Chapter 23
I sat in an oversized blue plaid chair in the lobby of the MacAlister Inn, watching guests drift in and out while I sipped ginger tea with honey and lemon. I was avoiding the scones with lemon curd, but my brain wasn’t about to let me forget about them.
Melissa breezed through the door and plunked down beside me, her hair slightly windblown. “Hey, Abby! Are your parents here yet?”
“They just took off sight-seeing with Angus and Caitlin. We don’t all fit in one car, so I bowed out.”
“Everything else all right?” Her tone was full of concern as she studied me.
I jerked my chin toward the offending scones.
“There’s a lemon curd situation over in the breakfast nook that’s making me crazy, if that’s the Abby-is-unable-to-relax vibe you’re catching.
Otherwise… they sorted out the Angus-is-a-rich-and-famous-musician thing pretty well. I’ll let Caitlin fill in the details.”
“You’re a good sister. No gossip. I like it.” She gave me a slight nudge.
“Yeah, well…”
A waitress from the cafe appeared. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Earl Grey, please, no milk,” Melissa said. “And how about a scone with lemon curd?” Melissa winked at me as the waitress nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Melissa turned her full attention to me now. “So, speaking of gossip, and, um, denying yourself something you so clearly want, what’s the tea with you and Max?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. The movie’s on hold, he needs financing, but the good news is the head of the studio is a guy we went to grad school with—and he’s a great guy. So. Fingers crossed.”
“That’s not the tea I was looking for, but okay…,” she said, grinning.
I shrugged. “Haven’t seen him in a bit.”
The waitress returned with the tea and scone. Melissa slathered on the lemon curd and handed me a piece of it.
“Wow,” I said with my mouth full, as Melissa giggled at me.
“Time to plan the hen party… hen do… whatever,” she said matter-of-factly. “We are Caitlin’s closest friends, and you’re looking lovelorn, so we’re going to have the best hen do Inverness has ever seen.” She popped the last bit of scone in her mouth. “Let’s get this party started!”
We settled on the couch in Melissa’s spacious living room while we listed guests, created an e-vite, and brainstormed about the venue—always the sticky part.
“We could get one of those beer gardens on wheels?” Melissa suggested.
I thought of the Scottish terrain. Yeah… no. “I think you have to pedal to get anywhere… sounds like a lot of work in these hills.”
“Pedals? Nope, nope. We’re not doing any extra work here,” agreed Melissa.
“What about one of those places where you paint stuff?” I was spitballing. I plan the weddings, not the pre-parties.
“Do you like to paint? Does Caitlin?” asked Melissa.
“Not really.”
“Moving on…”
I examined my nails. They were looking pretty rough. “I mean, we can always get mani pedis, but Caitlin was probably going to do that anyway.”
We sipped our tea while I looked out Melissa’s beautiful wall of windows. “She’s already done a Loch Ness tour. Guests can do that on their own. This needs to be something unique that everyone would like.”
Melissa opened a new tab on her computer and started searching. “What about if we create our own Highland Games with the wedding party? You know, the way some people do a scavenger hunt.”
“And lug giant trees and rocks across a field? I don’t want anyone putting out their backs!”
Melissa sighed. “I guess we could do a scavenger hunt—we could set up clues about Angus’s childhood and then where he and Caitlin met.”
“That’s such a cute idea. I love it!” Then realization washed over me. “Then we’d have to include visits to record stores or pubs where his band played. That might make Angus really uncomfortable.”
“We wouldn’t have to, but if we omitted it, that could cause more attention.”
“And it’s a hen do, not a stag party,” I pointed out.
“Right, no stags. Just hens. Should we have Caitlin in on this?”
“Probably!” I laughed. Here we were planning her bachelorette party without her.
I texted Caitlin.
We’re at Melissa’s planning your bachelorette party. Maybe you should be here?
And guess who I’m picking up at the airport in a few minutes?
I tilted my head. “She’s picking someone up at the airport.”
“Who?”
“She says guess…”
We looked at each other, racking our brains for possibilities. Then Melissa’s jaw dropped. “Kara?”
“I bet it is!”
Kara?
I set down my phone. “We’re going to have to up our game!”
An hour and a half later, Caitlin’s rental car pulled into the driveway.
A long-haired woman stepped out wearing a plaid blazer, stylish jeans, and sky-high boots.
She shook her long blonde waves like a movie star, but I’d known her since third grade.
Once you’ve seen people in braces, bad bangs, and humidity hair, there’s no intimidation.
Still, she strutted up the walkway like she was the queen of the castle.
Melissa greeted her with a hug. “Kara O’Brien, welcome to Scotland!”
