8
8
Juniper
Fiona: Why aren’t you returning my calls?
Juniper: Because I’m working.
Juniper: I thought the ship had an open bar.
If you can dial you aren’t drinking enough!
Callum whipped around so quickly, he almost lost his balance on the trio of steps.
I might have enjoyed unsettling him a lot more had he not looked like …
that . I glimpsed him in his work scrubs more than any other clothing.
Usually from a distance in the village or climbing into his car when I let my eyes drift over the invisible “do not cross” line I’d erected when he’d moved in next door.
It wasn’t a sight I’d ever grown accustomed to.
The lamp above the door backlit him from behind, glowing like a warm halo around his upper body.
He gripped a bag in one hand, his phone still to his ear with the other, making his bicep bulge obscenely.
Veterinarian Ken in the flesh.
He had to buy them a size too small, that’s the only reason it would strain that way.
I should have found it ridiculous.
I did find it ridiculous.
And yet there I was, drooling over him like every other foolish woman in Kinleith.
His uninvited appearance was both an annoyance and thrill which just further pissed me off.
Lowering the phone, he took the image of me in my pajamas in.
“Were you in bed?”
“Yes.” I pulled at the thick cardigan I’d quickly thrown over the top.
“It’s eight fifteen.”
“There isn’t exactly a buzzing nightlife scene around here.”
His eyes were all over me.
My face, my throat, lingering where my pyjama shorts moulded to my thighs in the brisk wind.
My long legs shone like icicles in the moonlight.
The shorts were … short.
Then again, I’d been tucked away in my cottage for the night, I hadn’t exactly planned on setting foot outside.
“Cute,” he finally decided, as if I’d been waiting with bated breath for his opinion.
I rolled my eyes but continued as though we hadn’t been interrupted by this little eye-fucking interlude, “I’ll pay you.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“That’s not how this works.” If I agreed to this, I needed clear boundaries.
This was nothing more than a business exchange.
The only option available to me.
“It is if you want my help.” He came down a step, the wind ruffling the silver-streaked strands of his hair.
“Macabe—”
“I don’t want it, spend it on other repairs.”
I bristled.
“I don’t need charity.”
“A favour isn’t charity.”
There it is .
“You mean I’d owe you?” The prospect was grotesque.
“If you like.” He shrugged too casually.
“I’m not having sex with you!”
He laughed, deep and throaty and, despite my words, I knew this was exactly the way he’d look in bed, head thrown back as pleasure tore through him.
I tried to picture his own space, his bed , it would be all straight lines and masculine shades of grey and green, like the peaks and glens he loved.
“You think I’m doing this to have sex with you? Harpy, if sex was all I wanted, trust me, I could have it with a lot less effort.”
My stomach whooshed.
“You throw stories of your prowess around an awful lot, I’m starting to think it’s all talk as I never actually see you with anyone.”
“Someone’s been paying attention.” He winked and I wanted to jab his eye out.
This was never, ever going to work.
My hands curled into tight balls, ready to tell him just that but, in true Callum Macabe fashion, his stream of chatter didn’t halt.
The man could be six feet below water and still find a way to steal the conversation.
One of the most obvious differences between him and Alistair, Callum didn’t simply speak, he performed.
A born storyteller. When passionate, his eyes dazzled and he embellished with his hands like a conductor leading a symphony, making it all the more impossible not to get drawn in.
“In fact, you’d be the one standing to gain from such an agreement. I —” Hands pressed to his chest. “Would be working for free, while you’d get the pleasure of using my body however you see fit.” Using my body – it hardly took a genius to understand the innuendo.
A traitorous lick of heat curled through my stomach at the memory of that night.
Glasgow. My underwear spread over his thigh.
Just sex , I reminded myself.
What you’re craving is good sex .
Not him .
“You really love to hear yourself talk,” I finally said.
“Some consider conversation a forgotten art form.”
I couldn’t contain my snort, he just looked so …
pleased with himself.
“Yeah, but you’re more like modern art, a placard is required to make sense of the point you’re trying to make.”
Another laugh, this one puffing a white cloud into the air between us.
We were still standing in the carpark, I suddenly noted.
It became all too easy to lose time when he was purposely irritating.
“All right, smart arse, are you going to show me the damage?”
“Now?”
He shifted his bag until the contents clinked.
“No time like the present.”
“Fine … but be quiet, I don’t need any more complaints.” Skirting around him, I held the door open while he followed me into the porch.
“You don’t live here?” he asked, the tread of his boots skimming my heels.
“No. I stay in the cottage around the back.” I pointed to the stone path I’d just traversed around the side of the inn.
“I prefer my own space.”
“Sounds like a good set-up.”
I glanced back, feeling his gaze like warm sunshine on the back of my neck, a few degrees past comfortable.
Was this his attempt at chit-chat?
Our eyes locked, my mouth dried, I glanced away.
This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.
“Hey, Ada,” I greeted.
Her head popped up over the large monitor, square glasses slipping down her nose.
“Can I have the key for room five? Mr Macabe is going to inspect the damage upstairs.”
“ Mr Macabe .” Callum snickered at a volume only I could hear.
