Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LEWIS
Iona hasn’t left yet, and it’s been twelve minutes since I sat down with her—that’s more than double the five she originally offered me. That’s a win in my book, albeit a small one. I don’t want her to go anywhere anytime soon, though, so I have to keep this conversation rolling.
What I’d really like to do is talk about something meaningful—maybe reminisce about times from our childhood and teens. We’ve so many shared memories, but we never relive them together because... well, she doesn’t much like chatting with me about anything. If I steer the conversation towards our personal history too soon, I’m worried she’ll get up and leave, so I’m keeping my chat general for now. I’m easing her into this, taking things slowly. The bridge between us collapsed a long time ago, and I know rebuilding it won’t happen overnight.
Unfortunately, my current topic—funny things I’ve found in guests’ rooms after they’ve checked out—isn’t going down as well as some of my earlier banter.
Lewis, you cannot afford to mess this up. You’ve got to bring your A game.
As I mentally scramble for a new topic, old Hamish walks past our table, heading for the door, his brown-and-white springer spaniel in tow. The dog, Ruby, pads over to Iona for a sniff, and Iona melts, as she always does around animals. She crouches down and pats Ruby’s head, scratches her chin, and ruffles her ears. “Oh, look at you. You’re adorable!”
Ruby’s tail wags furiously and she pants happily, her tongue lolling—she’s clearly delighted by the attention. She reminds me a lot of my childhood dog, Molly, who was a cocker.
Apparently, I’m not the only one to notice the similarity. After Ruby follows Hamish outside, Iona turns to me, her blue eyes sparkling. “Did you notice it was m e Ruby came to say hello to? Who does that remind you of?”
“Oi!” I say, a smile tugging at my lips. “Don’t even try to pretend Molly preferred you to me.”
“Oh, she absolutely did. We settled this debate on multiple occasions, or have you forgotten?”
And just like that, without me having to engineer it, the reminiscing has begun. Thank you, Ruby.
“Those tests were rigged!” I accuse. “We’re twenty-seven now—it’s time for you to finally fess up. How did you do it? Did you always have a treat in your pocket? I never was able to figure it out.”
As kids, Iona and I would stand at opposite sides of a room or a field and both call Molly’s name. She always went to Iona, the little traitor.
“There was nothing to figure out, Lewis. She liked me best. That’s all.”
I cover my heart with my hands. “You’re killing me here. She was my dog, Iona.”
“Aye, I know, and you were her second-favourite person—after me. That’s not bad. I’ll concede she preferred you to Ally or Jamie or Cat. That’s something. She just didn’t like you quite as much as she liked me.”
“She slept in my bed at night. It was my job to fill up her dog bowl. And yet all you had to do was call ‘Molly!’, and her allegiance to me was forgotten.” I shake my head and let out a theatrical sigh. “The betrayal still stings to this day.”
“What can I say? She probably just thought I was more fun. And kind. And better in every way, really. Oh, and I know she slept in your bed normally, but do you remember what would happen if I stayed over at yours?”
When we were young, if Iona’s maw and da ever went away for a night, to see a show in Inverness or whatever, Aidan would kip in Ally’s room and Iona in mine. That practice stopped come puberty, after which Iona bunked with Cat instead.
“Crap, Molly would snuggle up with you, wouldn’t she? I’d forgotten about that.”
“She would, and I think that tells you everything you need to know. I was definitely the favourite. Don’t beat yourself up about it, though. I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with this?” She gestures to herself.
And she’s absolutely right—who wouldn’t? She’s got the personality, the looks, everything. Tonight she’s in a quirky grey dress covered in white hares and yellow flowers, and her hair is in its usual messy bun, with stray waves falling down to frame her bonny face. Her cheeks are rosy, probably more from the wine than the fire, and it only makes her all the more beautiful.
Who in their right mind would let this incredible woman slip through their fingers? Oh, aye. Me.
