Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MAISIE
Jamie strides back into the flat, rain dripping from his jacket and shopping bags dangling from his hands. A soggy paper wrap pokes out from under his arm, and after setting the bags down with exaggerated care, he reveals with a flourish it’s a bouquet of flowers. Lupins stretch their spiky heads above softer clusters of sweet peas and peonies—annoyingly lovely for something that moments before was smashed against his armpit.
“A guy has to give his lass flowers on their first date, right?” His eyes sparkle with devilry.
I groan loudly, partly because of him and partly because my cramps feel like tiny goblins rioting in my uterus. “Ugh. That’s the exact same line you used as LochNLoad when I took you to that spot behind the waterfall. Did you think recycling it would make you seem charming?”
“I absolutely did,” he says with zero shame. “And I reckon it worked. Admit it—you liked the line then, and you like it now.”
“Wrong. And I can recycle lines too, you know, like this is not a date . It wasn’t then, and it isn’t now.”
“If you say so.” He crouches by the shopping bags and unpacks them with far too much enthusiasm for a man who’s just been soaked. “In any case, I brought snacks for whatever this is.”
Custard creams come out first, followed by dark chocolate, peppermint tea, a tub of mint choc chip ice cream, and a pot of fresh fruit salad.
“Right,” he says casually, as if he hasn’t just unloaded my entire comfort-food wish list onto the coffee table (with a bit of token fruit thrown in, possibly to help ward off guilt). “I’ll pop the ice cream in your freezer unless you want some now?”
I shake my head no—not because I don’t want it but because I’m too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of gratitude just yet. “Er... when you say ‘whatever this is’, you’re not planning to stick around, are you?”
“Of course I am!” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen like he owns the place. When he strolls back into the living room, he beams and says, “My last gift to you is the gift of my company.” Before I can retort that I’m not sure I want that gift, he adds, “Actually, come to think of it, that’s not the last gift. I got a few other things too. More... practical ones.”
He reaches into a bag that still has some items in it, and then... oh no. No, no, no, no, no?—
“So, I wasn’t sure exactly what sort of, er, supplies you might need for your current predicament. ” One by one, Jamie pulls out an assortment of sanitary products and lines them up on the coffee table like he’s creating a display. Pads in all shapes and sizes. Tampons—some with applicators, some without—and a menstrual cup. It’s absurdly thorough, like he raided an entire chemist aisle without knowing where to stop.
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, a proper belly laugh that sends another sharp jab through my abdomen but is worth it anyway.
“There!” Jamie points at me triumphantly. “A smile! See? My presence is already working wonders.”
“It’s not your presence , idiot,” I manage between giggles. “I mean, what even is that?” I wave at the shrine to period products. “You’ve got enough there to last a women’s football team a whole season!”
He shrugs, entirely unbothered by my criticism. “The specifics of how I made you smile aren’t important. The point is, you’re smiling.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, shaking my head even as another reluctant smile tugs at my lips.
But then he drops to the carpet and lounges back against the sofa, settling near enough that I can sense the heat of him—close, but not scandalously so. Close enough that my fingers itch to tangle in his messy hair. Not that I’d actually do that, obviously.
It’s getting a bit too cosy here—cosy and dangerous—so I grab at the nearest distraction. “How much did all this cost?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jamie waves away the question like he’s swatting away a fly buzzing near his ear. “It’s on me.”
“No.” Indignation creeps in. “I’m paying you back. The last thing I want is to owe you anything.”
He glances over his shoulder at me, and his lips twitch into that infuriating smirk of his. “Seriously, it’s fine. I’ve actually got a bit of extra cash in my pocket right now. You see, I started this beer garden recently, and it’s been doing really well.”
I reach out and flick his ear. His smirk morphs into a grin—frustratingly cute, as usual.
“After that comment, I’m definitely not paying you back. Anyway, I hear the beer garden isn’t doing quite so well today.”
“Touché,” Jamie retorts with a wink before his gaze drifts to the TV. The romcom I paused when I heard him coming in is frozen on the screen. “Interesting choice. Thought you’d be more of a You’ve Got Mail kind of girl.”
“You’re familiar with nineties romcoms?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“I’ve seen You’ve Got Mail . It’s kind of eerie how similar it is to us, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” I counter. “ It had a happy ending.”
