22. Isla
ISLA
“Can I have one of those?” Aisling cried, tugging hard on Lena’s hand. “Pleeeaasseee!”
“One of what?” Lena asked, stepping aside so we wouldn’t get in the way of the other festival-goers bustling along the high street, weaving between the vendor stalls.
“That shortbread!” Aisling said. “No, wait, that cookie.”
Lena laughed. “There are many cookies at that stall. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Chocolate chip! No, actually that caramel one.” Aisling jumped up and down. “No, Biscoff!” She clapped her hands to her head. “Ahh, I can’t decide.”
I turned my camera on her, preserving the moment. My camera had been busy for the past hour with various shots of the event, but there were more than a few of Aisling enjoying the day. I knew Weston would appreciate them later.
The Braeburn summer festival had officially kicked off this morning, and town was absolutely rammed.
The festival was a big draw on a normal year, but the weather was gorgeous today, bringing out even more people.
I had the sun on my shoulders and stalls filled with snacks all the way down the high street—I should have been buzzing.
Instead, only one thing plagued my thoughts. Where the hell was Locke?
“Isla, which one should I get?” Aisling asked, tugging on my arm.
I tucked my camera away for safety. “Well, there’s one up the back with a unicorn horn and sparkly sprinkles, so I know which one I’d be getting.”
Aisling’s eyes widened dramatically. “I didn’t see the unicorn one!”
Lena snorted. “Now that I find hard to believe.” She handed Aisling a bunch of change, then came to stand with me while we supervised her cookie purchase.
“Her maths have improved a lot,” I whispered, watching Aisling count out two pounds and fifty pence.
“It’s all that Monopoly,” Lena whispered. “When she and Weston aren’t cheating each other out of properties, I think she’s actually getting the hang of her numbers.”
“She’ll be a cutthroat property developer in no time.”
“Speaking of,” Lena whispered. “Have you heard from Locke? I figured he’d be here already. Weston had a kilt all ready to go for him.”
“He was supposed to get in last night,” I said, trying to keep my frustration from showing.
“What happened?”
I shrugged. “Something came up with one of his property acquisitions, I guess. He said he needed to deal with it right away and couldn’t leave.”
Lena hummed, sympathetic. “Weston and I have had our fair share of those days where it feels like the universe is working against you. It can be hard.”
I bit down on the hollow laugh that shot up my throat.
This felt like less of the universe’s problem and more of Locke’s.
But I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
Everything was fine. I was just hot and sweaty and pregnant and disappointed.
Did I want a sexy picture of Locke in a kilt?
Sure. Did I want to watch him having a blast out on the green with Weston and Alistair?
Of course. Was it the end of the world that he was going to miss the kilted dash?
No. I knew he’d get here soon—he’d promised.
It was just a shame he was missing so much.
I consoled myself with the thought that I’d just make him pose for me later, when we were alone. Then I could enjoy taking said kilt off of him again. That thought perked me right up as Aisling returned to us, cookie in hand.
“Can I have some of that?” she asked, pointing to another stall offering free samples.
“That would be gin,” Lena said, putting her hands on Aisling’s shoulders. She steered her down the street. “So that would be a big no. We’ll get you a juice when we see some. But let’s get to the green or we’re going to miss the kilted dash.”
I checked the time on my phone. It was, in fact, just about time for me to be at the green to capture the footrace. What would Jo’s post-festival newspaper piece be without a photo of two dozen kilt-wearing participants dashing one hundred yards for the title of “Fastest Kilt in the North”?
“I’m so excited!” Aisling cried, her face smeared with cookie crumbs as we approached the green. The starting line fluttered in the breeze. “I want to run too!”
“Maybe when you’re older,” Lena promised, keeping a hold of her to stop Aisling from being swept away by the visitors quickly crowding around the green.
There were so many festival-goers darting in front of me, but I’d staked out the best angles earlier in the day, so I knew how to position myself as the competitors entered the green to a round of applause.
Click. Kilts everywhere. Click. Click. Someone had brought their bagpipes. Click. Aisling tugged on my arm.
“Look, Auntie Isla!”
I lowered my camera just as Weston appeared.
“There are my best girls!” he announced, walking over, clad in a tight black T-shirt and a kilt. Alistair was right behind him, wearing his own matching kilt, holding Kenna on his hip.
Lena gave Weston an appreciative up and down look. “Are you ready to run?”
He wiggled his eyebrows at her, then pecked her on the lips. “I’m ready to win!”
“Yeah!” Aisling cheered.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lena said. “Just finishing is an accomplishment.”
