CHAPTER 3
The drive to Drumnadrochit took several hours.
I looked out the window at rolling green hills dotted with grazing sheep, small villages tucked into valleys, streams that caught sunlight as they tumbled over rocks, and stone cottages with smoke curling from their chimneys.
I could see why Caitlin’s friend, Melissa, had loved it here so much that she moved.
Of course, inheriting a home didn’t hurt.
I leaned forward between the seats. “You’re not tempted to stay? Look at that light on the hills.”
“Aye, well…” Angus’s eyes crinkled in the rearview mirror. His attention shifted back to me, and I glimpsed white movement on the asphalt ahead.
“Sheep!” My hand flew to the back of the seat in front of me.
Angus’s foot eased on the brake, the car slowing just enough as the woolly obstacle ambled across.
His hand found Caitlin’s on the center console, thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“Someday,” he murmured, eyes back on the road.
“When the restaurant doesn’t need me every weekend.
In the meantime, the flight from Boston to Scotland is fairly easy, and Mum visits as often as she can. It works.”
Caitlin gripped the door handle as we navigated another hairpin turn. “Thank God you’re behind the wheel. Between the sheep, these single-track roads, and driving on the left—I’d have crashed us into a loch by now.”
Angus grinned at her. “Second nature. Just like riding a bike.”
The road curved, and suddenly we were tracing the edge of what looked like an endless ribbon of black water stretching into the distance.
“This isn’t—” I began, but Caitlin’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement.
“It is! Loch Ness! Straight out of those cheesy shows we used to watch as kids. Let’s hop out and grab a photo!”
Angus eased the car onto the gravel shoulder, and Caitlin dragged me out to the water’s edge where we pretended to spot something in the water, laughing as the wind whipped our hair into our mouths.
“We’ll take a tour later, but I thought we should go straight to the inn to show you where we’re planning on having the ceremony and the like,” said Angus.
We hopped back into the car for a short drive, and soon Angus pulled into a driveway for a large, stately inn.
The inn looked like a Nancy Meyers movie set in Scotland. Stone walls, weathered just enough to suggest history without decay. Through a break in the hedges, a white gazebo nestled among rhododendrons, practically begging for vows to be exchanged beneath its roof.
But I could also see that the parking lot was packed.
Cars. Buses. Trailers. More trailers. My stomach lurched with recognition, then a flutter of excitement I immediately hated myself for feeling.
Those gleaming white boxes with their blue trim and stairs—production trailers.
The kind I’d spent five years of my life trudging in and out of before I’d sworn off the film industry forever.
Part of me wanted to run. Part of me couldn’t turn away.
Angus led us to the front door and held it open. Caitlin gasped as she saw how crowded the lobby was. Construction workers and electricians carried ladders, saws, and extension cords. I looked at Caitlin and I could see the math mathing. A wedding wasn’t likely to happen here any time soon.
A young man with a walkie-talkie pressed to his ear nodded vigorously. “Copy that, Tony.”
Nearby, a woman juggling a clipboard and wearing a headset barked, “Tony, go to 2. We need to find Harper, ASAP!”
My stomach knotted. Trailers and construction crew meant three things: Big budget. Long schedule. Trouble.
Beside me, Caitlin’s eyes widened with delight while Angus leaned forward, intrigued. My sister actually looked thrilled by this disaster.
Angus shouldered his way to the concierge desk, his jaw set.
“I need to see Drew MacAlister,” he announced, voice clipped. “Tell him Angus is here.”
The young man in the headset barely glanced up. “He’s out.”
“When will he be back?” Angus’s voice was warm but had some bite to it.
“Look, mate, this is a closed set.” The headset guy’s voice dripped with condescension.
Give a twenty-year-old two years of film school and a headset, and he thinks he’s king of the world.
“MacAlister’s leased everything to us for the next two months and—”
“TWO MONTHS?!” Caitlin’s shriek cut through the lobby chatter. “It’s not even high season!”
“Precisely why we’re here.” The guy smirked. “Major film production. Closed set. Unless you’ve got a call sheet with your name on it, you need to clear out. Now.”
Angus’s accent thickened as his face flushed. “We’re no’ leaving until—”
“The inn is CLOSED.” The guy enunciated each word like we were children. “Find somewhere else to drink your whisky.”
“This was supposed to be our wedding!” Caitlin’s voice cracked, tears threatening.
“Are you filming inside or outside?” Angus demanded, glaring at the construction chaos.
“Everywhere. Every inch.”
“Seven days straight?” I challenged, stepping forward. “Because I know for a fact union rules—”
“Closed. Set.” The guy’s eyes narrowed. “Twenty-four seven. Location’s ours.”
“One weekend,” I hissed. “Name your price.”
“Not. Happening.”
I slammed my palm on the desk. “Your supervisor. NOW.”
The guy jabbed his thumb toward the far corner. A tall man in a charcoal Patagonia stood with his back to us, one hand gesturing as he spoke, the other gripping a walkie-talkie.
That voice. It couldn’t be.
Max MacLeod.
He turned, and his blue eyes fixed on me. One beat. Two. The room seemed to contract around us, the noise fading to a distant hum as I zeroed in on the silver threads in his beard that hadn’t been there five years ago.
“Abby?!” Max crossed the room in four strides, arms opening. He pulled me into a hug.
Cedar cologne. Same as always.
And for one unguarded second, I was back in the parking lot of the Gristmill, watching our deposit go up in smoke.
Our date. June 18. We’d missed the cancellation window by four days because Max had taken a film gig.
And by the time the film fell through, there was nothing left to reschedule. We were just done.
I cleared my throat, the words sticking. “This is my sister, Caitlin,” I said. “Uh, and her fiancé, Angus.”
My hand trembled as I gestured between them. “They’re planning their wedding here. Where they met.”
His eyes softened. “Wonderful location.” His gaze lingered on me a beat too long before he looked back at the venue. “So authentically Scottish, you know?”
“What can we do to make that happen?” I asked.
“I hear the loch is lovely in the fall. I can get you the contact information for the owner,” Max began.
Angus stepped forward, shoulders squared. “Drew MacAlister’s been my best mate since primary school. Our wedding’s next month—her birthday weekend.”
Max sighed. “Well, we’re knee deep in production and won’t be done with the shoot until the end of July. And then there’s always pickups.”
I stepped closer to Max than was probably smart. “With a production this size, you must have other locations. We only need a few days.”
“You know I’d help if I could, Abby.” His fingers brushed mine as he gestured. “But legal’s locked everything down with insurance. One drunk wedding guest falls into the loch, and we’re finished.”
“You’re looking well,” he added softly.
I bit back a compliment. “There must be something we can do.”
“I wish there was.”
I looked at Caitlin and saw all the hope draining out of her face. Then five years of resentment made me erupt.
“Don’t tell me you’re making some stupid Loch Ness monster movie that nobody wants when my sister—”
“It’s the Culloden movie,” he said quietly.
Oh. Wow. Shit.
I looked away, buying myself a second. The Culloden movie. The one he’d pitched to anyone who would listen back when we were still sharing a one-bedroom in Silver Lake. The one nobody would touch.
“How did you get the financing?” It came out more clipped than I intended.
“Took a while.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
“Well.” I gave a small nod. “Good. That’s really good, Max.”
“Yeah.”
The Culloden movie. After all this time.
I stayed where I was, listening to the production noise fill the silence between me and Max, and told myself the tightness in my chest was just anger.