“You’re right. I always thought it was kind of weird that Meg Ryan’s character fell for Tom Hanks’s character. For a good chunk of the film, he knows her identity but goes on chatting with her online anyway. That’s creepy as fuck, right? I mean, what sort of person would do that kind of thing?”
I make to flick his ear again, but this time Jamie dodges, spinning back to face me and pressing both hands over his chest in an exaggerated shot-to-the-heart gesture. “I opened up to you, Maisie! And yet you weren’t being honest with me!”
“Is this your grand plan to cheer me up?” I fold my arms. “Guilt-tripping me about withholding my identity when we were gaming? Because, you know what, I do feel guilty about that—but you’re really not making me feel any better about myself right now.” I pause deliberately before adding, “Also, I hear you’ve been telling people that I said it could never work between us unless you shut down the beer garden.”
“Well, you did say that,” he points out. “But you’re right, the aim here is to distract you from cramps, and I’ve got an idea guaranteed to take your mind off things.”
He reaches into one of the shopping bags still lingering by the sofa and pulls out a laptop sleeve. With exaggerated flair, he unzips it and withdraws his computer like a magician pulling a rabbit from his hat. “Despite your betrayal, I have been missing playing Highland Legacy with you, so I was thinking... you know...”
“I told you that the days of us gaming together were over,” I remind him.
“You did,” he concedes, “but c’mon, you know how immersive Highland Legacy is. It’ll distract you better than this romcom you’ve clearly seen twenty times already.” He sets his laptop on the coffee table beside the mountainous pile of tampons and opens it up. “And it’ll be fun playing in person for once.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“But irresistible too?”
“I never said that, but all right, we can play. But only because it’s better than stabbing myself repeatedly in the eye to distract myself from the pain in my uterus.”
“Fair enough.” Jamie claps his hands together as if sealing some sacred pact before standing abruptly and brushing imaginary dust from his jeans. “Right then, where’s your laptop? I’ll go fetch it.”
“It’s in my bedroom.”
“Great! I know where that is—on account of us having sex there the other day.” He shoots me a wickedly cheeky grin.
“Bloody hell. Did you really need to say that?”
“What?” He shrugs innocently as he steps towards the hallway. “I’m just stating facts here. Anyway, back in a mo.”
I hurl a cushion after him, but he’s already halfway down the hall, laughing like the devil he is.
Jamie and I sit side by side on the sofa, our laptops balanced on our knees as we explore a dense forest in the northern region of Highland Legacy ’s map. Our shoulders brush occasionally as we play, and each time it happens, my stomach does this stupid little flip that has absolutely nothing to do with my cramps.
I catch him stealing glances at me when he thinks I’m focused on the screen to notice. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and against my better judgement, my gaze keeps wandering to his forearms. There’s something inexplicably hot about the way his muscles shift as his fingers dart over the keys.
“Tea?” Jamie asks, already reaching for my mug before I can answer.
“You don’t have to keep?—”
But he’s gone before I can finish speaking, apparently determined to top up my peppermint tea. Again. As though leaving me with an empty mug would be an unforgivable crime.
When he returns, he brings not just my mug but also a bowl of ice cream. I snatch it greedily from him.
“Your shoulders look tense,” he observes as I dig in with unrestrained enthusiasm. “Want me to?—”
“If you’re about to offer me a massage,” I interrupt sharply, pointing my spoon at him like a weapon, “don’t even think about it.”
He flashes me a cheeky smile. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Shaking my head at his audacity, I shovel another spoonful into my mouth and try to refocus on the game, although it’s hard when his stupid grin lingers in my peripheral vision. Our characters are stalking through the gloomy forest in search of a legendary weapon, the Staff of the Storm Witch, which supposedly grants its wielder the power to control the weather. Jamie’s warrior leads the way while my mage follows close behind.
“Watch out for that—” I try to warn him, but it’s already too late.
A giant spider drops from the canopy like something out of a nightmare, landing square on top of Jamie’s character and flattening him to the ground in an undignified heap.
“Shit, I’ve been pancaked by Shelob’s uglier cousin!” Jamie mashes his keyboard. “Little help here?”
“Relax.” I cast a fire spell, and the spider explodes in a satisfying burst of embers and ash. “What would you do without me?”
