Chapter 10
MARY
Sleepless Nights
(Or How Warm Milk and Seventy-Percent Dark Chocolate Cookies Can Fix Almost Anything)
I always have trouble sleeping after family dinners, but this one officially wins first place in the Hall of Emotional Disasters.
I lie flat on my bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling of my room in the guesthouse like I’m waiting for it to hand me some kind of divine revelation.
To my right, my digital clock glows a merciless 11:47 p.m. in bright green numbers.
To my left, my phone buzzes for the fourth time in a matter of minutes.
I glance at the screen.
Keira
So? What do you think of him?
I ignore it. Again.
Because honestly, what exactly am I supposed to answer?
I think Grandma is manipulating us like puppets and I’m too exhausted to process any of it?
I roll onto one side. Then the other. Then back onto my back again.
Three hours later, the ceiling is still mocking me.
I still haven’t slept a second. My brain has turned into a vicious carousel replaying every embarrassing moment from dinner on an endless loop: Maggie interrogating Finn like he was the prime suspect in a murder mystery, Isobel asking when I was finally going to “settle down,” Ragnar planting himself at Finn’s feet like he’d found his soulmate.
And then there was that conversation outside.
“You do realize she’s manipulating us, right?”
I don’t even know why I said it. The words just slipped out, probably because my brain was too tired to keep pretending all evening. And even though it’s true—even though my grandmother is absolutely playing matchmaker again—I still feel guilty for saying it to Finn.
Ugh. Damn inherited family loyalty.
With a sigh, I shove off the blankets and sit up. Staying in bed is pointless when my brain refuses to shut up.
I pull on my robe—the fluffy one that makes me look like a polar bear—and my fleece slippers to match. If I can’t sleep, I might as well do something productive.
Like drink warm milk.
Or eat cookies.
Or both.
I slip quietly out of my room and tiptoe down the hallway of the guesthouse. The last thing I need is waking my lovely roommate, who’s already grumpy enough under normal circumstances. He’s probably sleeping like the dead in his room at the other end of the floor.
The shared kitchen is completely dark when I walk in. I fumble for the light switch, and the second the light flicks on, I nearly scream.
Finn is sitting at the table.
In pajamas.
Blue plaid flannel pajamas that make him look weirdly... human.
He startles when he sees me and almost spills his mug.
“Jesus, Mary. You scared me.”
“Sorry. I thought I was alone.”
We stare at each other for a second.
Two seconds.
Three painfully awkward seconds where neither of us seems to know what to say.
“You can’t sleep either?” I finally ask.
Excellent line, Mary. Truly outstanding work.
“Clearly,” he replies.
Normally, I’d bristle at the tone, but there’s so much exhaustion in Finn’s voice that I let it slide.
“Post-McGregor-dinner insomnia?”
One corner of his mouth lifts slightly. Barely. But it’s there.
“You could call it that.”
I move farther into the kitchen and open the fridge.
“I heated up some milk,” he says, gesturing toward the saucepan on the stove. “There’s some left if you want any.”
“Warm milk?”
I’m surprised we had the exact same idea, but Finn misreads my reaction.
“You got a better cure for insomnia?”
Biting my lip, I tilt my head.
“Warm milk and chocolate cookies?”
I pull out the package I hid in one of the cabinets the day I arrived and place it on the table. Finn eyes the package suspiciously.
“They’re dark chocolate,” I clarify. “Seventy percent cacao. Not the overly sweet processed kind.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“You’re a cookie snob?”
“I know what sugar does to living organisms.”
I pour myself a bowl of warm milk and sit across from him. At this hour, the kitchen feels strangely cozy. Quiet. Peaceful. Far away from the chaos of dinner.
We drink in silence for several minutes. A silence that isn’t comfortable exactly, but not hostile either.
Just neutral.
“She’s manipulating us,” I finally say, repeating what I’d already admitted earlier that night.
Finn doesn’t even look up from his mug.
“I know.”
I blink at him.
“Since when?”
“Since she summoned me for an ‘urgent consultation’ and described symptoms that don’t exist in any medical textbook.”
A smile tugs at my mouth.
“The migrating pain behind her left knee that gets worse when it rains?”
“Among other things.”
