7. Isla
ISLA
“Istill can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” I’d been tossing and turning at night, imagining all the ways this could go wrong.
“It was the right decision. Everyone wins this way,” Locke said and I wasn’t so sure about that. Yes, I would love to have my family home restored and the surrounding area available to everyone, but was faking a relationship the best way to go about it? Probably not, but here we were.
“You’re sure she’s in there?” Locke asked, fixing the collar of his shirt in the reflection of the café door.
He was more dressed down today than I’d ever seen him, in stylish jeans and a simple polo shirt, though I suspected the whole ensemble was off some luxury rack in Paris.
Still, I took a moment to admire his arms. I might now be playing his fake fiancée, but the bicep appreciation was very real. “Isla?”
I shook off those muscly thoughts, grabbing the door handle. “Yep, Cat just texted me to say Jo arrived, and Maisie is holding the fort down at the inn, so now’s our chance.”
The whole point of a visit to the cat café was to put our relationship on public display. And the fastest way to go public, except for maybe making out with Locke in the middle of the pub during a big footy match, was to get Old Jo sniffing around. She could spread gossip faster than the flu.
“Here, let me,” Locke said, pulling the door open. I slid past him and into the familiar homey warmth.
There were a series of small, round tables up one wall, large group tables in the middle of the space, and endless benches with stuffed pillows.
Everything was painted in shades of olive green and rose pink.
The walls were exposed brick, and there was even a shelf of well-loved books.
Aside from the Deerhound’s lobby, I considered it to be the coziest place in Braeburn.
“Give me your hand,” Locke whispered, his breath tickling the back of my neck.
“Hmm…What?”
“Your hand,” he repeated.
Oh, right. Fiancée. I grabbed his hand. Locke tugged away. “Not that one.”
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“It feels weird.”
“Weird?”
“I need you to be on this side,” he said, switching our positions.
“Why?” I was so confused.
“It’s better this way. More practical.”
“Practical?”
“Yes, especially when we’re standing together.”
“Standing?”
“Why do you keep repeating what I say?”
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but before I could, he placed a finger over my lips and linked our fingers together. “If I’m holding your left hand, no one will see your ring.” He held up our linked hands. “Besides, doesn’t this just feel right?”
A flush crept up my neck, itching at my cheeks. It did feel right. Like we’d been together long enough that we had a way of standing together that suited us. But I tried not to think too hard about all that. It’s practical, I reminded myself. Just like he said.
“Where are the cats?” Locke asked.
“You’ve never been in here before?” I asked.
He shook his head.
I gestured to a window that looked into the room where the cats hung out during the day. It was a large space with worn couches, soft rugs, cat trees, and toys scattered about.
“That ginger one is my favorite,” I said, pointing out Gus. “He definitely has one brain cell, but he’s all the cuter for it.”
“I like that one,” Locke said, pointing out the wrinkly sphynx glowering at us from its perch on the back of an armchair.
“Ugh, of course you like the mean, judgmental one.”
“Hey, you two!” Cat called, waving from behind the counter where the espresso machine gleamed. Rows of hand-thrown mugs glittered on the shelf above her head.
“Hey,” I called, tugging Locke toward the counter. I pressed up against it, lowering my voice. “She’s here?”
Cat’s eyes cut across the room. “Just popped into the bathroom.” Her eyes dropped to our entwined hands, her lips curling up the side of her face. “What can I get the happy couple?”
“Oat milk latte for me,” I said.
“And a black Americano for me,” Locke said.
“Coming right up.” She plugged the drinks into the till. The charge popped up on the payment reader in front of me. I pulled my card out, but Locke knocked my hand away.
“I’ve got it.”
“No, I’ve got it,” I said. I could pay for my own drink. It’s not like this was an actual date or anything.
“But your doting fiancé wants to pay,” he said under his breath.
“I can dote on you too,” I argued.
Cat smirked at us, steaming the milk for my drink. “I see working out the kinks is going well.”
When I’d told Cat I’d agreed to be Locke’s fake fiancée, she’d practically started drooling, claiming this would be better than all her reality shows combined. And that was saying something considering she was binging both The Kardashians and The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives.
“Working out the kinks is how we ended up in this situation,” I muttered under my breath, trying to get my card on the reader.
“That was smooth sailing,” Locke cut in. “Being your fiancé is infinitely harder.”