“Do you remember the time Molly ran into the haunted cottage?” I ask.
“Oh my God! I’d forgotten we used to think that place was haunted.”
The cottage in question has since been demolished, and a nice new property now stands in its place, but when we were young, it had lain empty for many years and fallen into disrepair. It was situated on the very outskirts of Bannock, far enough from other houses to give you the sense that, even if you screamed, no one would hear you. Ally and Aidan used to spook me and Iona with stories of strange goings-on and dreadful, terrible things that happened to any child who entered the place. Big brothers can be such dicks sometimes.
“You and I were walking Molly one day,” I say, remembering. “We were, what, ten, eleven? Suddenly she bolted—I think maybe she chased a squirrel?”
“Aye, that was it. We ran after her, calling her name, but she kept on going. Then she came to the cottage and went straight in, and you stopped dead. Soon Molly was barking like mad, and you were sure she was being tormented by ghosts. You paced and paced, psyching yourself up to go in and rescue her, but you took so long that I got fed up waiting. Without a word to you, I went in and got her.”
“To this day, still the bravest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
Iona laughs. “Well, even as a kid, I don’t think I ever really believed in ghosts. And what do you know, it turned out the only reason Molly was barking was because she’d cornered the squirrel and didn’t know what to do next. But you, Lewis? You believed all the stories about that place. In general, you had more guts than me, but when it came to ghosts and spirits, you were such a coward.”
“And I’m still not a fan of horror films.” I pat my left bicep. “These guns are no use against the supernatural.”
“God, it’s clear why Molly liked me best. She obviously realised that, between you and me, I’m the alpha.”
I bite my tongue, even though I’m desperate to add a caveat or two to that statement. When we were hooking up, that wasn’t our dynamic—at least, not always. Sure, I let her boss me around a lot of the time: Stick on this glow-in-the-dark condom , Get your dick out so I can use it for a game of hoopla , and all that stuff. She always did get a kick out of treating my cock as her personal plaything, and I was happy to go along with that and let her do whatever she wanted. But when it came down to it, when we were actually doing the dirty, our roles were clear—and hers was surrendering to my every thrust, her body arching, as I commanded her breathless moans. I was the alpha then.
“You know,” Iona says, “I was talking with Maisie earlier about how I reckon people in Bannock see me in a way that doesn’t match how I see myself. That story reminds me that, even as a kid, I could be pretty gutsy.”
“You absolutely could—I’ve always known that. And if that’s not how people see you, then you obviously have to reinvent yourself.”
She drains her wine, and I worry this may be her cue to leave, but she says, “And how would you suggest I do that?”
The local band are setting up: Neil on the accordion, Eileen on the fiddle, Scott on drums. They often play a bit of live music of an evening.
“You just have to do something no one would expect you to do. Like, nobody would expect you to get up right now and sing a song in front of everybody.”
“Hmm, aye, that might do it. But I’d need company, of course.”
“Er...” I drum my fingers on the table. I’d expected her to immediately veto the suggestion. “Are we joking about this? I can’t tell.”
“I’m not joking. Are you? It was your idea. I’ve done karaoke before—it’s not a big deal. The question is, are you up for it, Lewis McIntyre?”
Shit, I’ve never done karaoke—it’s definitely not a thing here in Bannock. Also, I’m a terrible singer—and stone-cold sober. I was too worried that, if I went to the bar to get a drink, Iona would use that as an opportunity to leave. Mind you, if I refuse now, that might encourage her to leave, so...
“Sure,” I say, feigning far more confidence than I feel.
“Great!” She bounces up to her feet. “Let’s go have a chat with the band.”
So, reluctantly, I go up with her. The band aren’t immediately opposed to the idea but they do wonder what song we have in mind. They play traditional Scottish music, not popular stuff, and there’s no karaoke machine to display the lyrics.
“Hmm, what trad songs do Lewis and I both know the words to?” Iona ponders. “Oh! We both know ‘Comin’ thro’ the Rye’. Do you know that?”
