Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JAMIE
I barely register the morning sun warming my face as I walk down Bannock’s Main Street. The pieces of the puzzle that kept me up all night are finally clicking into place, and no matter how I arrange them, they all point to the same impossible, infuriating conclusion.
Maisie Kerr is SassyLassie.
It’d explain how Sass knew Bruce’s name, but it’d also explain the other clues and coincidences that I only spotted once I really started looking. Like how that time in Bannock Stores, Maisie and I both reached for the last can of Gaelic Fire—the same energy drink I’d got Sass into months previously. Or the fact Maisie brought up gaming on Ben Garve—a conversation that was cut off when Bruce got us tangled together.
There’s also, of course, Maisie’s curiosity about my “online friend” during the drive to the distillery, and then the teasing remark she made on the way back, about SassyLassie possibly actually being some bloke called Big Davie. Maisie was practically waving a big neon sign in my face saying that not everything about SassyLassie was as it seemed, and I was too thick to catch on.
And it doesn’t even stop there! Next there’s the “coincidence” that the night SassyLassie let me get mauled by that wraith was the same night I told Maisie to get out of my car. Oh, and right after I confided in Sass that my big plan to improve things at my work involved “sunshine and good company”, Maisie launched her petition against the beer garden. I’d thought that someone at the council must have let slip details of my plan, or perhaps one of the contractors I’d been speaking to. But no, I was the leak.
The more I think about it, the more glaringly obvious it all seems. Maisie is SassyLassie, and she’s been playing me for months.
I pause outside the Pheasant, my heart thudding against my ribs. I’m not even sure what this feeling is. Anger? Nerves? Betrayal? Probably all three, garnished with a hefty dose of dread, because if Maisie really is Sass... well, I don’t know what comes next. Only that there’ll be hell to pay.
Taking a deep breath—and then another—I raise my fist and knock firmly on the door.
Some moments pass before Bryce opens it, and his expression darkens the instant he sees me.
“Well, well,” he says in a low growl. “You best come in.”
How come he’s making me feel like I’m the one who’s done something wrong? I do as he says, though, and step inside, then he closes and locks the door behind me.
“I hear you kicked my daughter out of your car. In the middle of a rainstorm.”
Aw, shite. How did that get out? Ah, that’s right: Maisie blurted it out yesterday in the beer garden. Word must have got back to Bryce.
“What sort of man abandons a woman in the middle of nowhere?” Bryce’s voice grows louder, his face turning a furious shade of crimson. “My Maisie! My daughter ! Who do you think you are, treating her like that?”
“I—”
“First you try to poach our customers with that godforsaken beer garden of yours, and now I hear about this ? I always had respect for the McIntyre family—your maw and da were good folk, and what happened to them was a tragedy. But abandoning a lass in a torrential downpour? That’s just disgraceful!”
“I... well...” Talking about the crash is hard enough at the best of times, let alone when someone is yelling at me like they think they’re William Wallace reincarnated.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Bryce demands. “I don’t know why Maisie didn’t tell me about this sooner because, believe me, if she had, I’d have marched straight round to that wee hotel of yours and?—”
His breath catches mid-sentence, his tirade coming to an abrupt halt. He drops a hand onto the nearest table, fingers curling stiffly around its edge. His knuckles gleam white while his other hand trembles faintly at his side before it spasms and curls inwards. A flicker of pain flashes across his face, but he grits his teeth and braces himself like a man determined not to give in.
“Bryce?” I take a hesitant step towards him. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m bloody all right!” he snaps, though there’s less fire in his tone now. He straightens—or tries to—but even that seems to require more energy than he has to spare. “Just lost my temper, that’s all.”
“Aye,” I say, unconvinced. “Maybe you should sit down for a moment?”
He brushes me off with a shaky hand. “Don’t treat me like some frail old codger! I’m perfectly fine on my feet, thank you very much.”
“Da?” Maisie’s voice rings out from somewhere deeper inside the pub, then she appears in a doorway. She freezes at the sight of me. “What’s going—” Her words cut off when she takes in Bryce’s pale complexion and stiff posture. Concern floods her face, and she hurries towards him. “Da! What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bryce grumbles. “Just... worked myself up thanks to this eejit.” He gestures towards me.
Maisie’s eyes lock onto me with enough venom to fell an army. But then her gaze flicks back to Bryce, worry eclipsing fury once again. “I’ll deal with him in a minute. Sit down, Da.” She pulls out one of the pub chairs for him.