He shoots me a sideways glance, his lips curving in a way that spells trouble. “I don’t know. We make a good team, you and me. On the battlefield and in the bedroom.”
“Oh God! Just stop. Else the next time a spider flattens you, you’re on your own.”
“Understood. I promise to make no further references to how I had you moaning in ecstasy a few days back, our limbs tangled together. Nope, that topic is completely off limits. Although... did I mention on Sunday that your tits are fantastic? I mean, they’re not the biggest, but they felt really delightful in my hands and?—”
“ Jamie! ” I grab a cushion and wallop him square in the face. “You’re such a tosser! I cannot believe you just said that.”
He takes the hit like a champ, laughing as he rubs his jaw. “What? It was a compliment!”
“Do you want me to hit you again?” I hold the cushion aloft to prove I’m not bluffing.
“Er... no? All right, no more chat about your itty bitty titties, then. Although, just so we’re clear, I like them. A lot. They’re really pretty amazing.”
“Wow. Okay, since we’re sharing unsolicited opinions, maybe I’ll start listing your best features. Starting with... er... give me a minute... nope, I’ve got nothing.”
“Ouch!” He chuckles. “You know, SassyLassie always had the best banter. It’s fun getting to chat to you like this in real life.”
“You do realise I’m literally asking you not to talk about this stuff with me, don’t you? Besides, it’s not like I’m giving you feedback on your cock.”
“True. Although, if you were to... a number out of ten?”
That gets him another whack of the cushion. Again, right on the noggin. This time, he blinks quite a few times afterwards. He still laughs it off, but I wonder if it was maybe a tad too hard—and, annoyingly, that makes me feel a bit guilty. Still, it doesn’t stop me from saying, “Seven.”
The number lands with just the right amount of sting, and his head jerks back like I’ve hit him a third time. It’s high enough to seem genuine and yet low enough to chip away at his fragile male ego. Is that really mean of me? Nah, it’s about time I put him in his place. Anyway, I’m not so crass as to actually rate a guy’s penis. (Although, if I had to, I’d definitely give Jamie a higher score than seven.)
Jamie tries to brush off my judgement with a smile—a thin, strained thing—but I can tell it hits a nerve. Still, at least he’s not offering to whip it out and give me an opportunity to re-evaluate it. I wouldn’t have put that past him.
“All right, fine,” I say. “Maybe a seven point five.”
This sympathy half point does nothing to improve his mood. If anything, it makes him look more affronted.
“Anyway...” I say. “Seeing as you raised the subject of... well, that part of your anatomy , can I ask you a serious question?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You want to ask me a serious question about my dick?”
“Kind of, aye.”
“Er . . . okay?”
I really shouldn’t be this entertained by how adorably confused—and perhaps a little panicked—he looks right now. But apparently I’m deeply flawed. Besides, there is something I want to get off my chest, and it’s been bothering me for ages. Two years, in fact.
“At Emily and Ally’s engagement party, I asked you to dance with me, and you said no.”
Jamie’s brows lift in mild surprise. “Oh. Aye... I did.”
“ But, ” I say, gearing up like I’m about to deliver a courtroom coup de grace, “when we were driving back from the distillery?” I pause for effect then point at his crotch. “Boner.”
Jamie splutters and coughs. “Jesus Christ!” he mutters.
“And then ,” I barrel on mercilessly, “that kiss in your garage? Boner.”
“Maisie!” He laughs now despite himself, his ears going red as sin.
“And obviously,” I finish grandly, waving my arms like a magician unveiling their pièce de résistance, “when we finally had sex... boner bonanza.”
Jamie groans through another chuckle and runs a hand through his messy hair. “ Boner bonanza? Really?”
“What?” I ask innocently, folding my arms. “That’s what it was! You’ve got a very reliable track record of pointing north around me. Which means”—I stab a finger at him—“you can’t find me that hideous. So why did you knock me back at the engagement party?”
He scrubs at his jaw. When he finally meets my eye, there’s something almost sheepish in the way he exhales heavily through his nose.
“You didn’t seriously think I thought you were hideous, did you?” He asks it as if the very idea were baffling beyond words.
“Well . . .”
I don’t have major hang-ups about my looks, but I’ve never exactly been brimming with confidence either. I’m no curvy Iona, and I certainly don’t have Cat’s endless legs—or her confidence either.