Kara enveloped Melissa in a bear hug, then hopped up and down like she’d just won the lottery. “This is going to be EPIC!” she exclaimed loud enough for the sheep in the next county to hear. She inhaled dramatically. “God, that air! And is that a river down there?”
“Loch Ness,” Melissa corrected with a grin.
The facade crumbled. Off came the designer sunglasses, and there she was—the same Kara who’d smuggled forbidden Judy Blume books into our sleeping bags at Girl Scout camp.
The same troublemaker who’d plotted midnight escapes to Times Square during our class trip.
The same woman who’d marched straight up to Liam Hemsworth at a coffee shop and announced that I found him “dreamy”—as if being attracted to Liam Hemsworth was some kind of revelation.
I was mortified for days. Film professionals are supposed to keep a respectful distance from celebrities, not gawk at them.
“We’re doomed,” I muttered under my breath.
“This is gonna be amazing!” Melissa chirped.
A second car crunched up the gravel driveway, and the rest of the planning committee emerged. Melissa waved them over.
“Kara, this is Sydney, Angus’s sister,” Melissa said, gesturing toward the tallest of the three.
“And this is her girlfriend Elspeth—we all work at the MacAlister together. And Lindsay here,” she smiled toward a woman with Colin’s same crinkly-eyed smile, “is our brilliant chef—and my boyfriend Colin’s sister.
” Melissa hooked her arm in Kara’s. “Lindsay, Sydney, Elspeth, this is Kara O’Brien: Femme Fatale. Party Animal. Posh Spice.”
Kara curtsied and flashed a grin.
Melissa ushered us all into the living room where she’d transformed the coffee table into a mismatched tea party.
Three steaming pots—Earl Grey, English Breakfast, and something that smelled like Christmas—sat surrounded by scones and shortbread.
She handed me a chipped rose-patterned cup while Caitlin claimed one with violets, their gold rims worn from decades of afternoon gossip from generations long before us.
Melissa tapped her teacup with a fingernail.
“We’ve brainstormed options, but most feel like tourist traps designed to vacuum money from bridal parties.
You’re essentially paying for a location rather than creating an experience.
It’s like surrendering to Chuck E. Cheese for a child’s birthday instead of planning something meaningful. ”
“Though that route certainly simplifies things,” Elspeth offered, reaching for a scone.
Caitlin leaned forward. “You know we don’t even have to do the whole hen party thing.”
“It’s not that.” Melissa shook her head. “I just hate how these businesses have sprung up overnight, offering ‘experiences’ women would never consider if not for some pre-wedding obligation. You know?”
Sydney nodded emphatically. “Exactly.”
Lindsay flicked her hand dismissively. “I mean, a lot of people will go get a mani pedi before a wedding. In Scotland, someone might go to a distillery and sample flights. But who comes to Scotland to pay to paint some knickknack…,” said Lindsay.
“Oh, I love painting,” said Elspeth, reaching over to squeeze Sydney’s arm.
“You love everything.” Sydney rolled her eyes but covered Elspeth’s hand with her own.
Kara leaned forward, grabbing a biscuit. “So if we go with some kind of organization, it should be a company or an ideal we really support and something we all really want to do.”
Melissa continued her never-ending internet search, fingers tapping rapidly across her keyboard. She suddenly slammed her palm on the table, rattling the teacups. “Aha!”
“What?” I asked, nearly spilling my tea.
“What about a Highland coo experience?” she asked, practically bouncing in her seat.
“Is that a euphemism?” Kara asked with a suggestive eyebrow raise that sent Melissa into a fit of giggles.
“God, I hope not.” I gave an exaggerated shudder.
“Get your minds out of the gutters, lassies. You just go and get to pet Highland cows and take photos. It would be fun. We could add in some other activity like mani pedis, maybe with wine or something, and call it done,” Lindsay suggested, her eyebrows arched expectantly.
Caitlin’s brow furrowed. “I don’t want this to be work for you.”
“Cait, it’s just a matter of finding something that we all think would be fun—and would feel good about doing,” I said.
“Why don’t you two plan the Highland cow thing, and I’ll plan the second half,” said Kara.
I was already too engrossed in photos of shaggy brown cows with enormous horns to ask what the second half was.
“Great,” Melissa said, the blue glow of her laptop reflecting off her glasses as she hunched forward, clicking rapidly through search results.
“Perfect. You schedule the cows, and I’ll schedule the surprise,” Kara said, twirling a strand of hair. “Bring a change of clothes. Something smart. Isn’t that what they say?”
“I did mention Kara’s a party animal, right? She’ll have us in every pub in Inverness,” said Melissa with a laugh.