CHAPTER 2
The taxi from Edinburgh Airport wound through narrow streets until we emerged into the Old Town, where my breath caught in my throat.
The buildings looked like something out of a fairy tale.
Or a movie. The Royal Mile stretched before me, climbing steadily upward toward Edinburgh Castle, which commanded the skyline from its perch atop an extinct volcano.
I fumbled for my phone, adding “castle tour” to my notes app before the driver had even stopped the meter.
As I wandered down the Royal Mile toward my rental, a flash of velvet and lace caught my eye—several people in period costumes disappearing down a narrow alleyway marked Mary King’s Close.
I inched closer until a bearded man with a headset snapped “CUT!” and fixed me with a glare that could wilt flowers.
“This is a closed set,” he said, gesturing to a sign I’d completely missed.
Only then did I notice the cluster of equipment—director’s chairs, cameras on dollies, crew members with walkie-talkies. Shit. I’d just blundered into someone’s carefully orchestrated shot.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t realize—”
“We’re making a film,” he said, flashing a cocky smile.
“What’s it about?”
“Can’t say.” He tapped his temple knowingly. “NDA. Those signs with the title? Fake ones. The real title would attract too much attention.”
I bit back a smile.
He was trying to impress me with his high-level access, but I knew he was an assistant director at best, more likely a 2nd AD, only in charge of extras.
I had worked in film in Los Angeles and knew my way around a film set enough to know about NDA agreements, how to avoid gushing over a star, and how to spot a bullshitter.
Fun fact: pretty much anyone involved in the industry was a bullshitter. Sell the sizzle, not the steak.
I stood quietly as he listened on his headset. “Reset. Back to one. Going again,” he shouted, shooing me away with the casual authority of someone who rarely got to exercise it.
I slipped back into the flow of tourists and continued toward my rental.
Stone walls. Exposed beams. Lavender and old books.
Exactly what I’d imagined Scotland would be.
The coffee table offered up a proper welcome: fresh fruit nestled beside a ceramic teapot, surrounded by an army of tea cakes, scones, and jam jars.
When I swung open the fridge door, a bottle of wine stood beside a wooden board laden with cured meats and cheeses.
I built a snack out of prosciutto, goat cheese, and fig jam, then opened my laptop.
With the wedding set at the MacAlister Inn, that meant we already had the venue, catering, and dance hall. We’d only need to contact a florist, DJ or band, and—
A blood-curdling scream came from the streets below.
I hopped up, spilling my tea, and rushed to the window.
“And CUT!” yelled the same AD. “Going again real quick. Back to one.”
I sighed. There wasn’t much I could do about them shooting a film outside my window at—I checked my watch—eleven in the morning. Nevermind that it felt much later in the day due to the time difference. I put on my white noise machine as I settled back into work.
With the catering and location set, I had more time to focus on fun things like the flowers, gift bags, and photographers.
I drafted a spreadsheet of florists and photographers in the area, then found myself scrolling through bridesmaids dresses when my fingers froze over the keyboard.
Wait. As Caitlin’s sister, was I going to be a bridesmaid?
Maid of honor? Why hadn’t she asked me yet?
The wedding planner usually wears something that blends in but isn’t the same as the wedding party. What was I going to wear?
As if on cue, my phone buzzed.
“Caitlin! Edinburgh is gorgeous. You should come here, and we could look at—”
“I’m here! Surprise!”
I flung open the door and bounded down the stairs to let her in.
There stood Caitlin, barely five-foot-two, her blonde curls bouncing, and next to her loomed Angus—all six feet of him, with that signature mane of dark hair that belonged on a whisky label.
The way she gazed up at him told me everything I needed to know about their relationship.
I threw my arms around them both at once.
Caitlin gave me a final tight squeeze then pulled back from our hug. “We’re so glad you were able to be here! We thought we’d take you around Edinburgh today and show you the sights while talking wedding plans. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
We strolled down the Royal Mile toward Holyrood Palace, and it was like a walking history book.
I tried to ignore the tourists and the shops full of postcards of the Loch Ness Monster and imagine my ancestors walking down this street, perhaps to catch a glimpse of Mary, Queen of Scots as her carriage drove by.
“Let’s pop into a pub and get a piece,” said Angus.
I stared at him, mystified, until Caitlin explained, “He means a sandwich.”
The pub was cozy and dark, with stone walls, lovingly worn wooden tables, board games stacked on a corner shelf, and a large wooden bar lined with every local beer and cider imaginable.
We sat at a corner table and studied the menu.
After we ordered cheese toasties, I looked from Caitlin to Angus.
“You’re getting married!” I exclaimed.
Caitlin blushed, and Angus grinned, taking her hand in his.
“And I hope you’ll do me the honor of being my maid of honor, Abby. It would mean the world.”
I jumped up and hugged her. “Of course! I’d be honored to be your maid of… honor.”
As we chatted about the details of the wedding, I noticed more people in period costumes outside the window.
“What is this movie they’re making here?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s always something,” said Angus.
Caitlin studied their outfits. “Judging from the 16th century clothes, probably something about Mary, Queen of Scots?”
“Haven’t they made enough of those?” asked Angus.
“There’s always room for another one, it seems,” said Caitlin.
“Do you know who’s starring? Who’s directing?” I asked.
They shook their heads.
Our toasties appeared just as the sky opened up, sending fat raindrops splattering against the window panes. We watched as a young production assistant handed out umbrellas and ponchos for the actors.
“And that’s yet another great reason to get married in the MacAlister Inn—no worries about the weather. I always wanted an outdoor wedding, but in Scotland the weather is so unpredictable,” began Caitlin, but Angus chimed in.
“It’s completely predictable. If you make plans outside, you’d better be ready for rain and midges,” he explained.
“What are midges?” I asked, wondering if it was some mythical Scottish monster.
“They’re like mosquitos, only worse. After they bite—or should I say, attack—they leave loads of little red bumps all over.”
“They come out in the Highlands when it’s rainy,” said Caitlin.
“Or wet,” continued Angus.
“In the summer,” added Caitlin.
“So we’re well and proper chuffed to have an indoor wedding in the Highlands!” said Angus.
We raised our glasses and clinked. “To indoor weddings!”