I dunk a cookie into my milk. It breaks apart and sinks straight to the bottom.
“And that doesn’t annoy you?” I ask, standing to grab a spoon.
Finn shrugs.
“It does. But I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. The village hates me. I got kicked out of a bed-and-breakfast by democratic vote. Your grandmother’s giving me a free place to stay. I’m not really in a position to complain.”
The resignation in his voice catches me off guard.
No bitterness.
Just exhaustion.
I sit back down and study him over the rim of my bowl. He looks different at three in the morning. Less guarded. More human.
His hair is slightly messy, and there’s a little line of milk on his upper lip he clearly hasn’t noticed.
He’s kind of adorable in his own way.
“You’ve got a milk mustache,” I say, gesturing to my own face.
He wipes it away quickly, the tips of his ears turning faintly red.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence settles around us again. I fish the soggy cookie piece out of my bowl and eat it.
“And you?” he asks suddenly. “Why can’t you sleep?”
“Because my grandmother spent the entire evening humiliating me in front of my family by implying I’m going to die alone and get eaten by imaginary cats.”
“At least she didn’t compare you to a dead saint.”
“No. She just compared me to all my perfectly settled cousins with their perfectly organized lives.”
“The perfect cousins who spent the entire evening watching us like lab rats?”
“The very same.”
I grab another cookie. This one survives the milk.
“She’s not going to stop, you know,” I say after a moment. “Once Grandma gets an idea into her head, she’s like Hamish when he spots Ragnar. Impossible to stop.”
Finn grimaces.
“I noticed.”
“Grandma or the sheep?”
“Both.”
I stir my spoon through the milk and watch the pale swirl circle the bowl.
“She’s going to organize more dinners. More ‘urgent consultations.’ More situations where we’re forced to interact. It’s her specialty.”
“Fantastic.”
“Unless…”
I stop.
The idea forming in my brain is completely insane. Ridiculous. The kind of idea people usually come up with at three in the morning after too many tequila shots—not after warm milk and two dark chocolate cookies.
“Unless what?” Finn asks curiously.
I take a deep breath and look up at him. He’s watching me with genuine interest.
“Unless we beat her at her own game.”
Silence stretches between us, and I fully expect Finn to shut me down immediately. Honestly, the idea is incredibly stupid.
“I’m not following.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and stare down at my mug.
Stop talking. Seriously, stop now.
Apparently my brain has stopped functioning properly, because I hear myself continue anyway.
“Maggie wants to set us up, right? She thinks we’d make an adorable couple. That we’re ‘perfect for each other.’ That Ragnar liking you is some kind of sign from destiny.”
“Yes. And?”
“And what if we gave her exactly what she wants?”
Finn slowly turns his mug between his hands on the table. I notice he has really nice hands.
Focus, Mary. Dear God.
“You’re serious?”
“I mean, we wouldn’t actually be together. We’d just... pretend.”
He stares at me like I’ve officially lost my mind.
Which, fair.
But suddenly I’m getting weirdly excited about this catastrophic idea.
“Let me rephrase,” I continue, sitting up straighter. “My grandmother is manipulating us into spending time together. She’s going to keep going until either we give in or one of us moves across the country. But if we pretend to date, she’ll relax. She’ll stop scheming. She’ll leave us alone.”
“You’re talking about fake dating,” Finn says flatly.
“Exactly.”
“You do realize that’s ridiculous.”
“Completely. But it’s also brilliant.”
“No. It’s just ridiculous.”
I cross my arms.
“You got a better idea? Because I’m tired of being interrogated about my love life at every family dinner. And you’re tired of being summoned for fake medical emergencies. Plus, dating me would help you fit into the community.”
Finn drags both hands down his face.
“This will never work.”
“Why not?”
“Because nobody’s going to believe we’re together. We barely know each other. We don’t even like each other.”
“Exactly. That’s what makes it perfect. Think about it: no emotional complications, just a practical arrangement. We literally can’t lose.”
He studies me for a long moment, like he’s evaluating my mental stability.
“You’re serious,” he finally says.
“Very.”
“You actually want to do this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question catches me off guard.
Why do I want this?
Because I’m tired of being the perpetually single one in the family? Because I want to prove Maggie can’t manipulate me? Because the thought of enduring weeks of her schemes makes me want to flee the country?
