Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JAMIE
The rain hammers against the windows of the snug, each drop a mocking reminder that my beer garden—my pride and joy, my brilliant idea—is sitting empty. Not just empty: abandoned. Chairs tucked neatly under tables, parasols furled, looking about as inviting as a dentist’s waiting room.
Earlier, Lewis and I discussed using the hotel’s restaurant as a spillover space for the snug. Back then, I’d been anticipating the same kind of crowds we’ve had these past few sunny days. But no. The snug is as dead as it ever was.
I mean, what did I expect? You can hardly sit outside drinking pints in weather like this.
My phone sits on the bar in front of me, taunting me. I’ve lost count of how many messages I’ve drafted to Maisie in that messaging app we used to use when we gamed together. Each one deleted before sending. What would I even say? Sorry for building a beer garden that threatens your and your da’s business, but fancy giving us a shot? Aye, that’ll work.
Christ, I need to pull myself together. The whole thing has done my head in, if I’m honest. First finding out that SassyLassie—my gaming buddy, the person I trusted most—was actually Maisie. Then falling into bed with her—literally and metaphorically—only to be dismissed by her immediately afterwards. And now the whole bloody town knows about it. Word spread fast after Lewis, Emily, Iona, and Elspeth found out. Now Ally keeps giving me these knowing looks, and even Aidan and Grace have been teasing me about it.
Right. Enough. Time to focus on something productive. Maisie’s made her position clear: we’re opponents, not anything else. So be it. She’s got her fancy social media presence and her cocktail menu, and me... well, I’ve got other ideas, not just the beer garden. Ideas that’ll keep the snug buzzing, rain or shine. Further collaborations with the distillery, for one. Kyle seemed keen when we spoke at the opening event.
I pull up my laptop and start drafting an email to Kyle. I’m halfway through when my phone pings with a notification: SassyLassie has posted a new video.
Don’t watch it. Focus on the email.
My finger hovers over the notification.
Don’t.
I tap it.
Maisie appears on screen, looking particularly stunning today. Her flame-coloured hair is loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing this wee smile that makes my stomach flip.
“Hello, my lovely followers!” She holds up a cocktail glass filled with something blue, garnished with a tiny paper umbrella. “Today I want to introduce you to my newest creation: the Rainy Day Rescue. Perfect for those days when you were hoping to relax outside in a beer garden...” She pauses dramatically then winks at the camera. “... but it’s really not the day for it.”
The cheeky wee?—
I bash out the rest of the email to Kyle, clacking the keys hard, then fire it off, probably with a few typos in it. But sod it. Some things are more important than perfect spelling—like putting Maisie in her place.
I march out to reception, where Lewis is behind the desk. “I’m heading out,” I say. “You’ll need to keep an eye on the snug.”
“Er, you do realise I’m the manager, don’t you? I’m supposed to be the one giving the orders.”
“The snug is back to being dead anyway. I’m sure you’ll manage.”
“Jamie—” he starts, but I’m already tugging my jacket on and pulling up the hood.
Time to pay Maisie a visit. And if I’m honest with myself—which I try not to be these days—I’ve been looking for an excuse to see her again.
The rain batters against my hood as I make my way along Main Street. The Pheasant’s windows are lit up like a beacon, and through them I can see it’s packed. Folk are huddled around tables, laughing and chatting, sheltering from the weather. I spot a few faces I recognise from the beer garden these past few days—faces that have clearly decided to return to their usual watering hole now that the sun has gone away.
I push open the door, and the warmth hits me along with the familiar scent of beer and whisky. My gaze sweeps the room, searching for Maisie, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Bryce is, however, behind the bar, pulling a pint.
My steps falter. Last time I was here, Bryce had a go at me. Mind you, that was when there was no one else around. Now the place is heaving. He wouldn’t try anything with all these witnesses, would he?
I approach the bar, keeping my movements slow and casual, like I’m trying not to spook a wild animal. “Er, is Maisie around?”
“Upstairs.” Bryce’s tone is gruff. “She’s not feeling too great.”
“Really?” I frown. “But she just posted a video.”
“Aye, well.” Bryce hands over the pint he’s just poured then turns back to me. “You going up to see her then?”
“If that’s all right?”
He shrugs. “You’re both adults. Just remember there are folk down here with ears.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Christ, how much does he know about what happened between me and Maisie last time?
From his knowing look, quite a lot.
“Right. Well. I’ll just...” I gesture vaguely towards the stairs up to their flat then make a quick escape.