“I don’t need?—”
“Please, Da,” Maisie says. “For me.”
He relents with an exaggerated sigh and eases himself into the chair.
“There. Catch your breath, all right? I know you want to defend me—and believe me, I love you for it—but there’s no point getting yourself into a state over this arsehole. Besides, I can handle Jamie McIntyre myself.”
She turns back to me. “You. Upstairs. Now.”
It’s not an invitation. It’s a declaration of war. Without waiting for an answer, she spins on her heel and marches off, a woman on a mission. I suppose that’s my cue to follow her.
I glance at Bryce for guidance—or maybe mercy—but get neither.
“You’re lucky she intervened, laddie, because I wasn’t done with you.”
I nod then follow after Maisie, each step up the staircase to her flat feeling like a slow climb towards my doom. She’s clearly furious with me and wants to have it out, but shouldn’t I be the one who’s angry? I came here to confront her about being SassyLassie, after all.
She leads me into her kitchen, the cosy warmth of the space doing nothing to thaw the icy tension simmering between us. She gestures to the kitchen table, silently ordering me to sit, and I do. But Maisie? No, she stays standing, arms crossed over her chest like a shield. That’s a power move if I’ve ever seen one.
So I get back to my feet too. No way am I letting her have the upper hand. And, aye, I cross my arms as well. Two can play at this game.
I lock eyes with her, but the fire blazing in her gaze throws petrol on memories I do not need right now. Like yesterday, her lips pressed to mine, her body grinding against me as if we’d both been seconds away from losing all sense of reason...
My idiot cock twitches at the thought, and that’s enough to snap me back to the present. Get it together, Jamie. You’re here for answers. So what if her floaty forest-green summer dress brings out the colour of her eyes? That’s not relevant right now. Not even a wee bit.
“Right, what’s this about? Why were you hassling my da?”
“I wasn’t hassling your da! I came here to speak to you . I wanted to ask you what the hell you’re playing at, Sass .”
I lift my chin a fraction. There. The challenge has been issued and I can’t take it back.
Her expression doesn’t change—not even a flicker of surprise. “Sass? What are you talking about?”
Damn, she’s good. But she is SassyLassie, I’m sure of it.
“Oh, come on. You can drop the act. Do I really need to list every piece of evidence that points to you being SassyLassie? How about we just skip ahead to the part where you admit it?”
For a moment she just stares at me, her face unreadable except for the tiniest twitch in her eye. Then, with a heavy exhale, she says, “Fine! Yes, I’m SassyLassie. What of it?”
“ What of it? ” How can she stand there so calm and collected, like this isn’t the betrayal of the century? We’re talking months of lies and manipulation here. The blasé nature of her confession hits me harder than the admission itself.
I step closer to her, my voice shaking as anger and betrayal churn together inside me. “What the hell is wrong with you, Maisie? You tracked me down online, toyed with me for hours on end, all to find out my plans for the snug? And now you say, ‘What of it?’”
“Whoa! Maybe get your story straight before you start throwing accusations around. Am I SassyLassie? Yes. Have I known for a wee while that you’re LochNLoad? Also yes. But have I always known? No. And did I track you down to learn your plans for the snug? Don’t be so fucking ridiculous. We’d already been playing together for ages by the time you came up with the beer garden idea.”
She too steps closer, her stance practically daring me to back down.
Her words leave me reeling for half a second because... all right, fine, logically that does check out. But still!
“You’re seriously telling me it’s pure coincidence that we ended up playing Highland Legacy together, even though we live in the same small town?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’d no idea you were Lochie until Iona mentioned to me one day that you play Highland Legacy . That’s when it all clicked.”
“But you kept playing with me after you figured it out,” I point out accusingly, my voice dropping lower but no less tense.
“I meant to tell you.” She takes another step towards me, uncrossing her arms to gesture in frustration. “That day on Ben Garve when Bruce tangled us up in his lead? I went there specifically to tell you what I’d figured out. But before I could, you stormed off in one of your moods!”
“Oh, come on?—”
“And then ,” she barrels on, talking right over me, “I tried again online! But that was when you casually mentioned your intention to poach customers ‘from the competition down the road’, and I knew that meant me and my da. And, look, you saw him downstairs—he’s not as fit as he once was, though he’d rather crawl over hot coals than admit it. He has enough on his plate right now without you adding to the pile. So, aye, I put my father and myself first. Who wouldn’t have done the same in my place?”