“Bah!” Weston said, waving her off. “I’ve been training for this day.”
Lena threw her head back and laughed. “For about forty-eight hours.”
Weston smirked, then leaned down, kissing Aisling on the top of her head. She offered him a bite of her cookie for good luck. “Mmm,” he murmured. “Very sprinkly.”
“It’ll make you run faster,” Aisling said.
Kenna’s eyes lit up. “Cookie?”
“Here, Kenna,” Aisling said, breaking her off a chunk. “You can have the unicorn’s eyeball. Uncle Alistair, do you want the tail?”
“Oh, I’m good, sweetheart,” he said. “I had my cookie before we got here.”
“You just don’t want to eat the unicorn butt,” Weston murmured with a cheeky smile. He glanced at me. “No Locke yet?”
I shook my head, lifting my camera to catch a few shots of Tam carrying a giant Scottish flag out to the starting line. “Last I heard, he was heading out after finishing a few things.”
Weston checked his watch. “He should be here any time then.”
“Convenient timing. He just didn’t want me to crush him in this race,” Alistair joked. He bounced Kenna who was happily nibbling on her chunk of cookie now. “Think Daddy’s going to win the race?”
“Yep,” she said.
“Well, there you have it,” Alistair said to the rest of us. “I’ll await your applause.”
Weston clapped him on the shoulder. “All right, let’s go before your ego gets too big and weighs you down.”
“Mine will never be as big as yours,” Alastair said, his grin wide as he laughed.
I was glad to see the guy smiling and joking. He probably needed a fun day like today more than anyone. His lawsuit was wrapping up, and the judgment would be announced shortly. Maybe crushing Weston in the kilted dash was exactly what would carry him through that upcoming stress.
I shook off the sudden wave of melancholy. I couldn’t help being a little sad that Locke was missing these moments with his friends…with me. I missed him today, and I was sure they did too. Hell, I’d missed him last night.
“Mind keeping an eye on this one?” Alistair asked, passing Kenna off to Lena.
“Let’s get a photo before you go,” I said. Weston threw his arm over Alistair’s shoulder, pulling him close. Click. That ache flared inside me again. Locke should have been standing between them. Click.
“Okay, go, go,” Lena said, ushering them away. “Tam’s about to wave the flag.”
Weston and Alistair hurried over to join the crowd at the starting line.
“I’m sure Locke’s just pulling up,” Lena assured me, concerned on her face. Did I look that upset? “He’s probably just trying to find parking.”
I sighed, forcing a bit of a smile. “Well, he’d better hurry. Because there’s a tent full of haggis with his name on it.”
“I forgot he was doing the haggis judging,” Lena said, bouncing Kenna on her hip as Tam waved that giant flag. The kilted dash runners exploded into movement. Click.
I focused on Weston and Alistair. Click. Click. “Are they trying to trip each other?”
“Boys,” Lena murmured fondly.
“Go, Daddy!” Kenna cried.
“Go, Weston!” Aisling cried. The two of them kept cheering, trying to out-shriek each other. I had to cover my ears at one point.
“Did they win?” Aisling asked breathlessly when it was all over.
“They certainly didn’t lose,” Lena said diplomatically, which seemed to please Aisling.
“I never fail to be amazed at how many of them attempt this race after multiple pints,” Jo said, walking up next to us, shaking her head.
There were still several contestants lying face down on the ground in the field, surrounded by their friends, the lot of them doubled over with laughter. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve got plenty of that on camera.”
“Can’t wait to review those photos later,” Jo said. “Anyway, I came to collect Locke. I need him at the judging tent. Figured he’d be out there with Weston and Alistair.”
I rubbed at my forehead, fighting the spark of irritation.
I was getting really sick of having to tell people I had no idea where Locke was.
I’d thought for sure he’d be here by now.
Bad enough that he’d missed time with me last night, breakfast at Lochbrae, all the setup, and the kilted dash.
But the haggis judging was the one thing he’d actually signed himself up to do!
As fanatical as he was about being responsible, I never would have imagined he’d miss that.
“He was driving up this morning,” I told Jo. “I really thought he would have been here by now.”
Jo’s face fell. “I sure hope he didn’t get stuck behind that accident on the motorway coming out of Edinburgh. Sounds like things are pretty backed up there.”
Accident? My heart lurched uncomfortably. “What accident?”
“Some bloody produce truck overturned on the motorway about an hour ago,” Jo said. “Potatoes everywhere. The news is that no one was seriously injured. They’re already making a farce of the entire thing.”