Chapter 20 #2
I don’t know what he wants. What he longs for. What lights him up inside.
“This question is evil,” Callum complains.
“That’s the point,” Maggie says with satisfaction. “Alistair and Keira?”
Alistair thinks for a long moment.
“To open her own textile design shop.”
Keira’s eyes widen.
“How… how do you know that? I never told you.”
“You stare at empty storefronts every time we go into town. And you sketch logo ideas in your notebooks.”
Keira lifts her notebook with trembling fingers.
Open my own shop.
“One point,” she whispers, eyes shining.
Emma leans toward me and murmurs, “That’s so romantic.”
“Callum and Jane?” Maggie continues.
Callum looks desperate.
“Uh… to be happy?”
Jane bursts out laughing.
“That’s so generic it’s offensive.”
“It’s true, though, isn’t it?”
“My secret dream,” Jane says, holding up her notebook, “is to write a children’s book. I’ve talked about it since the day we met.”
“Oh right! I remember now!”
“Still zero points,” Maggie rules.
“Lachlan and Emma?”
“To teach history at a university,” Lachlan says without hesitation.
Emma smiles.
“To teach history at a university.”
“One point! You two are doing great.”
“That’s because we actually talk to each other,” Emma says pointedly toward Callum.
“I talk to you!”
“About rugby and beer,” Jane replies. “Not my dreams.”
“We’ll discuss this later,” Callum mutters.
“Nate and Lily?”
Nate writes something down, hesitates, then adds more detail.
“To open a bed-and-breakfast in the Highlands.”
Lily stares at him in surprise.
“You look at real estate listings every night before bed,” he explains. “And you draw room layouts on your iPad.”
Lily lifts her notebook, emotional.
B&B in the Highlands.
“One point!” Maggie says. “Everyone’s incredibly romantic today. Except Callum.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” he grumbles.
And then I remember a conversation from a few nights ago.
We’d been coming back from an emergency call. It was dark. Finn was driving while I watched the landscape blur past outside the window when he murmured, almost to himself:
“I wish I had somewhere that felt like home.”
He’d said it so quietly I almost missed it.
And when I turned toward him to ask what he’d said, the distant, professional doctor mask had already slipped back into place.
But I heard him.
I write carefully:
To have somewhere that feels like home.
My heart pounds too fast. My palms are damp.
“Mary and Finn?” Maggie asks.
I lift my notebook.
“To have somewhere that feels like home.”
Silence falls over the room.
Finn looks at me, and something flashes in his eyes.
Something vulnerable.
“Finn?” Maggie says softly.
He slowly raises his notebook as though it weighs a hundred pounds.
To have somewhere that feels like home.
Finn’s dream hits something deep inside me.
For years, my dream was supposed to be traveling. Iceland. Norway. Fjords and northern lights. That’s what I always told people.
But the truth is, what I really want is the same thing he does.
Somewhere that feels like home.
Not McGregor Castle with its suffocating traditions and endless expectations. Not London, where I spent my university years feeling lost. Not Glenfield, where everyone has known me since childhood.
A place that’s truly mine.
A place I choose.
A place where I can simply be myself.
“You wrote the exact same thing,” Maggie says quietly.
Emma’s eyes are full of tears.
“That’s so romantic.”
“Why is everyone emotional?” Callum grumbles.
“You don’t even know her favorite food,” Connor calls from across the room.
“Sushi!” Callum says triumphantly.
Jane throws a cushion at him.
No, I want to scream.
This isn’t romantic.
It’s terrifying.
Because it means we know each other.
Really know each other.
Without even realizing it, I learned how to read him. To understand the silences between his words. To hear the things he never says out loud.
The rest of the game passes in a blur until Maggie finally announces:
“Lachlan and Emma: six points. Nate and Lily: six points. And our grand winners with eight points… Mary and Finn!”
Applause erupts.
Emma watches us with shining eyes. Keira smiles mysteriously. Lily looks genuinely emotional.