I take the stairs two at a time, my mind already forming the perfect comeback to her video. Something witty. Something that’ll get under her skin. If history repeats itself (and here’s hoping it does), our inevitable argument might just be foreplay for us tearing each other’s clothes off and her wrapping her legs around me again. I mean, obviously that wouldn’t solve anything, but?—
I find her curled up on the couch, swaddled in a blanket like a burrito, a hot water bottle clutched to her stomach. She’s pale, there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her brow, and there’s no sign of the usual fire in her eyes.
“Great timing, Jamie,” she says, her voice as sharp as ever despite her obvious discomfort. “Come to gloat about me being under the weather?”
All my clever words evaporate. “I... er, are you all right?”
“Just peachy.” She shifts slightly under the blanket. “Crippling cramps are exactly what I needed to brighten my day.”
“Oh. Right. But...” My gaze darts to her hot water bottle—wait, that’s a bit lower than her stomach, actually—and then straight back to her face. God, where do I even look? “You literally just posted a video, and you were smiling in it. Being cheeky! Making fun of the way heavy rain messes with my head.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh shit, it was a poke at the beer garden, not at?—”
“I’m winding you up.” I hold up my hands in a gesture of peace before she injures herself trying to explain. “But seriously, no one watching would’ve guessed you’re feeling crap right now.”
“It was a thirty-second video, Jamie.” She lets out an exasperated huff but winces partway through, like every movement hurts right now, even just breathing. “Social media isn’t real. Didn’t you know that? It’s called ‘grinning and bearing it’. I’m a woman. We’ve been faking it since the dawn of time.”
“Hmm.” My lips curve into a slow smirk. “Now, Maisie, let’s not rewrite history here. We both know those moans and cries you made the other day were one hundred per cent real.”
Her face flushes—not with pleasure this time but irritation—and she rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “I really don’t want to talk about that right now.”
Just then her shoulders slump and her pale face tightens, like she’s bracing for another wave of pain, and my smirk falters. Okay, maybe now isn’t the time for jokes about sexcapades.
“How long is this gloating going to take?” she asks. “Any chance we can just skip to the part where you sod off?”
“But...” I hesitate and gesture vaguely to her midsection. “You seem like you’re in quite a lot of pain.”
“I am in a lot of pain!” she snaps. “My periods aren’t normally this bad, but they’re always worse when I’m stressed, and guess what? I have been feeling pretty stressed recently—on account of some arse down the road opening a beer garden.” She jabs a finger at me. “It’s your fault I’m in this much pain!”
I blink at her tirade then take a half-step back for safety reasons (lest that hot water bottle become a projectile). “Aw, shit. Er... sorry?”
She blows out an exasperated sigh and slumps back against the cushions. “This is such terrible timing. My first video blew up—like, properly viral—and now I’ve got this amazing chance to keep the momentum going. I should be posting new content while people are still hooked, but seriously? Right now the last thing I feel like doing is making videos.”
“Then don’t! Take a break.”
She glares at me like my sole purpose on Earth is to ruin her life. “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Stop making videos when folk are literally starting to come here because of them! Yesterday Da and I had a couple from Glasgow and a group of friends from Aberdeen stop by, all thanks to my video of the stone circle. I’ve had messages from people as far away as Australia saying they plan to pop in for a pint someday. I need... to keep making... more content.”
Spying her phone perched on the arm of the couch, I swoop in and snatch it up before she can stop me. “I’m taking this. For your own good.”
“Oi!” She jerks upright. “You can’t do that. Give me that back!”
“Nope, you need to rest. I’ll go out and pick you up some supplies. I know just what’ll cheer you up.”
Her lips press into a tight line. “Oh, do you now?”
“Aye.” I grin, leaning casually against the arm of the couch. “Because I played Highland Legacy with you for months, remember? And during that time, you told me a lot about what you like and don’t like. Like your favourite biscuit—custard creams. A tragic choice, but it’s your life. I also know you like peppermint tea. Mint choc ice cream. Dark chocolate. Gaelic Fire... okay, maybe not Gaelic Fire today, but still?—”
“Look,” I say, softening my voice and crouching so we’re closer to eye level, “how about we call today a truce? No bickering, no competing. You don’t stress about videos, and I won’t plot ways to pack the snug even when it’s pouring buckets outside. Just one day where we both take a break and... chill.”
She studies me for a beat too long, those sharp green eyes looking for an ulterior motive that isn’t there.
“Okay,” she finally says with obvious reluctance before sinking back into the cushions with a little sigh of surrender. “That... might be nice.”
“Right then.” Rising to my feet, I pop her phone up on a high shelf, well out of reach. “I don’t want you touching that thing until I’m back. Just stay where you are and relax. Maybe put something on TV that’ll take your mind off things. I won’t be long.”