Page 36 of Kilt Trip

The clatter of ice in the cocktail shaker startled her, and she looked up to Logan’s irritatingly victorious smirk. He tilted the silver canister, offering it to her. “My dad turns into an absolute minstrel on Hogmanay.”

Especially with a little encouragement.

Logan, 1 point.

She bit the inside of her cheek and held out her glass, ignoring the lack of righteous indignation that should’ve been pulsing through her veins. When the hell had the challenge Logan presented turned from infinitely infuriating to...a bit exciting? That spark she’d been trying to smother since she’d first set foot in the office was looking for any opportunity to catch.

She downed the old-fashioned, attempting to douse those feelings fizzing in her chest.

Neighbors arrived, and Gemma introduced Addie around. She briefly considered calling an Uber, but she hadn’t been to a party like this in a long time. She might as well enjoy herself.

Over the next three hours, the noise level in the room rose in direct proportion to the alcohol consumption. Neil clapped his friends on the back as he laughed at their jokes, and Gemma sparkled, insisting everyone eat a bit more. The Sutherland brothers tried to trip each other every time one of them went to refill a drink.

Addie ate foods she didn’t know the names of, and Logan swiped a biscuit from her fingers with a mumbled, “Trust me,” before disappearing into the kitchen.

She had dinners with Devika and Marc—strategy sessions where Marc would cook elaborate Italian meals and they’d drink and dream about their business. The nights would end with laughter over insufferable clients and outlandish travel stories from their favorite places around the world.

But it wasn’t quite this loud and boisterous and warm.

Addie got involved in a competitive game of Sticker Stalker with the lady who lived next door. Even with her back turned, she could feel Logan’s eyes on her, could pick out the low timbre of his voice, the way it rose and fell in deep waves. Her temperature ticked up with each glance she met, until heat radiated from her cheeks.

He was so different around his family than he was in the office; she’d noticed the change at the Procession, too. Those smile lines were on full display, and he seemed relaxed and content in a way she remembered from their first meeting. She’d assumed it was his guiding persona—the way she’d learned to master moving with calm assurance, how to command a room of predominantly men who weren’t going to like what she had to say.

But the way he carried himself was genuine.

She didn’t hate this version of him at all.

Neil and his rosy-cheeked friends started up a drinking song, taking turns spontaneously rhyming, which quickly devolved into creative insults and rowdy laughter.

Logan was right about Hogmanay. If a shared drink at an airport bar was a spark, this was a raging bonfire in her heart. The simple act of a drink shared between friends was powerful and intimate.

She could see why the tradition had stuck around for a thousand years.

He appeared next to her, leaning back against the sideboard, feet crossed at the ankle, black sweater stretching across his broad shoulders. He stood close enough to touch, close enough to notice the faint flush on his cheeks, the curve of his bottom lip.

She rarely had chances to let loose. It wasn’t smart to drink so much in a city not her own. But she felt safe here, buzzy and light.

But not nearly drunk enough to justify the urge to trace the edge of his jaw, the line where his stubble ended and smooth skin emerged.

When she realized neither of them had said a word, she cleared her throat and scrambled to pick up a picture from the sideboard of a teenaged Logan midjump in a green jersey. “Soccer star, huh?”

Logan smirked and pulled a forgotten sticker from the game off her shoulder, the subtle brush of his fingers sending lightning through her veins. It did nothing to help her regain her composure. “In school, we took pictures with the footie team out in Rabbie McMillan’s pasture. I’m not sure why, come to think of it. But I’m standing there, one foot propped on the ball, arms crossed—” Logan demonstrated, tilting his head “—looking very braw.”

Addie rolled her lips between her teeth and nodded in exaggerated agreement.

“I hear a snuffling sound, maybe a bit of pawing, and suddenly my heart is beating wildly. Then I’m running, a hair’s breadth away from a hairy coo’s lowered horns.”

“Did it spear you?” She laced her voice with hope, but she secretly enjoyed the way he lit up when he told stories.

Logan snorted. “I took cover behind a gorse, which is really no match for an angry coo, until Rabbie’s da distracted it.”

She remembered that look he’d given Elyse when she drew the hairy-coo cartoon on the whiteboard. “And you’ve been a sworn enemy of the Highland cow ever since?”

“Nah. Look at the photo. Very fierce, indeed.” When he looked back up, that curl hung over his forehead. She clasped her hands behind her back and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from sweeping it back.

They couldn’t go there. She couldn’t go there.

A guide—maybe. Someone on the executive team who had no stake in her changes—she never ruled it out entirely. But Logan was so far out-of-bounds she shouldn’t even imagine it.

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