Chapter 11
LENA
“You ready for this?” I asked as we walked up to the meeting hall in Braeburn. It sat in the middle of the high street, with a squat stone base and peeling white paint on the doors.
“Ready to talk about haggis-eating competitions?” Weston smirked, and my eyes were drawn to the curl of his smile. “There’s literally nothing I’d like to do more.”
“I think you should enter the competition. You know, really get involved.”
“If you’d like my PR to be that I’ve poisoned half the town, then sure.”
I grinned, pulling the door open. Just inside, posters and flyers for local events were plastered across bulletin boards.
“Don’t even think about handing out those photos of me,” Weston whispered in my ear. For a beat, my thoughts skittered back to that dream, and I had to bat them away before a hot blush could creep across my face.
“I wouldn’t dare, my liege.” I shot him a wicked smirk, patting the file under my arm. “I’m going to have them blown up and posted around the festival instead.”
Weston playfully tried to pinch my hip as he growled, “Lena.”
“I’m kidding—mostly,” I said, fighting off the shiver that elicited.
“I was actually going to ask if we could submit some of the photos—of your choosing—to the paper. For PR reasons, yes. But mostly I thought it might be a nice way to honor Pete and Ellen, and to keep them involved, especially now that they’re both gone. ”
“Aye. That’s actually a lovely thought,” he said, looking down at me, those green eyes shining despite the dim meeting hall lights.
“Good.”
“There’s the happy couple!”
I whirled around as Jo snagged us both, dragging us into the room to make introductions to some of the committee members.
“You’ll head the committee, of course,” she said. “But I’m in charge of communications.”
Weston repressed an eye roll, and I had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, I had no doubt that the biggest busybody I’d ever met excelled at running communications.
“So any phone numbers or email addresses you need, just check with me.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
“And that over there is Aiden. He leads the setup and teardown teams. Oh, and this is Isla,” she said, catching a woman with a wave.
“Hey,” Isla said. “Nice to meet you.” She was younger than a lot of the committee members, with long blonde hair and a warm smile.
Her accent was softer than Weston’s, and when she shook my hand, I knew instantly that we could be friends.
“I’m in charge of the festival’s social media, and I’m the photographer of the day’s events.
Other than that, I mostly just help where needed. ”
“A jack-of-all-trades,” Jo said with a nod.
“And master of none. Well, maybe one. My aunt left me her top-secret cheese scone recipe. I don’t want to jinx it,” Isla playfully whispered, “but I’m pretty sure I’ve got a first-place ribbon in the bag.”
“Can’t wait to try one,” I said.
She beamed at me.
“You’re just trying to get out of the haggis tasting,” Weston murmured next to me.
My lips twitched.
Isla squeezed my arm. “I promise it’s so much better than you’re imagining.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said as Jo pushed us toward the front of the hall where a low-lying stage was set up.
“You two get situated up there. I’ll go round up the few stragglers from the street.”
As Jo hurried off, Weston hooked his arm through mine, leading me to the stage where a table and chairs were set up. The walls all around us were adorned with community photos—uniformed men with kilts and bagpipes, smiling faces next to Highland cattle, storefronts, weddings, birthday celebrations.
“You excited for your weekend with Tess?” Weston asked as we sat down.
“And the rest of the bridal party,” I reminded him.
Weston had kept his promise to fly everyone out for a whirlwind weekend in Paris.
Tess was so excited that she’d set a countdown, and I’d been getting pings the closer we got to it, which was a good thing.
As much as I was looking forward to it, I was being run ragged with everything I was doing for Weston.
I needed the reminder. “I’m sure it’s going to be a wild time.
” Pampering, sightseeing, eating too much food, spending time with my bestie… I was ready for all of it.
“What’s the plan? Drink until you drop? That’s usually how a hen do ends, isn’t it?”
“I forgot you called them that,” I said.
“For one, I can hold my liquor. And two, Tess will be too busy being amazed by Paris to get that drunk.” I knew my best friend, and I knew she wouldn’t want to waste one second in Paris being too inebriated to remember the trip.
Not that the bridal party wouldn’t try. “Her impression of you has mildly improved seeing as you’ve kept your promise. ”
“Mildly!” he said, whipping around in his chair to gape at me. “I got you all into Le Tout-Paris! At sunset! Do you know how impossible it is to get reservations there?”