“Bloody hell.” He shifts on the sofa, folding one knee up between us. “Maisie, it wasn’t about how you looked—God knows that wasn’t the issue. I mean... just look at you.” He lets out a small huff of laughter like this should all be obvious. But then his smile falters, morphing into something more uncertain as one hand rubs absently at his left thigh. “It’s just... dancing makes me self-conscious sometimes.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you’re not the guy who feels like that.”
“Aye, well, not every guy has a metal pin in their leg that makes everything feel off kilter when they try to move with rhythm.” He shrugs like he’s brushing it off but doesn’t quite succeed. “Gaming? That feels easier.”
I nod, not because I’m going soft or anything but because... well... I can see where he’s coming from. Breezily I say, “Gaming is way better than dancing anyway. Speaking of which, we’ve been loitering in this forest clearing for ages. Shall we crack on?”
“Let’s do it.”
We return to the game, our characters venturing deeper into the tangled forest. His warrior charges ahead with abandon, hacking through thorny vines and dispatching low-level enemies like they’re nothing more than minor inconveniences. Meanwhile, my mage hangs back, methodically gathering herbs and enchanting Jamie’s gear.
“Are you seriously picking flowers right now?” Jamie asks, glancing sideways at my screen. “We’re supposed to be hunting down a legendary weapon.”
“These flowers will save your arse when you inevitably get pancaked by another spider,” I retort without looking up. “No mana, no magic.”
He chuckles softly, the sound laced with a smile I can hear even without glancing his way. “Can’t argue with that.”
We continue on until we’re swarmed by shadow sprites, once-beautiful creatures corrupted by magic gone wrong. Their glowing green wings shimmer faintly against their skeletal frames, and high-pitched giggles echo disturbingly as they dive-bomb us like homicidal dragonflies. Lochie swings his blade so fast it blurs, deflecting the tiny darts they shoot at him with flawless precision. Even in the midst of battle, I can’t stop myself from risking a look at Jamie. His eyes are locked on the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly—a detail so disarmingly cute I almost miss a sprite lunging at me from behind.
“Shit!” I conjure up an inferno spell just in time to roast it in midair.
Jamie’s phone buzzes on the coffee table, but he doesn’t pick it up until all the sprites are defeated. When he does check it, he puts it back down again without typing anything back.
“Anything important?”
“Nah, just Lewis. He’s wondering when exactly I’m coming back to the hotel, but I reckon I’ve earned a bit of time off. Besides, it’s still bucketing down and no one is daft enough to sit outside in this. Let’s push on and find this Staff of the Storm Witch.”
“Sure thing. Imagine if it were real. I’d use it to keep your beer garden so soggy it could double as a duck pond. Meanwhile, sunbeams would shine down directly on the Pheasant all day, every day.”
“Wow, you’d go full evil overlord with it? Like, twirling a sinister moustache and cackling on a throne made of tampons and custard creams?”
“Yes, Jamie. Because if I had magic powers, the first thing I’d do would be to grow a handlebar moustache. I’d maybe even grab a monocle to go with it, just to really complete the look. I don’t hate the idea of a throne made of custard creams, though.”
We both laugh as the game pulls us back into its dark forest. For a while, we lose ourselves in Highland Legacy again, delving deeper into the forest and fending off increasingly challenging enemies. Jamie charges ahead without an ounce of caution, hacking his way through monsters like a berserker on speed. Meanwhile, I trail behind, stringing together spells to keep him alive because apparently someone has to be responsible.
“You know,” I mutter, “if you spent even a few points improving your defence stat rather than trying to max out your strength, I might not have to babysit you.”
“But where would the fun be in that?” Jamie quips. “Besides, you’re amazing at keeping me alive. I wouldn’t want to rob you of your chance to shine.”
We’re just about to reach some creepy ruins when Jamie’s phone buzzes on the coffee table again. This time, though, Lewis is calling him rather than messaging. Jamie lets out an exaggerated sigh before snatching up the phone. “Aye? What is it?” A pause follows during which he stares up at the ceiling like his brother’s voice is personally offending him. “Where am I? I’m at Maisie’s flat... Jesus, no, we are not having sex! She’s feeling rubbish, and I’m looking after her.”
I let out an involuntary laugh—a surprised snort that escapes before I can stop it.