Callum grumbles under his breath.
“This is suspicious. Nobody guesses that many answers right.”
“They’re definitely cheating,” Cameron adds.
“Or maybe they’re truly in love,” Jane says softly, one hand resting on her stomach.
“It’s love,” Maggie declares with satisfaction.
Jane looks at us with doe eyes.
“You know each other so well. It’s beautiful. You could learn something from them, honey,” she tells Callum.
“I’m learning!” he protests. “I remembered sushi!”
“After I reminded you.”
“That still counts!”
I want to throw up.
Or run away.
Possibly both.
The McKenzie distillery gift basket is ceremoniously handed to Finn, who accepts it with all the grace of a man receiving an award for Best Liar of the Year.
Gradually, the baby shower turns into a relaxed evening gathering.
Jane opens gifts. Lachlan and Emma give Callum and Jane a handcrafted crib Lachlan must’ve spent weeks building.
Keira presents handmade baby clothes so delicate they look unreal.
Emma gives them an engraved photo album already filling with family Polaroids.
Then our turn comes.
And horror crashes over me.
We didn’t bring a gift.
How did I forget the gift?
I’ve been so consumed by the clinic, the Highland Games, psychotic sheep, and this fake relationship that takes up all my mental energy that I completely forgot to buy one.
I shoot Finn a panicked glance.
He calmly stands, retrieves a small package from the gift table, and hands it to Jane.
“From both of us,” he says simply.
Jane carefully unwraps it.
Inside is a baby blanket made of Scottish wool. Deep navy blue with traditional woven patterns, soft as a cloud.
“Oh,” Jane whispers, stroking the fabric. “It’s beautiful.”
“Finn, this is incredible,” Callum says.
I stare at him.
When did he buy that?
How did he know Jane liked navy blue?
Why didn’t I know anything about this?
Finn glances at me briefly and murmurs so quietly nobody else can hear:
“You mentioned Jane liked navy blue. Two weeks ago. During dinner at the castle.”
Did I?
I don’t even remember saying it.
But he remembers.
He listened.
He remembered.
And he bought the perfect gift.
Jane thanks us profusely. Maggie watches with unmistakable satisfaction.
The evening continues. Someone puts music on. Conversations rise around the room, punctuated with laughter.
Lachlan dances with Emma near the window, their movements perfectly in sync. Alistair spins Keira around with surprising grace for a man his size. Callum wraps Jane in endless tenderness.
I watch them from my corner beside the fireplace, holding a champagne flute I haven’t touched.
They all look so happy.
So perfectly matched.
And I’m standing here with my fake boyfriend who somehow knows me better than I know myself and buys perfect gifts for babies who haven’t even been born yet.
“Your grump doesn’t dance?” Cameron asks as he approaches with a teasing grin.
“Finn? Dance? He’d rather treat a mass food poisoning outbreak.”
“Shame. You two would look cute together.”
“Go away, Cameron.”
He laughs and wanders off toward Connor near the buffet.
I take a sip of champagne.
It’s warm and slightly bitter.
Like this entire evening.
“Would you give me a dance?”
I jump.
Finn is standing beside me, one hand extended.
“What?”
“Would you dance with me?” he repeats.
I glance around the room. Maggie is chatting with Isobel near the window. Couples sway together, lost in their own little worlds. Nobody is paying attention to us.
“We don’t need to convince them tonight,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
Our eyes meet.
His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his gaze.
Something that feels like challenge.
Or vulnerability.
Or both.
I take his hand.
We walk toward the makeshift dance floor. The music is soft and slow.
Finn places one hand on my waist.
I rest mine on his shoulder.
And we begin to move.
Awkwardly.
We’re two people trying not to step on each other’s feet in a cramped space, but technically speaking, we’re dancing.
My heart races.
“Finn…”
“I’m not good at this,” he says suddenly. “Pretending.”
“Neither am I.”
We keep dancing.
