Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
MAISIE
It’s a perfect spring day in our wee town, and Bannock’s Main Street looks idyllic in the sun. The old stone buildings, weathered but proud, are brought to life by the cheerful splash of yellow daffodils spilling from flower boxes. As pretty as the sight is, I’m too preoccupied to properly appreciate it. I can’t stop thinking about LochNLoad. The idea that my gaming buddy might be Jamie bloody McIntyre is doing my head in.
“Maisie! Wait there a moment!”
I glance across the street and see Elspeth Stewart waving at me. She’s walking Bruce, Iona and Lewis’s dog, and when the big black Lab spots me, his tail wags so furiously it sends his whole body into a joyful, wiggling frenzy. Elspeth and Bruce cross over to join me.
“Hiya, Elspeth. And hi, Bruce, you big sook.” I bend down to scratch Bruce behind the ears. “How are you both?”
“Oh, can’t complain.” Elspeth’s hair, once as blonde as her daughter’s, has softened into a crown of silver, framing a face gently etched with laughter lines. “But how about you? You’re looking very pensive today. Everything all right?”
I force a smile. “Aye, just a lot on my mind.”
She nods sympathetically. “I hope this isn’t prying, but the reason I stopped you is because I was actually wanting to ask you about your father. He didn’t look himself at the quiz last night. Is he feeling okay?”
I consider brushing off her concern, but Elspeth, with her gentle demeanour and connection to Iona, feels safe. So instead I let out a small sigh. “Honestly? I don’t think so, but he’s too stubborn to admit it.”
“Ah. Men, eh? That sounds like Bryce, all right.”
Bruce’s ears perk up at the name, and his tail thumps against Elspeth’s leg.
“I said Bryce , not Bruce, you silly boy.” Elspeth chuckles and pats his head. “Although to be fair, your name and Maisie’s father’s do sound very similar.”
The dog tilts his head quizzically, and Elspeth and I both laugh.
“Anyway, your da should really go see the doctor and get himself checked out,” Elspeth says.
“I’ve tried telling him that but he won’t listen to me. Maybe if you said something...”
Elspeth reaches out and squeezes my arm, the contact warm and comforting. “Leave it with me. I’ll have a word next time I see him. With both of us on his case, he might just cave, eh?”
“Thanks, Elspeth. I appreciate it.”
We chat for a few more minutes before parting ways. I continue down the street a short distance then head into Bannock Stores, the bell above the door jingling as I step inside.
I grab a basket and pick up a few supplies—bread, milk, custard creams (an essential purchase on every visit)—then I go over to the drinks fridge, my eyes scanning the shelves for Gaelic Fire, my favourite energy drink. I’ve been hooked on it since LochNLoad mentioned it during one of our late-night gaming sessions. There’s a single can left, and I’m just about to grab it when my phone pings.
Da
We need teabags. Could you pick up some?
Maisie
Of course x
I return my phone to my back pocket then reach for the Gaelic Fire, but as I do, someone else goes for it too. Warm skin brushes mine as both my hand and the other person’s close around the cool metal can. Startled, I glance sideways and come face-to-face with Jamie McIntyre. Okay, more like face-to-chest because he’s so bloody tall. My gaze travels upwards until it locks on to those hazel eyes flecked with gold and brimming with far too much mischief.
“Great minds drink alike, eh?” he says in his low voice.
His chestnut hair is a charming mess, as though he’s just rolled out of bed. I definitely don’t want to ruffle it—just as I don’t find the tiny freckle at the corner of his left eye utterly adorable, and just as I have no wish whatsoever to trace the faint stubble along his jawline with my fingertips.
Get it together, Maisie. Jamie McIntyre is an arse. Don’t forget that.
But, seriously, how come someone so irritating looks this good? It’s not fair. Like, not at all.
He arches a brow, his lips curving into a slow, maddening grin. “Er... your hand is touching mine. Are you going to let go of the can?”
“What?” I splutter. “ You let go of it! I grabbed it first.”