“Thank god! Are you here to rescue us?” Ada’s palms pressed in a prayer.
Her smile, all teeth and dimples as though the King himself had dropped by for tea.
“Of course. Juney’s placing you in capable hands.” Callum’s shoulder bumped mine, like we were a team.
“Can you fix the light above the desk too? It keeps blinking,” She pointed to the spotlight in question.
“It’s giving Juniper a headache.”
How the hell did she know that?
“It just started?” Callum frowned up at it, transforming effortlessly into fix-it mode.
“I can take care of that myself,” I said, before Callum could do something very on-brand and whip off his scrub shirt to reveal the Superman suit hidden beneath.
He’s just like you and I, folks.
Only better in every way.
“Could still just be drying out, but I’ll take a look.” He continued like I hadn’t spoken.
Ada looked ready to swoon.
“You Macabes are saints.” I put a finger in my mouth and made a gagging noise.
Callum’s sharp elbow met my ribs, but I didn’t feel the pain because Ada suddenly asked, “How’s your dad doing?” And all the warmth sucked right out of the room.
For one terrible heartbeat you could hear a pin drop.
Then he said, “You know how it is.” I didn’t actually .
“Good days and bad.” He turned to me, face flatter than I’d ever seen it.
“Shall we?” Utterly taken back by the change in him, I nodded like a scolded bobblehead and made for the stairs.
“Did Murray return your money?” he asked from the step below.
“This afternoon. I must be scarier than I thought.” I’d opened my banking app and the money was just sitting there.
“I didn’t even need to pay him a visit.”
“Truly terrifying.” His tone was dry.
We rounded onto the first-floor hallway, my flip-flops slapping obnoxiously off the herringbone, and I decided, to hell with it.
If he could be nosy, so could I.
“You don’t like talking about your dad?”
“Do you like talking about yours?”
Touché .
“That depends which one you’re talking about. I never met the first, but I think it’s fair to assume he was an arsehole.” I don’t know what possessed me to offer up that little tidbit.
Callum clearly didn’t know how to respond, because I unlocked the door and flipped on the light in silence.
I gestured him in ahead of me and he passed a smidge closer than strictly polite.
My cardigan snagged on his bag.
His bicep grazed my shoulder.
Electricity zapped. We both ignored it.
At least I did. His expression gave nothing away as it ran over the ruined wallpaper and stained panelling, pausing at the large bay window, as if he could see the tumbling green hills beyond, even in darkness.
The dehumidifier still whirred in the corner, and I absently stripped off my cardigan in the muggy air, hanging it on the back of the door while directing him to the bathroom.
My mind had time travelled to the last time I’d been alone with him like this.
It must have been the way his feet rooted in place while his eyes shadowed my every step, his pupils expanding until they all but swallowed the blue, because I knew he was recalling that night too.
Knew he also felt the giant fucking question mark hanging over our heads.
He eventually followed and hissed through his teeth.
Aesthetically, it resembled a crime scene.
Nail-ridden floorboards stacked haphazardly in the corner.
Missing pipes and cracked tiles.
I wrung my fingers as he performed a quick inspection, counting his every curse and disgusted headshake.
At nine, the it looks worse than it is hope I’d been clinging to withered and died.
“That bad?”
“Murray should have his licence revoked. The closet connection for the toilet is too small for code.” He grunted, crouching to get a better look at the U-shaped pipe.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means he’s a lazy shit. He’s got the rough-in wrong too, you need twelve inches between the toilet flange and the back wall. He doesn’t even have ten.” There was a dick joke in there somewhere.
“Toilet flange? Now you’re just making shit up.”
“Harpy, if I was going to spout nonsense it would be a damn sight more interesting than closet connections and toilet flanges. Unless that’s what works for you.” He pushed up from his knees and turned to me, a taunting smile on his lips.
“I could pop round later if you like, whisper naughty things in your ear, like … plumbing code.” His voice dropped sensually.
Sarcastically. A mockery of what it had been that night in his car.
“Cold water supply line.” He bit down on his lip.
“Flush bushing.”
I swallowed tightly.
“Can you fix it or not?”
His chin dipped, following the action.
“Aye, I can fix it.” Thanks to the high heating, we were both beginning to sweat.
“How long will it take?”
My question went unanswered, his attention shifting to the open notebook on the windowsill.
Instinct had me scrambling for it, but he was faster, the pages protesting in his grip as he held it above his head.
“What are these?”
I bit my lip, realising it was too late for me to lie.
“Nothing. Just a few sketches for the inn.” He flipped a page, and I lunged again, unaccustomed to being at a height disadvantage.
I pushed onto my tiptoes, my fingers scraped the ring binding, he lifted it higher, crushing our bodies together.
I’m talking my chin to his collarbone, my breasts to his ribs.
I could feel the scrape of his nipples through the thin material of our shirts, so he could definitely feel mine.
I couldn’t have given a shit.
“Give it back.”
“There’s at least a dozen in here.”
One for every room in Ivy House.
That notebook contained more than sketches, it contained my entire business model, starting with ways to make the inn eco-friendlier with a smart water irrigation system and solar panel installation and ended with my dream to turn Ivy House into one of Skye’s most sought-after wedding venues.