The band do, but... really? That tune? Our theme song from a time in our lives when we engaged in casual sex? I suppose it’s not like anyone in the pub is aware we have a personal connection to the lyrics, but still. Is Iona too tipsy to realise that might not be the best choice, all things considered, or does she just not care?
Before I can process that we’re actually going to do this, Neil suggests we address the crowd to introduce the song, and Iona elbows me to indicate this duty should fall to me.
Awkwardly I clear my throat. “Hello! If I could have your attention for a moment, please.”
Conversations trail off as people turn to me with interest. Damn, I so wish I’d had some alcohol to give me courage for this.
“Er, as I’m sure you all know by now, we’re lucky enough to have Iona back in Bannock, and she’s making a great addition at Bannock Vets.”
There are a few cheers, and glasses are raised in Iona’s direction.
“I’m sure we all remember her brother, Aidan, was pretty adventurous growing up. Hell, he now runs Bannock Adventures with my brother, Ally, so there you go. Iona, though, always had a reputation for being a bit of a bookworm, but she’s so much more than that—she can be daring too. It’s time we all saw there’s another side to her, which is why we’re going to start off tonight’s entertainment with a song. If you know the words, please join in. It’ll help drown out my terrible vocals.”
There’s a ripple of chuckles.
I turn to Neil. “All right. Ready?”
He nods then the band plays a short musical intro. Iona leans close to me and says, “We’re singing the clean version, by the way.”
“Er, aye. Of course.”
And then it’s time for us to sing, so we do.
Gin a body meet a body
Comin’ thro’ the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body
Need a body cry?
I’m nervous and stiff, but Iona goes for it with abandon, her voice strong and clear. She first sways as she sings and then does a jig on the spot. Her energy is infectious, and soon the whole pub is clapping and singing along. As their enthusiasm builds, my self-consciousness fades, and when Iona loops her arm through mine, we spin together ceilidh-style, the room whirling around us in a blur of laughter and music. Grinning, I belt out the rest of the song with a new-found surge of confidence.
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro’ the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body
Need the warl’ ken?
It’s a good question: need the world know if two people kiss (or fuck, depending on which lyrics you prefer)? Well, they never did know about me and Iona.
When we get to the end, there’s applause, and Iona, beaming, grabs my hand, lifts it into the air, and bows, like we’re a rock band lapping up the appreciation of a loving crowd. It’s a tad over the top, but hey, if she wants to hold my hand, I’m not going to stop her. From the bar, Maisie whoops and grins.
Iona lets go of me then leads the way to our table, receiving a number of pats on the back and encouraging words from those she passes.
“That felt good!” she says, sitting again. “Great idea, Lewis. I have officially reinvented my image.”
“Er, right. Well done.”
“I’ll have to go soon—I’m working tomorrow—but I’m buzzing after that.” The bands starts up the next song, and Iona taps the table along to the music.
I’m also working tomorrow, like every day, and I’ll have to get up early to prepare breakfast for the guests. But I’m not going to be the one to suggest we wrap things up.
Maisie walks over and sets down a lager in front of me. “This one’s on the house—your payment for the entertainment. And for you, Iona...” She places down a glass of water. “I thought you could do with this. You did say you weren’t going to be having any more wine.”
“I did,” Iona agrees, eyeing the glass glumly.
As soon as Maisie leaves, I take a greedy sip of lager. Mmm, the smooth, malty richness and slightly bitter undertone hits just right. Man, I’ve definitely earned this after that song.
“Anyway, where were we?” Iona says. “Oh, ages ago, you were telling me about things guests have left behind in their rooms. Were there any other funny things you haven’t mentioned yet?”
“Er...” That topic had been dying a death, but then again, I deliberately missed out some of the racier things I’ve found. Is talking about them a bad idea, given our history? Hmm, she seems pretty relaxed, and besides, I know her well enough to know the kinds of things that pique her interest.
