Chapter 6 #2
Sure, Brown’s Coffee I mean it this time.” I started to beeline to the apron hook, but Alistair snagged the back of my dress, keeping me at his side.
“That damn car again, more trouble than it’s worth,” Jess tutted.
“Mind if I pilfer your first-aid kit, Jess?” he asked.
Jess’s eyes narrowed, a mix of wariness and distrust on her face. Nearly everyone in Kinleith had read the Kinleith Gazette’s article after the spring festival back in April. And those who hadn’t would by now have heard an overinflated village-grapevine version.
Gossip spread quicker than a forest fire in Kinleith. It was like living in a bizarre, simulated mash-up of Groundhog Day and Gilmore Girls.
She wagged a gnarled finger at him. “That’s rich, asking me for a favour, lad.”
Yeah, he was definitely in enemy territory.
I could have helped. Might have, if the memory of the torn-open package from two mornings ago wasn’t quite so fresh.
Heather’s gift had turned out to be a vibrator.
Aptly named the ‘Rosebud’, the flower-shaped sex toy was as pretty as it was mystifying. I’d hidden it in my hallway cupboard and now blushed every time I glanced at the shared wall.
Behind me, I felt Alistair tense, but he said only, “Isla had an accident.”
Jess’s eyes roved over me with concern. “What happened?”
“Boy ran into the road right as some idiot ignored the Pedestrians only sign,” April explained, lowering herself into a spare seat.
“And Isla here thought she was auditioning for the next James Bond movie.” He still held the back of my dress. His grip gentle yet quietly domineering, though I’d given up trying to escape almost instantly.
It was very on brand with all the tiny slivers of information I’d gathered about him so far. As much as I tried to ignore his presence, I felt like a detective with an evidence board.
“First-aid kit is in the staffroom.” Jess waved us to the back.
“Come on,” Alistair said, leading me into the small room. It was essentially a cupboard with two chairs shoved against the wall and a microwave older than I was. “Sit.” He pointed to one of the chairs.
“Are you always this bossy? No wonder you never have any overnight guests.” Despite my words, I did as he asked.
I’d left him the perfect opening to deliver one of his barbed comebacks. Instead, he pulled the first-aid kit off the wall and took the two steps to the small sink, thoroughly washing his hands. “Are you always mean when you’re nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” I said. A lie.
“No need to be embarrassed, it’s a common coping mechanism. A lot of people are afraid of blood.”
He’d caught that? “Is your coping mechanism being a dick?” His expression didn’t change, but I visibly winced. “Sorry, that was mean.”
“Apology accepted. Don’t go throwing yourself in front of any cars on my account. Or you know, do, it would save me a lot of trouble.”
I laughed, a surprised, instant reaction quickly reined in, covering my mouth. I felt the question in his stare. “You’re just so blunt all the time, makes it impossible to tell if you’re joking.”
“It was a joke.”
“Is it a doctor thing? The bluntness.”
“Yep,” he said, flipping open the first-aid kid. “First lesson of medical school.”
Another joke, I’m sure, but his face was no less icy than before.
The uncertainty made my knee bounce, and mouth run.
“Sorry about the other morning—” He paused his rummaging.
“The package you opened, it isn’t mine – well, I guess it is mine.
I didn’t, like, get it second-hand or anything.
Your sister sent it to me. As a joke,” I finished lamely.
“What’s the punchline?”
“Excuse me?”
“The sex-toy joke,” he explained, tearing open a packet of latex gloves. “What’s the punchline?”
My heart somersaulted, blood racing through my veins at twice the usual speed. What could I say that wasn’t I fail at getting off? Because I was already living that joke. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”
“You brought it up.”
“Yeah . . . for clarification,” I sputtered. “That’s all.”
“I see. Consider it clarified.” He huffed a little laugh as he snapped on the gloves.
What the hell did the laugh mean?
“I didn’t realise you and Heather were such good friends.” Somehow, he managed to stuff those syllables with so much ire, it gave me whiplash. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what I’d said that was so wrong.