A pipe dream.
“Laugh at me all you want, just give it back.” I grabbed the edge and tugged, almost tearing the thing as it wrenched free.
He steadied me, a hand curling around my waist. His face so close I could see flecks of silver in his eyes.
He didn’t look happy.
“Why would I laugh?”
“Because …” It’s nothing.
I squeezed the book to my chest until I felt the pages crinkle.
“There isn’t a single achievable thing in this entire book.” He didn’t reply so I pushed us back on track.
“Can you fix it or not?”
“Aye.” He scratched at his thickly bristled cheek.
“A week or two, maybe, to put right Murray’s mess and get the new suite installed.”
“A few weeks?” That didn’t seem like long.
“How many rooms look like this?”
“Two. That’s all I could afford right now.” The words felt small.
Ready for mockery.
His lips didn’t so much as twitch.
“Why not apply for a business loan and renovate all the rooms at once?”
“It isn’t my business.” Fiona made it perfectly clear she wanted everything to stay the same.
I’d already fucked up by going this far.
He settled back against the wall, arms folding over his flat stomach.
“And let me guess. You just work here?” I could have sworn a muscle jumped in his jaw.
“Exactly.”
“ Right , well … I’ll help you.”
I knew I should, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to thank him, so I bobbed my chin in the semblance of a nod.
“Are we calling a truce?” he asked.
“Absolutely not.”
His smile came automatically, as though it were a test I’d passed with flying colours.
“Then I’ve thought of a way you can repay me.”
“No.”
That damn brow cocked, taking him from irritating to charmingly handsome.
I wanted to smooth my finger over it and hold it in place.
“I haven’t even told you yet.”
“I already know I’m going to hate—”
“You—”
“Just let me pay you.”
“—allow me to show you around Skye.”
I blinked.
Not sure I understood.
“I live here.”
“And you barely even venture into the village,” he said, straightening and coming closer.
“I heard the way you floundered with that guest the other night. Let me show you Skye, if you only work here , you should at least know what you’re talking about.”
“No—” Wait .
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He shrugged.
“It seems like a harmless trade.”
It was harmless.
It made no sense. “Why?”
“ Christ , Juniper.” He dropped his face into his palm.
“I’m not a storybook villain twirling my moustache and plotting ways to ruin you. I do actually have my own stuff going on. I’ve been busy over the summer and everything with my dad—” He broke off, running a hand down his face.
“Mum has been nagging me about dating.” He looked embarrassed yet I couldn’t find it within myself to take it easy on him.
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, Macabe.” His eyes narrowed and he flipped his middle finger.
Feeling like I’d scored a point in this little game, I pretended to study him.
“You’re not hideous to look at, once you look past the tech-bro, skintight T-shirt thing you have going on. Have you considered actually dating?”
I expected him to laugh and flip me off again or mess up my hair.
Instead, he glanced away, jaw pulsing.
“I’ll date when I want to. Not because my mother tells me to.”
“So, you won’t date but you’ll do … whatever the hell you’re proposing with me.”
“I just need her to think I’m taking time for myself, so she has one less thing to worry about. And hell, maybe she’s right. I love this island, somewhere over the past year … I’ve forgotten that. I could use the distraction, that’s it. I’m not going to tie your laces together and push you in the harbour.”
How quickly he humbled me.
Perhaps being an only child who’d spent her formative years in and out of foster care was the root cause, because I’d never quite grown out of the habit of making every situation about myself.
“Fine. But we need to set a limit, I can’t just disappear with you every weekend.”
He snorted.
“I’m bowled over by your enthusiasm. Six dates.”
“ Two . Don’t push it. These will be excursions, not dates. You could go with anyone; it doesn’t need to be me.”
He crept close enough to smell him.
Pine mixed with the kind of sweat that came from a day of hard work.
“Perhaps it’s because you’re the only woman in Kinleith, other than my sister and April, that doesn’t show a blind bit of interest in me.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Being humble won’t make it any less true. I can’t even have a drink with a woman without tongues wagging. And we got on … once.”
“Once being the operative word.”
“Five dates.”
“You’re bloody relentless.”
“Pretty much.” His shrug was accompanied by a boyish smile.
“Three.”
He scoffed.
“Don’t waste my time, harpy.”
“ Fuck . Four.” For Fiona I would do this.
“Four it is,” he said.
“And I get to choose the activity.”
“Fine.” What the hell was I agreeing to?
I wouldn’t put it past him to enjoy cliff jumping.
“Perfect.”
My chin rose, prepared to see this battle of wills through to the bitter end.
“Great.”
“ Sublime .” Before I could blink his fingers stole out and snatched the notebook.
Tucking it away in his pocket.
“I’ll look over your sketches too.”
I scrambled for a way to get it back when his phone rang.
I knew this because he had his phone on loud with an actual ringtone.
The blaring alarm ringtone that should have been outlawed in the Stone Age.
His entire demeanour changed.
Tensing, he fumbled in his pocket.
“Mum, everything okay?” He spoke to her, but his eyes were on me. “I’m on my way.”