All of those answers.
And none of them.
“Because I’m tired,” I finally admit. “Tired of people making decisions for me. Tired of being treated like a project. Tired of never having control over my own life in this family.”
Finn stays quiet for a long time. Honestly, I’m surprised he hasn’t run for his life yet.
“What would the rules be?” he asks at last.
My heart gives a tiny jump.
He’s considering it.
He hasn’t said no.
“Rules?”
“If we’re doing this, there need to be rules. Clear ones.”
I sit up straighter, my brain instantly switching into strategy mode.
“Okay. Rule number one: nobody else can know it’s fake.”
“Obviously.”
“Rule number two: either of us can end it whenever we want. No questions. No drama.”
“Agreed.”
“Rule number three: no emotional complications. This is strictly practical.”
Finn nods slowly.
“Rule number four,” he adds. “We define what’s acceptable in public. Holding hands? Fine. Kissing? To be determined. Anything beyond that? No.”
“I can work with that.”
“Rule number five: we each get veto power over situations where we’re expected to appear together. If one of us is uncomfortable, we can refuse.”
“That seems reasonable.”
We look at each other across the table. The kitchen light casts strange shadows across his face. He looks exhausted. Resigned.
But also... intrigued.
“So,” I say slowly. “We’re really doing this?”
Finn takes one last sip of milk, sets his mug down carefully, and looks me straight in the eye.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long does this fake dating thing last?”
I think out loud.
“We’ll need enough time to make people believe we’re actually falling for each other. The Highland Games are in two months. The whole family will be there. If we make it until then, Maggie will be satisfied. After that, we can quietly ‘break up.’”
“Eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks,” I confirm.
“And then?”
“Then we go back to being acquaintances.”
Silence settles between us.
Heavy.
Long.
Then Finn reaches his hand across the table toward me.
“Okay. Deal.”
I stare at his outstretched hand.
This is completely insane. Ridiculous. The kind of plan responsible adults absolutely do not make.
But then again... not everyone has a grandmother whose life mission is marrying off all her grandchildren.
I spare a brief thought for the rest of my cousins, but honestly? Not my problem.
I focus on Finn instead.
I take his hand. His grip is firm. Professional. Like he’s signing a business contract instead of agreeing to a fake romantic relationship.
“Deal,” I say softly.
We stay there for a moment, sitting at the kitchen table, hands clasped between bowls of warm milk and dark chocolate cookies.
And I can’t decide whether this is the best idea I’ve ever had...
or the beginning of my social downfall.
Probably both.
“When do we start?” Finn asks, pulling his hand back.
“Tomorrow. Technically today. In a few hours. The second the sun comes up and Maggie starts spying on us.”
“You think she spies on us?”
“I’m positive. She probably has hidden cameras all over the castle.”
Finn grimaces.
“Comforting.”
“I’m kidding.”
...Mostly.
“Welcome to the McGregor family, Finn.”
In response, he gives me the faintest smile, and something strange twists low in my stomach.
Finn McLeod is attractive.
But that’s probably just sleep deprivation making me delirious. Yes. That has to be it. Tomorrow morning, in daylight, Dr. McLeod will undoubtedly seem completely unbearable again.
He stands, rinses his mug in the sink, then heads toward the hallway. At the doorway, he pauses and glances back at me.
“Mary?”
“Yeah?”
“This is a really bad idea.”
“I know.”
“We’re going to regret it.”
“Probably.”
“But thanks anyway.”
Something warm flickers quietly inside my chest.
Not much.
Just... something.
“You’re welcome, Finn.”
He nods once and disappears down the hallway. I hear his footsteps fade away before climbing the stairs.
Left alone in the kitchen, I stare down at my now-empty bowl of milk and wonder what exactly I’ve just done.
My gaze drifts toward the window.
Soon, the sky will start to lighten. The first hints of dawn will appear over the hills. A new day will begin.
The first day of our fake relationship.
What could possibly go wrong?
Everything, my inner voice answers immediately with absolute certainty.
But for now, at four in the morning, after sealing a pact with a grumpy doctor over warm milk and dark chocolate cookies, I choose to ignore the voice of reason.