23. Chapter 23 #2
“You really do look good in that kilt,” he says.
Beau’s lessons in confidence must be working because I hear the words come out of my mouth without ever thinking them. “I look even better out of it.”
His eyes flash as I don my hat, then walk out the door without another glance.
Maybe I’m just his Highland fling, or maybe there’s something more. Either way, why not have some fun with it?
Music drifts across the snowy lawn as Beau and I make our way to the barn. Guests have started to arrive, many in large vans with professional drivers. Beau asks if it’s due to limited parking.
“Nah,” I laugh. “It’s so attendees can enjoy the whisky or champagne and get home safely. Freya partners with driving services in the area and makes sure all the drivers who stay and wait get a plate.”
“That’s sweet of her,” Beau says as he opens the door and gestures for me to enter before him. The warmth hits immediately—woodsmoke, whisky, perfume, and the low hum of conversation.
“Speak of the devil,” I say as Freya sweeps toward us.
“Two of my VIPs!” she declares, and kisses our cheeks. She looks stunning in a fitted sequined dress that catches the light as she moves, and a tartan-and-diamond brooch glitters at her shoulder.
I take in the room now that everything is lit up.
Fairy lights are strung in sweeping lines across the rafters.
Large screens glow with looping videos of crackling fires, the flicker of flames dancing across the wooden beams. Guests mill about in kilts and cocktail gowns, drinks in hand, ready to bring in the new year.
In one corner, a small band tunes their instruments: fiddles, accordion, guitar, and bodhran.
Across the room a photo booth has drawn a crowd, as has the miniature Highland cow.
The bar and whisky-tasting stations stretch along one side of a dance floor, while large round dining tables fill the rest of the space, each covered with tartan tablecloths and decorated with winter boughs, candles, sparkling cutlery, and tall, waiting wineglasses.
“You look beautiful, Freya,” Beau says, making my heart warm. He’s so good with my family.
“You clean up well, too, Yank,” she says with a little push on one of his broad shoulders.
“Oh, please. I’m always handsome,” he says with a wink.
“No arguments here,” she says, winking back. Thick as thieves, these two. “Now, I know you’ll want to pet the cow. Then have yourself a drink and make some new friends. Folks come from all over to join my little ceilidh.”
“Sounds like a great time,” Beau says.
“It will be. Just try not to get pished too early,” she warns. “Hogmanay is a long night.”
I’m honestly impressed Beau made pleasantries as long as he did before beelining for the adorable animal.
When I catch up to him, his smile is wider than ever as he has his picture taken with the furry bovine.
“Look at this guy!” He laughs, scratching behind the cow’s ears.
“His name is Hairy Styles.” After a couple of photos, he insists I take one with him, too.
Hairy snorts and tries to lick Beau’s ear as we pose.
Then I drag him away, imagining I’m tugging on the leash of an excited golden retriever that really wants to chase a squirrel.
We find my parents at the whisky station, and Beau tells my mum how gorgeous she looks in her dress.
Hardly a day has gone by since he arrived that my mother hasn’t blushed at least once, and today is no different.
He’s always helping her, telling her how nice she looks, asking her questions.
He’s charming, but it seems genuine, like he really wants to know her.
A stark contrast to when I brought James home.
His interactions with my family pale in comparison to the man in front of me. I want to believe they’re different, that history won’t repeat itself, but the last few days have been so confusing.
I need a drink.
I grab whisky for me and Beau and rejoin the conversation.
“Aye,” Mum says. “We weren’t sure when Freya said she wanted to come home and run events here. Not because we didn’t believe in her, mind. We just didn’t want her to give up the life she’d built in Edinburgh to take a risk that might not pay off.”
“She was determined, though. Wasn’t she, love?” my dad says.
“That she was,” Mum says. “She put together a business plan and convinced us that she could be successful with it. So we built this barn as our investment in her company. Now she can host events without renting out a venue, and it allows us to host charity and family functions that give back to the community.”
“You’re a wonderful mother with a heart of gold, Margaret,” Beau says and clinks his glass to hers, Mum’s blush deepening another shade.
“Well, I’m ready for a bit more than these wee drams,” Dad says, setting down his tasting glass. “Shall we head over to the bar, then?”
“Lead the way,” Beau says.
Drinks in hand, we drift through the crowd, stopping every few steps as my parents introduce Beau to more of their friends.
They all seem delighted to meet the Texan they’ve been hearing about.
He’s in his element, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, remembering every name.
Compliments flow easily from him, but he never dominates the conversation, always asking questions and listening intently.
More than once he attempts to lure me into discussions, but I’m enjoying simply being at his side, close to the man who is quickly becoming the life of the party.
An hour of socializing and a couple of whiskies later, the room has grown warmer and louder.
Laughter rolls across the barn, glasses clink, and the band has started playing.
Beau and I keep bumping into each other as people move around us.
Shoulders brushing, hands grazing. A thrill of excitement passes through me every time, even if it is accidental.
Another whisky in, and I have to stop myself from kissing him every time he flashes that sexy smile in my direction.