“Well, one time, under the bed, I found a pair of fluffy handcuffs. Kinky, eh? And let’s just say the guests who’d been staying in that room weren’t on the young side.”
I’m testing the water, making sure she’s amused rather than offended, but she lets out a chuckle, so I take that as permission to go on.
“On another occasion a collar and lead were left, and that couple did not bring a dog with them. Then there’s the time I found a set of Kama Sutra cards. Wow, those images were detailed!”
“Oh, you looked through them, did you?”
I shrug. “Nothing wrong with being curious. And let’s just say I learnt a thing or two. I’d never even thought of some of those positions before.”
I wonder if this is too close to the bone, but Iona raises an eyebrow, intrigued. Maybe she’s thinking what I’m thinking, which is that when we were together, there weren’t many positions we didn’t try.
She takes a sip of her water.
“Oh, and then there was the set of nipple clamps attached to a twelve-inch strap-on.”
Iona’s eyes bulge and she chokes and splutters, spraying water everywhere, but mainly over her dress.
“Shit.” I jump to my feet. “I was only joking about that one. Are you okay? I’ll run to the bar and grab something.”
She waves me back to my seat and clears her throat. “No, I’ve got tissues here.” She pulls a few out and dabs at her dress... specifically, her breasts.
Crap, she’s dabbing her wet breasts in front of me. Whatever you do, Lewis, don’t stare. Oi, I said don’t stare!
“Er...” To distract myself from what she’s doing, I should really keep the conversation going, but unfortunately my mind has gone blank. I cannot think of a single thing to say.
“So...” I stare at the fire. C’mon, Lewis, you can think of something. Anything! “Do you think your niece and my nephew will grow up being as close as we were?”
There’s only a week between Callie and Ru. What’s more, Ally and Aidan are best mates, as are Emily and Grace.
I redirect my attention to Iona, maintaining eye contact, refusing to let my gaze dip.
“Quite possibly,” she says, glancing up from her chest. “But I’ll politely encourage Callie to spend more time than I did fostering relationships with female friends. Those bonds are important—for when your male best friend inevitably screws you over.”
Ouch.
The conversation is veering away from the light-heartened mood I’ve tried hard to cultivate, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “Do you ever wonder if it was a mistake to make our relationship sexual? Because we were such good mates, you and I, but... we’ve lost that.”
Her eyes narrow. “ That wasn’t the mistake, Lewis. The mistake came later—and was entirely on you.”
I wince. “Aye, you’re right. And I realise this isn’t good enough, but... I am sorry. I’m still beating myself up for it now, six years on.”
I’m expecting her to say something like, And so you should be . But instead she sighs.
“Look, I should hardly be the one to comfort you—it doesn’t make any sense for that job to fall on me. But for what it’s worth, I’m aware you haven’t had much luck in relationships over the last few years.”
Understatement of the century. I’ve tried, I really have, but nothing ever lasts because, quite frankly, no one can compare to Iona. Every other woman on the planet falls short. I had it all, and I messed everything up.
“Again, it shouldn’t be me who says this, but sort yourself out. Move on. I mean, I’ve found Richard, and he’s...” She hesitates, searching for the right word. “... nice. You should try to find someone too.”
Wow. She’s being kinder to me than I have any right to expect her to be, but there’s a problem—a rather significant one.
I take a gulp of lager. “I don’t know that I can move on,” I admit. “I doubt I’ll ever find anyone even half as good as you.” As soon as I make this admission, I realise it’s probably a step too far.
Iona watches me quietly for the longest time before rising to her feet. “I think this is where we should leave things.”
“Fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine, but like I said, I have work tomorrow. I’ve already stayed longer than I should. Good night, Lewis.” And with that, she leaves.
Bollocks. Tonight was the closest I’ve felt to her in years. Why did I have to blurt out something stupid and drive her away?