The music flows around us. Other couples spin gently through the room, wrapped in their own worlds.
But we’re here.
Too close.
Too quiet.
Too aware of each other.
His hand on my waist feels warm. Steady. Safe.
My heart beats too fast. Too hard.
The music ends.
We stop moving too, but neither of us steps away.
Nobody applauds.
Nobody watches.
Nobody notices us at all.
We were dancing for ourselves.
And that’s exactly what terrifies me.
I pull back abruptly, breaking the contact.
“I… I need some air.”
I hurry toward the terrace doors. The cool night air does nothing to calm the violent pounding of my heart.
I inhale deeply.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
My heartbeat refuses to slow down.
My hands are shaking.
What am I doing?
This isn’t supposed to be real.
It isn’t supposed to matter.
It’s just an arrangement. A fake relationship to outmaneuver Maggie and win back our freedom.
Except somewhere between late-night emergency calls, whispered confessions, and catastrophes caused by psychotic sheep, it became something else.
Something real.
Something dangerous.
The terrace door opens behind me.
“Mary…”
I turn around.
Finn stands in the doorway, the warm light from the drawing room behind him creating a golden halo around his silhouette.
He looks lost.
Vulnerable.
Exactly like me.
Finn steps outside and closes the door behind him. We’re alone on the terrace.
He walks toward me, and all I can do is stare at him.
He’s beautiful.
He’s kind.
And he listens to me.
“What are we doing, Finn?” I ask, my voice shaking more than I want it to.
He opens his mouth.
Closes it again.
Searches for the right words.
“I don’t know,” he admits finally.
“Neither do I.”
Silence stretches between us.
He studies me for a long moment like he’s trying to solve something impossible.
“I wanted to dance with you,” he says quietly. “Not with Mary McGregor, the veterinarian I’m supposedly dating to make your grandmother happy. You. Just you.”
My heart stops.
Then starts racing all over again.
“Finn…”
“I know what we agreed on. I know this was supposed to be fake. But tonight, during that stupid game, when you wrote exactly what I was thinking…”
He takes a slow breath.
“I can’t keep pretending this means nothing. That none of it matters.”
“You can’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it changes everything. Because if you admit you feel something, then I’ll have to admit I do too. And if I admit that, then this whole plan, this whole arrangement becomes…”
“Real?”
“Dangerous.”
He takes a step toward me.
Then another.
Until he’s so close I can smell his cologne mixed with the scent of Maggie’s roses growing beside the terrace.
The survivors of the sheep massacre.
“And what if I want dangerous?” he asks softly. “What if I want my life to change?”
I should step back. Put distance between us. I could laugh this off and pretend this conversation never happened.
But I don’t move.
Because I want dangerous too.
I want my life to change.
His hand lifts hesitantly before settling against my cheek. His thumb brushes my cheekbone.
It’s such a gentle, tender touch that it makes my chest ache.
“Mary…” he whispers.
And then he kisses me.
His lips are soft against mine.
Tentative.
Like he’s asking permission.
Like he’s waiting for me to push him away.
But I don’t.
I kiss him back.
And inside that kiss, I feel everything we never said out loud. Every late-night conversation where we almost confessed something. Every glance we exchanged while pretending the other person didn’t notice. Every accidental touch in the narrow hallways of the guest cottage.
Everything.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless.
“That was…” he starts.
“Dangerous.”
“Yeah.”
We stay there on the terrace while the cool Scottish night wind curls around us.
“So what do we do now?” I ask softly.
“I don’t know. But I know I can’t pretend anymore.”
“Neither can I.”
A long silence settles between us.
“If we do this… if we make this real… there’s no going back.”
He looks at me with an intensity that steals the breath from my lungs.
“I know.”
“Finn…”
“I don’t want to go back.”
My heart tightens.
Expands.
Explodes inside my chest all at once.
“Neither do I,” I whisper.
The fake couple is dead.
Long live the real one.
Even if the idea terrifies me completely.