“Just wait until I start planning this fake wedding,” I teased. “Bridezilla coming at you.”
He pretended to shudder, and I couldn’t help laughing even as I nudged Locke out of the way. Or, at least, I tried to. The guy was like a brick wall. Must be all that muscle, I thought, letting my eyes flick up and down him in a way they had no business flicking.
Get it together, girl. This was mission critical.
Convince Jo. Lay the groundwork. And stop staring at Locke’s ass.
I had to get everyone on board thinking we were the most endearing couple they’d ever seen.
And when Dad started wondering what was really best for the town, hopefully people would say, “You know, Dougal, wouldn’t it be grand if your daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law had the distillery property?
Wouldn’t it just be the best thing ever to keep it in the family?
Shouldn’t Braeburn get to benefit from having access to all that gorgeous land? ”
I gritted my teeth together. I didn’t really think convincing Dad would be that easy, but a girl could dream.
Beeeep!
“Speaking of weddings, though,” Locke said, pulling his card off the reader. I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering where he was going with this. “We probably should choose a hypothetical wedding day in case your father asks.”
“March,” I said.
“Why March?”
“Spring, no major tourist crowds, the midges aren’t really an issue yet,” I said, rhyming the reasons off on my fingers.
“We’re getting married in the Highlands?” Locke said.
I dropped my hand to my hips. “Aren’t we?”
“I was thinking tropical.”
“Ew, no. Hard pass.”
Cat snorted. “Isla doesn’t like the feeling of sand between her toes.”
“Really?” Locke said to me. “Weird.”
“There she is,” Cat murmured, dropping two mugs down in front of us, her eyes flicking toward the bathroom where Jo had just exited. “Showtime.”
I pulled my phone out quickly, flipping the camera around to make sure I looked all right. I rubbed the blush into my cheeks a little more and smoothed the gloss on my lips.
“You look fine,” Locke whispered, his hand falling to the small of my back. I chose to ignore the shiver that zipped up my spine.
“Fine?” I turned to him, my lips pursed. “Is that really the way you talk to your fiancée?”
“Ah, my mistake. You look ravishing, love. Utterly perfect. There has never been a more gorgeous person in all the universe,” he amended.
He reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as Jo drew toward us.
It was such a small, intimate gesture that my breath caught. Then the corner of his mouth twitched.
Oh, he was good.
“How was that?”
“Better,” I muttered, swallowing down the flutter in my gut.
“Excuse me,” he said before I could try to catch Jo’s eye, “I’ve heard nothing about how amazing I look.”
I let my eyes roam up and down him, repeatedly. He looked too fine for words. It should be illegal to have arms like that on display. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of telling him that. “You’ll do, I suppose.”
“Menace,” Locke said under his breath, shaking his head. “What am I going to do if this attitude of yours is genetic?”
“My attitude?” I laughed as I picked up my latte. “Please, you’re usually the one with the resting grouch face. Now, slap on a smile and sell it.”
He tossed his arm around my shoulders without me having to ask, staring down at me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
It was a little unnerving, being the focus of his attention like this.
I flashed back to the night of the vow renewal, and suddenly I was hot in places I didn’t need to be hot.
“Well, what do we have here?” Jo finally said, zeroing in on us like a homing beacon.
“Oh, hi, Jo!” I said, acting like I hadn’t noticed her. I snuggled into Locke.
“Isla MacRae and Lachlan Fraser,” Jo said, a hitch in her breath as her gaze dropped to my hand where it wrapped around my coffee cup—specifically to the ring that glittered there.
Locke had bought the ring to make things look official.
My only request was nothing too gaudy or expensive, and nothing that would get in the way of my work at the inn.
He’d adhered to the gaudy request. Whether it was expensive or not, I couldn’t be sure.
The diamond was ridiculously shiny. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is! ”
“It is,” I said, switching the coffee cup to my right hand to wriggle my fingers and feign as much excitement as I could.
“You’re engaged?” Jo cried, latching onto my hand to inspect the ring. “When? Where?”
“In Edinburgh last week,” Locke said at the same time as I said, “By the old waterfall.”
We locked eyes, panicked for a beat.
“Right,” I said, covering our flub. We really should have talked through more details. “He proposed at the waterfall, and we celebrated in Edinburgh afterward. That was when he actually gave me the ring—the proposal by the waterfall was spontaneous, and he didn’t have the box with him.”