Chapter 15
Two days slid by. She read, slept, walked through the winding paths and along the hillsides, slowly learning her way around.
Her period was easing off, and she didn't want to waste a single second.
Euan had asked if she wanted a guide, but she had refused.
She didn't know why she trusted him, but somehow, she knew he wouldn't hurt her.
They'd sit together during lunch and dinner, conversation prickling back and forth—never easy, but never dull, either.
She could feel it when his interested gaze lingered, when their hands brushed as one passed the bread to the other.
A spark, a sizzle under the surface, one she should ignore as her life was a hot mess.
But he kept his distance, a deliberate space between them, as if he was waiting for a sign from her.
Bread, though, was a constant bone of contention. He had looked at her like she was off her rocker when she said she was avoiding bread to lose weight.
“What for? Are you trying to resemble a stick insect? Is this one of those fancy diets?”, he asked, looking utterly confused.
So, she had taken a slice, then two. By the third one Euan raised his bushy eyebrows a sneakily moved it closer to him.
On the third night, Euan reached for the breadbasket at the same time as Sage had. Their fingers brushed, just a fleeting touch, but she felt the spark shoot up her arm.
"You're hoarding it," he said, one thick eyebrow arched.
"I'm holding it," she shot back. "There's a difference. Besides, you take half the loaf every time."
He leaned back in his chair, mock-offended. "I've got a working man's appetite."
She snorted. "Working? You spent the whole morning staring at a hedge and pretending to garden."
Euan only smirked and, with deliberate ease, rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.
Ink slid into view, tattoos snaking down his forearms and right to his knuckles, the designs bold against skin stretched over muscle.
His wrists alone looked so broad, she doubted she could circle them with her fingers.
The display wasn't for her, but she still felt the air stir with something. ..
Once, when she had still belonged to Ronin and him to her, men would flirt, sometimes boldly, sometimes tentatively. And she had always smiled politely, untouched, because there'd been a sense of belonging—a feeling of being chosen, of being lucky.
But no, that had never been luck at all, only her being delusional.
"That hedge didn't trim itself," Euan said dryly, bringing her back from her musings.
"No, but it was growing into a beanstalk while you were coming up with the right technique."
Euan let out a surprised bark of laughter, and Sage could not help but smile.
Euan set down his fork, letting out a long breath. "I should apologise for Blair that first day. She's...abrupt."
Sage looked up from her plate. "That's one word for it."
He huffed a laugh, then grew serious. "She's my sister's girl. Both her parents, and her older brother, too... They were killed in an accident on their way to fetch her from her nana's in Inverness."
The sharpness in Sage softened. "I'm sorry. That must've been—"
"Hard on everyone," he finished, rubbing the back of his neck. "My parents weren't well enough to take her on. I was working in finance in London at that time. I was doing well, but it wasn't a life for raising a bairn."
Her brow arched. "So, you traded the city for the Highlands?"
"Aye," he said with a faint smile. "These days, I work with startups. Mentor them, troubleshoot, sometimes invest. I get them on their feet, then I step back, but the deal is I get a share."
"Of course you do," she teased, lifting her glass. "Can't imagine you letting go entirely."
He gave her a look, wry and unreadable. "No. Lettin’ go’s no’ exactly my strong suit."
Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the clink of cutlery around them seemed far away.
Euan toyed with the stem of his glass, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the candlelight. "Blair can be possessive."
Sage tilted her head. "Possessive? As in, she has ways of driving off any woman who comes near you?" Her tone was light and teasing, though her pulse jumped. "Not that I'm interested, of course."
His gaze stayed distant, voice quieter. "She feels I'm all she has since my parents passed away as well."
Sage nodded slowly. "So, you humour it."
That made his eyes snap back to hers.
"Hey," she said quickly, holding up her hands in mock surrender, "I'm just an innocent onlooker."
"Are you now?" His voice dropped, the faintest curl of challenge in it.
She held his gaze for a beat too long, then picked up her wine and sipped, turning her face away from the intensity in his eyes. The red stained her lips, but she didn't speak again, leaving the silence between them to hum with unspoken things.