I’d love to tell her I’d have done things differently if I were in her shoes, but let’s be honest, I probably wouldn’t have. Anyway, that fierce determination blazing in her eyes? Her unshakeable loyalty to her father? Her refusal to back down? Damn, it’s surprisingly hot. Not that I’m about to admit that out loud.
Instead I say, “You kissed me!”
That throws her for a moment, but then she says, “We kissed each other! Don’t act like it was all me. And... it wasn’t planned! It was a lapse of judgement.”
She’s right, of course. Something just came over us both. It wasn’t her that started it, and anyway, she didn’t lift me up and pin me to the garage wall—I did that to her.
“I trusted SassyLassie!” I blurt. Which is the truth. I did.
“Oh, aye?” She steps closer until there are only inches between us and jabs her finger hard against my chest. “Well, I trusted you to get me to and from the distillery safely. I suppose we both misplaced our trust, didn’t we?”
Her words land like a well-aimed blow. I drag in a slow breath, doing my best to keep my tone even. “About that night... I owe you an explanation. I should’ve done this sooner—I did try yesterday—but, well, it’s not exactly the easiest thing for me to talk about.”
“Oh, isn’t it? Why am I not surprised that saying sorry doesn’t come easily to you? Smug one-liners, cheeky banter—no problem there—but actually being the bigger man? Nah. Definitely not your area of expertise.”
I clench my teeth, but the words tumble out before I can stop them. “I get panic attacks when it rains like that, all right?” After a beat I add, “Especially if I’m in a car.”
Maisie’s anger falters. Her face changes—still guarded, but there’s a flicker of something else now, like I’ve managed to throw her off balance. “Panic attacks?”
“Aye. Ever since...” I gesture vaguely towards the window, as though she’ll understand what I mean without me having to say it.
And of course she does. Her eyes widen briefly before narrowing again in acknowledgment—because everyone in Bannock knows about the crash . About my parents .
“Oh,” she says quietly.
“Aye. Oh. ”
For once neither of us has a snarky comeback. We both find ourselves stranded in a silence that feels too raw to break. Maisie looks like she wants to say something—to challenge me or comfort me or maybe both at once—but instead she presses her lips together in a tight line and just stares at me.
My hand twitches at my side, like it wants to reach for her shoulder, to close the small but unbearable space between us. But I stop short because... well, because.
“You think I don’t hate myself for telling you to get out of my car? But... I couldn’t breathe, Maisie.” My voice cracks slightly, and I hate that too. “I felt like my chest was collapsing in on itself and all I could see was twisted metal and broken glass and?—”
“You could have told me!” she cuts in sharply. Fire flickers back into her eyes alongside something more complicated—something closer to hurt. “Instead of leaving me on the side of the road without a word, you could have explained. Do you know how humiliating it was? Standing there like an idiot while you drove off, leaving me to get utterly soaked, to have to trudge home in the dark?”
“I know,” I say hoarsely.
“No, Jamie. You don’t know.” Again she jabs my chest with her finger, this time with enough force that anyone would think she was trying to pierce through bone instead of just proving a point.
Her words hang in the air, sharp and biting, but underneath them I can hear it—the thread of hurt winding through her anger. And that’s what undoes me. Not the raised voice, not the accusations, but the fact that I hurt her. That I made Maisie Kerr—this fierce, fiery woman who doesn’t take shite from anyone—feel like she wasn’t worth a bloody explanation.
That knowledge hits me so hard, it’s like the earth tilts under my feet, and before I can stop myself, I reach out and grab her arm—not hard, just enough to make her stop jabbing at me with that punishing finger. Her breath hitches at the contact, her lips parting in surprise. For a moment we just stare at each other, the air between us crackling with a charge so intense it’s like brushing against a live wire.
“Maisie,” I murmur roughly, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I can’t quite say.
And that’s when she moves—or maybe I do. Just like in the garage, it’s impossible to tell who starts it, but suddenly our mouths collide in a kiss that’s wild and reckless.
Her lips are soft and warm, faintly sweet but with just enough sharpness to leave me breathless. My hands move instinctively—one sliding into the silky waves of her blue hair, the other finding its place on her waist. I pull her closer, pressing her body flush against mine. Fuck, I’m already getting hard. This woman drives me crazy, and I can’t get enough of it.