My stomach quivered. I hated the way that made me feel. Like I was too stupid to keep up with the conversation.
This, right here, was why I’d sworn to stay away from men until the end of time.
Grabbing the rest of his supplies, he came closer. I sat back in my chair, grasping the opportunity to force a subject change. “You should probably apologise to Jess before you leave.”
He paused. “For?”
“Poking fun at the spring festival baking contest. That’s why she was so short with you just now.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, pressing the back of one gloved hand to his head. The most human gesture I’d ever seen from him. “It was months ago.”
“Jess likes to hold a grudge.” I shrugged. “And she’s won more times than anyone else. You basically took a shit on her life’s work.”
“That’s a little dramatic. I didn’t even know about the article until yesterday. And the reporter took my words out of context. I merely suggested they bake something a little healthier.”
“Because that’s why people enter baking contests, for the fibre.” I could see the man’s biceps straining the arms of his ridiculously well-fitted shirt. I bet he hadn’t consumed sugar in years. “You did the Kinleith Gazette a solid at least. People are still talking about it.”
“What’s the big deal about the baking contest anyway?”
“It’s a Kinleith tradition. The spring festival gives an indication of what the judges are looking for that year, and who’s the main competition.
And the summer contest has a monetary prize.
Two thousand pounds. It’s a big deal, draws in the tourists too.
” He snorted at this prospect, tossing a few sterile packets onto the counter.
“Just what this island needs, more people.” He lowered to his knees before me. His crisp black trousers on the ancient linoleum floor. “I’ll clean out your cuts, but I want to check your neck first.”
I nodded, swallowing as he invaded my space, the heat of his chest pressing against my body and the pads of his fingers slipping beneath my hair, cupping the back of my neck. “Ease to the left.”
I sucked in a breath. Letting him guide the motion, my head twisted toward the door. Gaze snagging his. His eyes bounced over my face, narrowed with focus, a little V notching between his brows.
My cheeks burned, and I averted my eyes.
The Macabes were all striking. In a line-up, they were Scotland’s answer to the Skarsg?rd family. And from this proximity, I could see that Alistair was – objectively – attractive. In a contradictory way.
Severe nose that accentuated pillow-soft lips. Sharp eyes behind round glasses. The pieces shouldn’t have fit together, and at the same time, they made him one of the most interesting-looking men I’d ever gazed upon. It was hard to not look at him.
“Perfect. And back to the right.” His fingers squeezed. It felt so much like praise; I sucked in a shallow, confused breath.
“Can I ask you a question?” I said after a moment. He didn’t answer, so I asked it anyway. “If you hate Skye so much, why move back?”
A short pause. Warm fingers on the top nodule of my spine. “I don’t hate Skye.”
“Fine.” Semantics. “If you strongly dislike Skye, why move back?”
“My dad got sick.”
“He had Alzheimer’s right, before he died?” I vaguely recalled Heather saying it was something like that. He nodded once, the action sharp as he forced my neck into another rotation. I felt like shit for bringing it up. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t kill him.” Bloody hell, could he not even accept empathy? “Tilt your head all the way back.”
His touch swept over my jaw. Down the sides of my throat. I stared at the peeling plaster for a long moment, wondering if he could feel the goosebumps erupting over my skin. “That doesn’t explain why you’re still here.”
He huffed, and I swear I could feel the heat steam out of his nose. “You’re nosy.”
“I prefer personal.”
“Gossipy sounds more accurate.”
“Hey!” I snapped, pulling my head from his grasp. “I’m a vault. I don’t share information.”
He considered me for a long moment, sitting back on his heels. I’d forever wonder what he read in my expression that finally made him say, “My dad left me the surgery. I only found out at the will reading.”
I did my best not to let my eyes pop out of their sockets, I swear I did. Still, he snapped, “What?”
“Nothing. Sorry, I just—” I shook my head. “You’re annoyed because your dad left you an entire medical practice? I’d be surprised if I inherited a stick of gum from mine.”