7. Maisie
maisie
Birdie already knows the town like the back of her hand and it feels nice spending this time together. It’s easier than I thought it would be.
“What do you think about this one?” Birdie says, holding up a sweater with Highland cows around the collar. “It’s cute, right?”
“It is,” I reply with a smile, until I look down at the price tag and point it in Birdie’s direction.
“Not that cute,” Birdie says, putting the sweater back on the rack.
If our mom taught us anything, it was to stretch a dollar. I won’t deny that I have high dollar taste, but I don’t have a job, so for now I need to live a little tighter than I usually do.
Maybe I should try to sublet my apartment while we’re gone? The thought of someone stinking the place up has me crushing that thought away.
“Everything okay?” Birdie asks.
“I think this shop might be above our paygrade.”
“I think you’re right,” she says as we both do our most polite walk out of the store and head back on to the main path.
We end up at a more touristy keepsake shop and I’m staring at all the pamphlets as Birdie comes behind me.
“Oh, would you look at that,” she says, picking up a green brochure. “Lain’s Highland Tours, might want to look into that.” She slaps the pamphlet in my hand.
I roll my eyes at her, because I haven’t even told her I spent the whole day with him a few days ago.
I’m not sure why I’m holding back from her, I guess I just don’t want her to romanticize the whole thing.
I’m not here for some Highland romance, I’m here to grieve, move on, and get closer to Birdie.
“Cute,” I reply, looking through all the brochures. “This looks fun.” I hand her a brochure with an adorable cow on the cover and she glances at me oddly.
“You and cows? I’m not sure I see it, Mais,” she jokes.
“You’re right. Let’s just go get some dinner and figure out what we want to do for the rest of the weekend?”
“I heard Greer’s is fantastic,” she says with a smirk and I shake my head.
“That is not where we will be going tonight.”
“Is there a very tall, ginger-haired gentleman you’re trying to avoid, Maisie?”
“I’m not avoiding anyone,” I say a little too quickly.
“Please, Maisie, you take life too seriously. We’re in Scotland for a whole month and you need to let your hair down a little. You know, a little hook up wouldn’t kill you.”
“It just might,” I grumble as we walk down the cobblestone path.
“I mean you’ve had hook ups before right?”
I wrap my arms around myself. “I mean, I’ve had my heats serviced.”
She stops us at the corner. Greer’s is right there and I swear if she tries to get me to go inside, I’m probably going to combust.
“Are you telling me you don’t have sex outside of your heat with anybody?”
She says it so loud I swear a few people walking by are staring at us.
“Damn, Birdie, say it louder so the whole town hears.”
“Oh wow. No wonder why you’re so uptight. You need to be getting laid more often.”
I gasp at her accusation of being uptight, no matter how accurate that may be.
“I-I don’t.”
Birdie links her arm with mine as we walk in step with one another. “Hook ups are easy. You just have to go in knowing what you want. You’re not looking for a bond mark or some epic grand gesture of love. You’re two—or more—people looking to feel good. When was your last heat any way?”
“A few months ago, I’ve been taking suppressants anyway,” I tell her honestly, wondering if her words have any merit to them.
I’ve been a rule follower, someone who worked themselves to the bone and let my life pass me by. What if, for once, I didn’t worry over the small things and actually let myself loose? It’s not like I’ll have regrets I can’t hide from. If it goes south, I’ll be on a plane back to Chicago, anyway.
“I don’t know, Birdie.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” she says, nearly dragging me into Greer’s and plopping us both onto bar stools.
The hot bartender who makes me blush too much gives us a broad smile and Birdie elbows the shit out of my arm.
“What?” I complain.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“You’ve already met,” I remind her and Birdie rolls her eyes.
“Can I get you both something to drink?” Greer asks, and I swear there’s a smirk under that full, but perfectly maintained beard of his.
“Ginger ale for me,” I reply and Birdie snorts, ordering her own drink.
Greer makes the drinks and the whole time I’m squirming in my seat. I don’t want Birdie to say anything embarrassing and I kind of hate that I care what he thinks about me.
He gives us our drinks and hands us two menus.
This time I can actually read it, and the memory of that night has my cheeks heating relentlessly. Not just that night, but how kind Greer was to me after, how he told me I could find magic here.
We’re perusing the menu as the chef, the Alpha who hates me, Callum, is dropping off plates to the people next to us.
Birdie looks at him suspiciously and I scoff.
“Don’t bother with that one,” I tell her and she snorts.
“Definitely not interested. Thought he looked familiar.”
“What’ll it be?” Greer asks,
“Shocked, you’re open to eating at our fine establishment again. I thought our food didn’t sit right in your stomach,” Callum says.
Birdie looks over at me in shock, because, well, she’s aware of my temper.
“It must have been all the hate you cooked it with that got to me. Hopefully, you can cook with a little more joy this time.”
Birdie squeaks. “Oh, Maisie, you never diss the guy cooking your food.”
“What did you just say?” Callum says, leaning against the bar top.
“I said I’ll have the smoked salmon sandwich. It looks like it’s made with a lot of love,” I reply, staring at this burly Alpha with an attitude.