“Nope, pretty sure I did.”
It’s like Jamie has a special talent for pushing my buttons. I’ve barely said two words to him and already my blood is simmering.
“Ever heard of chivalry?” I huff. “How about being a gentleman and letting the woman have it?”
“Ever heard of you snooze, you lose ?” he shoots back. “You were standing texting—you’ve only got yourself to blame. Now, I’ve got places to be, so if you don’t mind.” He nods at the can. “Hands off.”
“Places to be? Like where? The Bannock Hotel’s snug? Wouldn’t want to keep all those empty barstools waiting, right?”
I swear Jamie McIntyre brings out the worst in me. Working in the Pheasant, I talk to people day in, day out—locals, tourists, sweet old ladies, lively lads on stag dos, you name it. I get on with everyone: I can always find some common ground for a conversation. But Jamie? No. He’s like a scratchy label in my favourite jumper—forever rubbing me the wrong way.
“Ouch.” With his free hand, Jamie clutches his chest in mock offence. “That cuts deep, Maisie. But you’re right: the snug is always dead. That’s why I need the energy drink. Without it, I’m at risk of dozing off. But the Pheasant? It’s always lively in there, so there’s no risk of you falling asleep.”
“You could argue,” I say through gritted teeth, “that since the Pheasant actually has customers—and I have to, you know, work —I’m the one who could do with the caffeine boost.”
“An interesting perspective. Anyway, as fun as this exchange has been, I’d say possession is nine-tenths of the law, so...” With a mischievous smirk, he yanks the can right out of my hand. “Better luck next time.”
I gape at him, too stunned to respond. He winks at me then saunters off with the Gaelic Fire, whistling a jaunty tune. He is unbelievable .
There’s absolutely no way that Jamie McIntyre, the utter arsehole , is the witty, considerate, and supportive gamer I’ve been playing with these last few months. LochNLoad wouldn’t dream of snatching something from a woman’s grasp. He’s a gentleman, not an overgrown child.
But then again... Gaelic Fire is LochNLoad’s drink of choice, and apparently Jamie’s too. Bloody hell. I want to write this off as a coincidence, but the universe seems hellbent on forcing me to face facts. Sure, Bannock’s small, but what are the chances of both of us being here at the same time, same place, and reaching for the same energy drink—the very day after Iona dropped the bombshell about Jamie’s username? It’s like some higher power is saying to me: You can’t go on denying it. It’s him and, deep down, you know it is. No amount of wishful thinking is going to change that.
Apparently, Jamie only came in for the can of Gaelic Fire. In the time I’ve been standing here, silently seething, he’s already paid for it and is now strolling for the door. Right before he leaves, he meets my eye and gives me a smug, triumphant wave goodbye.
The bastard . Please, universe, let this be some colossal misunderstanding. Don’t let him be LochNLoad. I don’t think I could stand it.
Although, at this stage, I reckon I need to know one way or another. I could hurry down the street after him and ask him to his face. Or... I could take the coward’s approach.
I opt for the second option.
I move closer to the shop window, so I can keep Jamie in my line of sight as he strolls along the street, then pull out my phone. The plan is simple. I’ll send Lochie a message via the app we use to organise gaming sessions and chat outside of the game. Then, as I await his usually speedy reply, I’ll watch Jamie like a hawk. If a response comes in from Lochie while Jamie’s hands aren’t anywhere near his phone, I can breathe a sigh of relief.
SassyLassie
Feel like venturing into giant territory tonight? It’d give you a chance to swing about that big sword of yours.
No sooner have I hit send than Jamie slows to a stop, fishes something out of his pocket, and glances down at it. Seconds later a reply comes in from Lochie.
LochNLoad
You’re on! And I’ll bring along the Claymore of the Clan Chiefs too.
Well, shit.
The pieces click into place with brutal finality. There can be no more denying it. LochNLoad—my ally, my friend—and Jamie McIntyre are one and the same.
Of all the gamers in all the world, I had to befriend him.