian.
When he turned back around after placing their order, Bryan could swear his eyes held a slight sheen. Guilt stabbed once more, not regret over the time away, but everything that came with it.
“So… back for a visit or a bit longer?” Eòghann asked, careful not to sound too hopeful, not to apply any pressure. Not , Bryan thought, to make him bolt like a wee Scottish hare, back to the mainland.
“I’ve got… plans. Here .”
Eòghann smiled, genuinely pleased, and Bryan relaxed a little bit more.
“Well, what are they, lad?” he asked, looking between Bryan and Teàrlach . “ Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“Long-term, whisky.”
“Whisky?” Eòghann repeated, his grin growing broader, an intrigued smile, not a laughing-at- Bryan’s -ridiculous-notions one.
“Aye. Completely green, zero carbon.” He was nervous saying it, but Eòghann just nodded like it all sounded perfectly modern and reasonable, not a trace of hesitation over the memory of last time Bryan had tried to drag the island kicking and screaming into one of his eco-warrior schemes. At eleven, he’d believed he could save the world one side of beef or juice bottle at a time, but he hadn’t had the words to make the rest of them believe.
“It tracks, right?” Teàrlach asked, and Eòghann nodded his agreement.
“What about the short-term?” Eòghann asked.
Bryan took a deep breath. He twisted the spinner in his pocket and forced the words out like ripping off a plaster. “ Renovate the old cottage as a… proof of concept.”
Both of his cousins’ eyes went wide. “ Off the grid and all?”
Bryan nodded, realizing for the first time how desperately he needed his family’s approval of the plan.
Eòghann smiled slowly. “ The old man would’ve loved it.”
“You think?” he asked hopefully. It was true, Grandad Mac was the reason for his interest in sustainability. Well , Grandad and the Crocodile Hunter , but not having had the pleasure of meeting Steve Irwin , Bryan gave his grandad all the credit for encouraging him like no other.
A round of cheers erupted from the other side of the pub as karaoke started up, and suddenly, sitting with two of his best friends, surrounded by the sounds and smells of home, Bryan couldn’t remember ever feeling more content.
He didn’t deserve Eòghann . He truly didn’t. Maybe coming home hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.
A kid up on stage crooned a plaintive pop ballad, the meatless pie was cooked to savory perfection, and despite his inconvenient guests, everything felt somehow right.
“Shall we take bets?” Eòghann asked Teàrlach , grinning at Bryan in a way that made him tune nervously back into the conversation.
“On how long before he beds her? Hardly seems sporting.”
Bryan rolled his eyes. “ How’d you know about my guests?”
Eòghann laughed. “ That’s right. There’s two of them.” He waggled his eyebrows lasciviously at Teàrlach , who snorted into his ale.
“You’re both disgusting.”
“One of them’s more your type, Eògh ,” Teàrlach said. “ The other one though…”
“Why’d you keep looking so delighted about it?” Bryan asked. “ She’s completely?—”
“Careful,” Teàrlach warned, flicking his eyes to the door where the two American interlopers had just stepped inside, the brunette looking somehow sexy and comfortable all at the same time as they scanned the place for an empty table. It did things to Bryan’s stomach—unwanted things.
Eòghann turned to check them out and offered a low whistle. “ Hardly sporting,” he murmured.
“Arrogant,” the word finally came to the tip of Bryan’s tongue. “ Rude . Shhharp -tongued.”
Teàrlach tsked. “ Och , he’s considered her tongue. It’s worse than we thought.”
Suddenly, Bryan wished he had more food in front of him so he could enjoy the pleasure of throwing it at his cousins.
The two women squeezed onto one shared stool at the far end of the bar.
“Should we invite them over?” Eòghann asked, still staring.
“She’s far too American ,” Bryan went on. “ Also a little mean.” They didn’t need to know he liked her sharpness.
“One more word, sir, and I shall have to challenge you to a duel,” Teàrlach teased in mock outrage. “ You don’t know who she is, do you?”
“What do you mean?” Eòghann asked, tearing his eyes from the bar to look at Teàrlach , who grinned like a Cheshire cat. “ She the President’s daughter or something?”
“Better. She’s the sister of Diego Rios .”
Bryan’s mind went sort of blank, except for Grace’s dark, flashing eyes. It ’ s Rios , actually. Rios Rivera . Or just Rios .
“Our Diego ?” He asked it louder than he meant to.
Teàrlach nodded gleefully. I heard about your book. I ’ m so proud of you, Gracie .
Rios. Rivera .
“You met at the wedding?” The one Bryan didn’t have the bollocks to attend.
His cousin nodded again.
Christ . That was damned inconvenient. Bad enough to have an American staying with him, even worse to have trouble breathing around a tourist. He absolutely could not develop a schoolboy crush on his old friend’s little sister.
“Are you sure?” he asked, searching her out in the crowd once more, knowing without a doubt Teàrlach was right.
Eòghann looked from one to the other. “ Who’s Diego Rios ? Old boyfriend?”
Bryan rolled his eyes. “ Old footballer,” he muttered, feeling extra shitty for summing up a nearly fifteen-year friendship in two words.
Eòghann gave Teàrlach a look that said Bryan hadn’t answered the question.
“The American who played for Celtic ,” Teàrlach explained. “ And the only person with a crush on him was my little sister.”
“Och, little Eilidh . Bless ,” Eòghann said with a sympathetic frown and a hand to his chest.
“He’s back stateside now,” Teàrlach added with a hint of melancholy.
Bryan shook his head like that would somehow clear it.
The footballer had known Teàrlach first, before he was recruited to Celtic , but during the Glasgow years, the three of them had morphed into a new set of musketeers. Now with five thousand miles and several time zones between them, they mostly followed each other on seldom-used socials and exchanged annual birthday texts. But Bryan still kept up with Diego’s career, and he absolutely could not touch the man’s little sister. Not that he wanted to.
He slapped the table to punctuate that thought and drained the rest of his beer.
“Keep going like that, we’ll be sopping you off the karaoke stage,” Eòghann teased.
“I do feel like having a go,” he announced. It wasn’t true, but before they’d started teasing him about Grace , who he was absolutely, one hundred percent not interested in, he’d felt almost cheerful. Maybe it was only the stout talking, but perhaps a song could recapture that feeling. “ Reckon they’ve got any Donovan ?”
“Hell, sing it acapella if they haven’t,” Eòghann egged him on while he could swear Teàrlach slid a little lower in his chair, trying to hide from the impending embarrassment.
Standing up, Bryan rolled his neck and the server handed him another stout. “ Liquid courage, love,” she said with a wink, and he grimaced at her as he headed to the karaoke stage on the other side of the bar.