The kiss deepens, turning hungrier, fiercer—a heady mix of heat and desperation that sets my senses ablaze. Maisie makes a small sound against my mouth—a soft whimper that shoots straight through me—and the little control I’ve been clinging to frays at the edges. Her fingers trail down the length of my arm before boldly grabbing my hand and guiding it to her breast. The heat of her invitation is electrifying, and even through the fabric of her dress, I can feel the tight peak of her nipple pressing insistently against my palm. Christ.
These last few months I’ve tried not to stare too long whenever she wore low-cut tops or tight jumpers. I told myself to be a gentleman. But now, with one hand, I can confirm what I suspected: Maisie’s tits are perfect. Small, soft, and perky beneath my palm—and so maddeningly hers that I can hardly think straight.
I trace slow circles over her nipple with my thumb before gently rolling it between my fingers. Maisie gasps, a sharp little intake of breath that makes every muscle in my body tighten in response. My cock throbs against her belly as the sound loops endlessly in my brain like some kind of sinful soundtrack.
Something primal surges within me, and before I fully register what I’m doing, I scoop her up, just like yesterday. She immediately responds by wrapping her legs around me. Her thighs grip me tightly, like this is where they’re meant to be. I hook one arm under her right leg while the other cups her arse—a perfect handful.
We’re kissing again before I even have time to think about it, our mouths reuniting as though they’ve been starved for each other. Maisie presses herself close to me, and the warmth radiating from between her thighs is tantalising and maddening. It seeps through every layer between us until all reason evaporates.
But then she pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss with a soft pop. Her chest rises and falls with ragged breaths; her cheeks are flushed a delicious shade of pink; her swollen lips glisten from our kisses. God, she’s bonny like this—untamed and unguarded in a way that knocks the wind out of me.
I swallow hard. “You all right?”
I’m braced for her to say we’ve gone too far again and I need to put her down. Instead she says, “Take me to my bedroom.”
“You sure?”
She nods. “Aye.”
That single word is all the encouragement I need. She directs me to her door, and I take her through it and to her double bed. We collapse onto it, her body soft beneath mine, our mouths fusing together once more. Then Maisie starts shimmying beneath me—not pushing me away but wriggling with purpose until something small and black slides down her legs. A tiny black thong.
My brain short-circuits for several seconds as realisation dawns: beneath this maddening excuse for a summer dress, Maisie Kerr is... bare.
Bloody hell.
“Need to see you,” I rasp. Words are difficult as all the blood has rushed south.
I slide the fabric of her dress higher and freeze. Slick, glistening skin framed by soft golden curls. I’m so used to seeing Maisie with bold hair colours that I’d forgotten she’s a natural blonde.
The temptation to taste her is too much to resist. I place a hand on each of her thighs and lower myself between them, pressing a soft kiss just above where she’s hottest. Her thighs twitch, a delicious reaction that spurs me to let my mouth wander a little closer.
Her scent hits me: sweet and musky with an edge so raw it goes straight to my head—and my cock. And when my tongue finally glides over her slick heat? Heaven. Absolute bloody heaven.
Maisie moans sharply at the first touch, one hand flying into my hair like it’s the only thing anchoring her to this world. The sound drives me mad, and before I know it, I’m feasting on her like she’s all I’ve ever craved.
My tongue works its way through every inch of her wetness, teasing and learning all at once until I find where she needs me most. When I circle that sensitive spot—not too hard but just enough—she gasps loudly, rocking against my mouth despite herself.
“Jamie!” She yanks hard on my hair. She’s not pushing me away exactly but rather dragging my mouth back up to hers, where she claims it in a kiss that leaves us both breathless. It’s messy, all lips and tongues and unspoken hunger, the kind of kiss that sets fire to your blood.
But then she’s fumbling at my belt, her movements frantic and impatient. It doesn’t take her long to get it undone, the metallic clink of the buckle ringing out in the charged air between us. With a single determined motion, she tugs my jeans down, then my boxers too.
I go in for another kiss, eager to devour her again, but she presses a hand to my chest, holding me back just enough to make me stop. Her eyes drop down between us, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how exposed I am—leaning over Maisie Kerr with her looking at me like that.