His jaw ticks, his forearms flexing as he grips the bar top one more time and walks away.
Greer runs a hand through his beard.
“Your sister is right, you know? Callum is not the kind of chef you want to piss off.”
“Well, he should stop being such a dick.”
Greer shakes his head and Birdie sighs next to me.
“Usually my sister is very sweet. The sweetest actually, but she has a temper deep down in there,” Birdie says. “Oh, and I’ll have the king prawn linguini.”
Greer scribbles it down and arches an eyebrow at me before taking the order back.
“If we get food poisoning or something, it’s all your fault.”
“He’s not going to do anything.” I wave my sister's worries off.
When he comes to deliver our food, I wish he would have done something to it. Instead, Callum stares at me as he slides the sandwich in front of me.
It’s a stalemate, I realize. He wants to humiliate me, it appears, because it has everyone around the bar’s attention.
Greer slaps him on the shoulder.
“Got a few orders backing up,” he tells his chef.
The Alpha in question doesn’t even budge, just stares me down. Oh, if he thinks he’s going to get the upper hand on me, he’s got another thing coming.
I grab one half of the open-faced sandwich and bring it to my lips. I’m overly dramatic as I place it in my mouth, moaning, acting like it’s the best meal of my life. It is, in fact, absolutely delicious.
Callum’s brows furrow as I swallow.
“This one was definitely made with love, mmm. Thank you so much, chef Callum,” I say with the most cheery disposition I can manage.
It was definitely not the response he was looking for as he walks back to the gallery without another word.
“I could cut the sexual tension with a knife,” Birdie whispers in my ear.
“Gross, Bird.”
She shrugs, digging into her food. My best pal, and the oldest man I know, Alan, comes in and starts animatedly talking to my sister and going on about how twins run in his family, too.
Greer is refilling someone’s beer before he leans on the bar top to chat with me.
“So, besides pissing off my chef, how’s your trip going?” he asks.
Birdie seems just as charmed with Alan as I was the other evening and so I don’t worry about her eavesdropping.
“It’s been good, really good actually,” I say, glancing at my sister and Greer smiles.
“Happy to hear it.”
The live music starts up and Alan, the sly old dog he is, asks Birdie to dance and she doesn’t refuse him, laughing the whole time.
There’s an immense amount of happiness and lightness that falls over me watching my sister laugh and dance and I think maybe I could learn to let go.
“I can’t let Alan show me up,” Greer says, stealing my attention from the small dance floor.
“What?”
Before I can even repeat myself, he’s flipping the bar top open and grabbing my hand and dragging me off the bar stool and to the dance floor.
“Oh. I’m not really—I can’t really,” I stutter the words as he effortlessly picks me up by the waist and spins me around.
“You cunt, showing off like that,” Alan says and I gasp at the old man. “Sorry, dears.”
Greer just laughs, putting me down on the ground, putting his hands on my hips and dancing to the beat.
“Aren’t you supposed to be pouring drinks? I’ll take her off your hands,” a voice says.
Greer gives him such a dirty look that the man at the bar must have promptly shut the fuck up. I’m grinning, but looking down so the Alpha who I’m dancing with can’t see.
“You know it’s not a crime to be happy, Maisie,” he says against my ear, and I glance up at him.
I smile dramatically up at him and he just shakes his head at me with a laugh. I follow his steps, letting him lead the dance, and it’s far easier this way.
“Not sure what you were worried about, lass. You’re an excellent dance partner.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I reply and I wonder if maybe Birdie is right. I test her theory by literally letting my hair down, taking the claw clip out of my hair and tossing it onto my seat.
I shake out the messy curls and when I look back at Greer, he’s swallowing thickly.
There’s a moment of insecurity, but then he lightly tugs on one of my curls. “It’s good to see you letting your hair down. It feels nice, doesn’t it?”
I nod, and lean into his chest as Rory plays a slower tune. Maybe I try to steal a little sniff of him, knowing damn well I won’t be able to smell anything.
The spell is broken when more and more people are asking for refills.
“Alright, alright,” Greer says, and almost absent-mindedly he kisses the top of my head. He clears his throat after heading back behind the bar, refilling drinks.
When we’re back on our stools, Birdie gives me a conspiratorial look.
“Don’t start,” I say weakly, and she raises her hands in mock surrender.
“I wasn’t saying anything. Should we go see what sweet treats Effie made for tonight?” she asks.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” I say, needing to get my head on straight.
We pay our tab and Greer gives me another charming smile before we head back to the Beag for the night. The weekend is over and I had an amazing time with Birdie.
Effie made blueberry tarts that we eat in bed.
“This worked out perfectly having the weekends together. This was great. I was thinking next weekend we could go bigger. Maybe you could take a day or two off? I really want to go to Oban, Mom spent all her summers there.”
“I’d love that,” I tell her, not wanting to burst this bubble we’ve made.
I’ll tell her soon about my job and in the meantime maybe attempt to flirt with some very attractive Scotsmen. No strings attached, no feelings, just fun.
I can handle a little fun.