Jamie winks at me even as Lewis’s voice continues on the other end of the line, faint but distinct enough for me to make out snippets of his rambling, and one word in particular: Kyle .
At the name, Jamie sits up straighter. “You did what ? Why? Actually, nope, never mind, don’t answer that right now.” He briefly glances my way then averts his gaze again. “We can discuss this later, Lewis. I’ve got to go.” He hangs up.
“What was that about?” I ask.
Jamie shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Really? Because you got upset when Lewis mentioned Kyle.”
Jamie flinches at the name, like he didn’t realise I’d have caught some of the conversation. He gives me a look that says, How much did you hear? Then he clears his throat. “Really, it was... nothing for you to worry about.”
I narrow my eyes at him because I get the distinct impression it was something I probably should be worried about, but honestly? Between my cramps and the painkillers I’ve been taking, I just don’t have it in me to interrogate him right now. In fact, I think Highland Legacy has been masking just how bone-tired I really am. Out of nowhere a wave of exhaustion washes over me.
Jamie rubs at his jaw, his gaze roaming the room, presumably searching for a change of subject. It soon lands on a framed photo hanging near the TV—a picture of me, aged about six, with my da and maw.
“She was really pretty,” he says after a beat of silence. “Your maw, I mean. I don’t remember her well—you must’ve been wee when she passed—but you obviously inherited her good looks.”
It’s such an uncharacteristically sweet thing for him to say that, for a moment at least, my doubts melt away. “Thanks.”
I let my head fall back against the sofa. My eyelids are growing heavy, fatigue pressing down on me like an anchor sinking slowly through water. “I think...” A yawn sneaks its way out. “... I think I need a wee break from the game. The staff will have to wait.”
“Oh?” He straightens. “Are you wanting me to go?”
“No.” I fold over my laptop and place it on the coffee table. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of reassuring to have around. Just... give me five minutes. I’ll be good to go again in no time.”
I really do mean to rest my eyes for just a little while, but the next thing I know, I’m drifting off, my head coming to rest on Jamie’s shoulder. The last thing I register before sleep takes me completely is the gentle pressure of him shifting closer, making sure I’m comfortable.
I stir, my eyes fluttering open to find myself nestled against Jamie, his arm draped around me. His warmth seeps into me, and for a moment—a fleeting, dangerous moment—I let myself sink into the comfort of it. He smells faintly of rain and the lingering woodsy scent of his aftershave, mixed with the minty undertone from the tea he’s been pouring for me all afternoon. It’s oddly appealing.
“Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing but softened by something gentler underneath.
I blink and sit up, stretching out the stiffness in my shoulders, his arm slipping away. “How long was I out?”
Jamie checks his phone. “About an hour. You were out cold.”
“I wasn’t out cold,” I protest. “I was... resting my eyes.”
“Aye, for an hour, with those wee snuffling noises that were definitely not snores.” His lips twitch.
“I do not snore!”
“Whatever you say. Anyway, feeling any better now?”
I nod, surprised to find that I do. My body feels heavy with sleep, but the cramps have eased.
Our eyes lock for a beat too long, and just as I’m about to look away and break whatever this is brewing between us, Jamie reaches out. His fingers brush lightly against my cheek as he tucks a stray strand of flame-coloured hair behind my ear. The touch is brief but lingers enough to send a shiver racing down my spine.
He leans back, almost as if gathering himself. “I should probably get going.” He stands and stretches somewhat reluctantly. “Lewis has sent me about twenty messages, and judging by the last one, I reckon he’s planning to stage a rescue mission if I don’t check in soon. I hope you’re back to full health soon, all right?”
I should leave it there. Let him leave. But before I can stop myself or think better of it, I catch a hold of his arm. “Wait.”
He turns back to me, eyebrows raised. “Aye?”
“I...” My grip on him tightens briefly before I force myself to let go. “I just wanted to say... thanks for today.” The words come out stiffly, like they’re being dragged from the depths of my pride. “Despite the cramps and your general tendency to be insufferable, it was... nice.”
His face breaks into a grin that’s far too charming for his own good. “I had a nice time too, Sass.”
The use of my online nickname sends a strange flutter through my chest. I watch him walk away, torn between wanting to call him back and knowing I probably shouldn’t.