Slowly, deliberately, she reaches out and curls her fingers around me. I can’t suppress the deep groan that rumbles through me. The heat of her palm against me is perfect—small but firm—and every nerve ending in my body lights up at her touch.
Her first stroke is slow. Teasing. Excruciating in the best possible way. She pumps me once, then twice, her grip firm yet maddeningly controlled as she draws out a rhythm so unhurried it feels like torture. My breath hitches when her thumb brushes over the tip, catching the bead of pre-cum that’s already glistening there. And then... she lifts her thumb to her lips.
For a second all I can do is stare as her tongue darts out to taste me, unashamed and unapologetic about what she’s doing or how much it’s undoing me. Then her hand wraps around me again, only this time her grip is even tighter, enough to make my knees threaten to buckle. I’m hanging on by a thread here.
Her eyes find mine, burning hot and unrelenting as if they’re branding themselves into my soul. “Jamie... I need you—need this —inside me. Right now.”
The words hit me like a thunderclap. Blood roars in my ears, drowning out anything else I might have been capable of thinking. Fuck. There isn’t a chance in hell I could deny her—not when I’m so hard it aches, and definitely not when she’s lying beneath me looking like sin incarnate in that floaty green dress bunched high around her waist.
“Er... protection?” I manage to rasp, though my voice barely sounds like my own.
“No need.” Her tone is a delicious combination of impatience and desire. “I’m on the pill. Now stop wasting time and put it in already.”
Her bluntness sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through me. Still gripping me, she guides me down to where she’s warmest, slickest—where she’s waiting for me. That first intimate brush of contact tightens something low in my chest, stealing my breath. I don’t rush it, although every nerve in my body screams at me to move faster.
I press forward slowly, achingly slowly, feeling every inch of the wet heat that welcomes me as I push deeper. She’s tight—a heavenly kind of tight—and I have to grit my teeth against the overwhelming urge to thrust all the way in at once. Instead I hold as steady as I can, watching every flicker of emotion that plays across her face.
Her lips part, a low breathy sound escaping them as her legs shift slightly wider around my hips. The soft furrow of her brows tells me she feels the stretch of it, the size of me forging its way inside her.
“You good?” I murmur, my hand sliding up to brush against the side of her flushed face.
She nods. “Aye. Just... take it slow.” There’s something almost vulnerable in the way she says it, although the fierce determination never leaves her expression.
I obey, inching forward with careful precision, each movement sending shock waves through me. Maisie gasps softly as I slide deeper still—then relaxes once I’m fully seated within her.
Her heat surrounds me entirely now—tight and velvety soft—as if she was made just for this... for me. My forehead drops to hers while we both catch our breath for a moment.
“You’re big,” Maisie says in a way that makes it sound like breaking news rather than something we’re both acutely aware of right now. My cock pulses inside her like it’s delighted by the compliment.
My laugh is rough-edged but genuine as I draw back just slightly before easing forward again—testing how we fit together now that we’ve adjusted to one another. “And you’re fucking perfect.”
The tentative rhythm begins there—a slow slide out followed by a deliberate glide back in. It builds heat between us until restraint slips away entirely. Soon our bodies move instinctively together: each snap of my hips met by Maisie’s eager rise beneath me; each shuddering moan from her lips spurring me on harder and faster.
I grip Maisie’s waist like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality, my fingers digging into her soft skin as though I might fall apart if I let go. I can’t get enough. There’s no air in my lungs—no space in my head for anything but her. The way she moves against me, the way she makes me feel like I’m completely hers in this moment—it’s all consuming.
The bed creaks beneath us with each thrust, a rhythmic protest that barely registers in the haze of sensation. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I notice a dull throb in my left thigh—probably from bracing against the mattress—but it’s a distant ache drowned out by the overwhelming heat of Maisie wrapped around me. Pain can wait until later. Right now, there’s only her.
For days—weeks—she’s driven me mad with frustration and turned every conversation into an argument or challenge or game that somehow always left us both wanting more. And now? Now everything is boiling over—weeks of tension exploding into something raw and unstoppable. A force neither of us could walk away from even if we tried.
Maisie’s legs tighten around mine suddenly, her inner thighs gripping me with an urgency that sends a jolt of electricity straight through me. I feel it building before it happens—the way her body arches slightly off the mattress, the deep crimson flush painting her cheeks and chest, the soft whimpers spilling from her lips growing louder and needier. She’s so close I can feel it like a live wire sparking between us.