“I figured.” The lounge was perched atop the ultra-luxurious Cheval-Blanc hotel with sweeping views over the Seine, Notre-Dame, and the Eiffel Tower.
It was gorgeous in all the photos, and most importantly, Tess would have a blast, totally making up for me not being able to do a week of margaritas on the beach.
“But thank you for arranging it. Tess is going to love it.”
Weston grumbled, flipping open a file, clearly still put out that Tess didn’t think he walked on water.
I chuckled. “She’s still a little miffed that I married you, that’s all.”
“Are you?” he wondered.
Was I? When I’d said yes, I’d felt so ambivalent about the whole thing. While I’d been fully aware of all the benefits I’d receive, I’d also still been stinging from his original trainwreck of a proposal. But at this point, those moments felt a million miles away. And now…
What now?
Nothing. It was still just a temporary situation, and that was for the best. Something permanent wasn’t in the cards for me—I’d learned my lesson on that score and refused to hold out hope that this time…or any time would be different.
“Lena?” he said.
“Well, if I hadn’t married you, I’d never have been accosted by a Shetland pony,” I said sarcastically. “So do with that what you will.”
His expression shifted, his brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say more. But I cleared my throat, cutting him off.
“Anyway, just doing my job.” A shiver flickered up my spine, and I fought it off. This was all for appearances, I reminded myself. It wasn’t real.
“Welcome, everyone!” Jo called, waving the committee members into the rows of foldable seats jammed into the center of the space. Some of them hurried onto the stage, settling in next to us. Isla plopped herself down on my right.
“C’mon in,” Jo continued. “Don’t be shy.
Get right up close. I’d like to thank everyone for showing up on time.
” She pointedly glared at a couple who darted through the door, rushing to take a seat.
“And I’d also like to give a warm welcome to Weston and Lena Kincaid, who have graciously agreed to step into Pete’s shoes this year. ”
My breath caught. Lena Kincaid.
I hadn’t thought about that much since the judge had pronounced us married. That day had been far too hectic to overthink things like my last name. But hearing it now stirred a flutter in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m going to hand it over to them now,” Jo said.
Every head in the room turned our way. As Weston got to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket, I suddenly felt like I was back taking notes during one of his board meetings.
“Thank you, Jo. We’re very excited to be here,” he began, “and to carry on the long tradition that meant so much to my grandparents. Lena has painstakingly gathered what notes she could find in my grandad’s office.
And anyone who’s ever had the pleasure of reading his handwriting knows what a daunting task that was. ”
Laughter echoed around the hall.
I smiled softly at the sound, confident that Weston would continue to win over the town. He turned to me, and I realized he was waiting for me to say something.
“I’ve got a lot of notes here,” I said, raising the folder. “But I’m eager to hear from everyone. Many of you have been attending this festival for years, and Weston and I want to make sure we do it justice. So, with that in mind, I guess, let’s open the floor.”
Half a dozen hands shot into the air.
Weston pointed at the nearest gentleman. “Go ahead.”
The man shot to his feet, pulling his cap off his head and wringing it in his hands. “I’m begging you, don’t forget the port-a-loos! We forgot to order them one year, and I had a revolving door of people through my restaurant to use the loo. I’m not having that again.”
“Port-a-loos,” I said, making a note for myself. They were already on the list, but it couldn’t hurt to add in another reminder. “Okay, they’re number one. We won’t forget them.”
He nodded, sitting himself down.
Weston pointed at an older man. “Go ahead, Tam,” he said.
“Aye, thanks. It’s tradition to have the caber toss before the food stalls open,” he said.
“Not after. Last year, it got all muddled up and we had people getting sick on the side of the road. I motion that the food stalls don’t open at all until after the games are done.
If not, people will be too full to toss the caber. ”
“What’s a caber toss?” I whispered.
Isla leaned into my shoulder. “Traditional Scottish athletic event,” she whispered. “You know that long, tapered pole you see them throw at the Highland Games?”
I nodded, thinking through logistics. “Where do we get poles?”
“I’ve heard they’re stored somewhere up on the Kincaid property,” she said. “Aiden would know best.”
I made a note.
“Don’t forget the tug o’ war and the kilted dash,” someone else called. “Those are popular events too.”
“Please tell me the kilted dash is what I think it is?”
Weston nodded. “A sprint in full Highland dress. Kilts flapping. Bagpipes blasting.”