“That’s it,” I growl, low and rough, driving into her harder as if chasing down every last bit of her pleasure is my life’s purpose. “Let go for me!”
Her hands claw at my shoulders, fingernails biting into my skin, a cry escaping her lips. The sight and sound of her coming undone in my arms sends me careening over the edge right after her.
My hips jerk involuntarily as the orgasm tears through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I come hard inside her until there’s nothing left to give. For a moment, there’s no room for logic or thought—only this raw kaleidoscope of sensation that leaves me utterly wrecked in the best way possible.
“Christ,” I mutter hoarsely, the word dragged out on a breathless exhale as my head drops forward to rest against hers.
A beat passes—a long moment where neither of us says or does anything except breathe together in sync, our chests rising and falling with ragged effort. Then I carefully withdraw from her warmth and collapse onto the mattress beside her.
Neither of us speaks at first. We just lie there while we catch our breath.
Eventually Maisie sits up, her movements brisk and efficient, as though she hasn’t just rocked my entire world. She reaches for her thong and slips it back on. Meanwhile, I stay flat on my back, utterly spent and completely incapable of moving. My eyes follow her as she smooths down the fabric of her dress.
“Well,” she says lightly, brushing her tousled hair out of her face. “That escalated quickly.”
I let out an incredulous laugh despite myself because... aye, no kidding.
Hands on her hips like she’s about to deliver a verdict, she says, “Just so we’re clear, that was a one-time thing.”
Her words hit like a slap to the face. I push myself up onto my elbows. “ What? ”
“You heard me.”
“But—”
“There’s no ‘but’, Jamie.” Her tone is clipped, matter-of-fact.
I sit up fully now, dragging a hand through my hair because surely I’ve misheard her or something. “Maisie, come on?—”
“Are you planning to close your beer garden?” she cuts in sharply.
I frown at the abruptness of the question. “No.”
“Well, then.” She shrugs as though that settles it. “This could never work.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, frustration flickering through me now.
“We’re rivals,” Maisie says, using that infuriatingly matter-of-fact tone again. “You with your shiny new beer garden; me with my da’s pub. That ”—she waves a hand vaguely between us—“was just an opportunity for us both to get things out of our systems. Nothing more.”
I’m lost for words. Doesn’t what we just did mean anything? Change anything? Before I can find my voice, Maisie turns away from me and tidies up a few things on her desk—needlessly, I think. The message is clear as day: I’m to take the hint and leave.
Suddenly too aware of the fact that my lower half is still stark naked—and feeling like this conversation might go better without me being quite so exposed—I stand and pull on my boxers then reach for my jeans.
“Maisie—”
“I’ll admit it,” she barrels on as if I haven’t said anything at all. “The opening day of your beer garden was a bigger success than I was expecting. But my da and I aren’t going to go down without a fight.”
I pause before doing up the fly of my jeans and glance at her warily. There’s fire in her eyes again, a look I’m very familiar with by now.
“Oh,” she adds after a beat, as if remembering something important. “And in case it wasn’t already obvious, our days of playing Highland Legacy together are over.”
This leaves me floundering for something to say. “Maisie, you can’t just?—”
“Please leave,” she interrupts calmly but firmly.
I want to argue more, but something about the way she looks at me stops me in my tracks. Defeated, I do up my fly, fasten my belt, then make to go. But as I reach her door, some part of me rebels against walking away without saying anything more.
“For what it’s worth,” I say quietly over my shoulder, not quite meeting her eye but not avoiding it either, “I really am sorry for telling you to get out of my car that night.”
Maisie’s expression remains unchanged—cool and distant—but there’s something in her eyes that flickers briefly before disappearing again.
“Goodbye, Jamie,” she says simply.
And just like that, I’m dismissed.
I head downstairs feeling thoroughly disoriented—confused as hell and reeling from how quickly everything went sideways after... well... that . Part of me wonders if I somehow hallucinated the whole thing while part of me knows exactly how real those moments upstairs were—how very right they felt until they didn’t anymore.
But there’s no time for wallowing because just as I’m making a beeline for the exit in hopes of escaping unseen?—
“Well!” Bryce’s voice fills the space. He steps forward from behind the bar, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Did you and Maisie sort things out?”
“Er...” I have no idea how to answer that. “Not exactly. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Bye, Bryce.”