Page 39 of Kilt Trip

“He’s a right bawbag,” Logan said, the glow of the whisky traveling through his limbs.

She tipped her head, amusement splashed on her face. “Funny. Some people say that about you.”

Reid’s booming laugh, so similar to their dad’s, abruptly stopped short, and a warning whistle took its place.

Logan’s heart sped up. He scooped up the shortbread and took Addie by the wrist, towing her up the stairs.

“Mum!” Reid’s voice was unreasonably loud. “Can I get you another drink?”

“What an eejit,” Logan mumbled, his heart racing from adrenaline and the feel of Addie’s pulse flickering under his fingertips. He released her, slumping against the wall.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes crinkling in the corners. With shaking shoulders, she slid down the wall until she landed on the step.

Logan mirrored her movement and settled on the stair below hers, their bent knees brushing. The smell of her perfume—flowers and sunshine—diminished the space between them, and he couldn’t pretend a race up half a flight of stairs was to blame for this out-of-breath feeling.

“Admit it. You’re having fun.”

Addie nodded. “Tonight was perfect.”

He’d meant to tease her, expected an elaborate eye roll, but she sounded so sincere, Logan studied the wistful look on her face.

“I didn’t know parties like this still existed,” she said, arms wrapping around her middle. “Last year, I was with Devika in the office. We bought very expensive champagne and ate ourselves sick on those Lindt peppermint chocolates.” She turned and searched his eyes. Logan wanted to give it to her...whatever it was she wanted. “This was nicer than you know.”

The way she said it, like she was all alone in the world, made him want to offer her something to make it better.

Addie straightened as if this was some sort of horrible admission and tugged at her ear. The emotion brimming in her eyes disappeared, a steel door clanging shut between them. “But,” she said with a wave of her hand, “this proves nothing. Bringing tourists home with you isn’t an option.”

A wave of frustration rolled through him. He’d thought he’d broken through the stronghold wall she so diligently guarded. “You’re missing the point.”

“Why are you so unwilling to make changes?”

“Because the last time I tried, I lost everything.” Logan’s heart beat hard against his ribs, not dissimilar to the coo chase. He hadn’t meant to say the words so forcefully—or at all, truthfully.

Addie leaned back against the wall, two fingers pushing into her bottom lip as she studied him.

Logan blew out a breath and gripped the railing above him, clenching tight. “Reid, Jack, and I grew up planning to run this business together. To build a legacy. We spent every summer and holiday as kids on tours with my dad.” And yes, maybe Logan had wanted to leave his own mark. But more than that, Reid had started to get restless. Logan felt him pulling away. “I suggested branching into whisky tours—”

“That’s a good idea...” Addie’s eyes darted between two cracks on the ceiling as if mentally scanning financial statements and competitor reports.

“I thought so, too. Well, it’s Reid’s passion, really, but—” Logan waved away the explanation. It didn’t matter if he had done it to keep Reid engaged. He’d believed in it, and it hadn’t worked out. “We brought a group out, and I...convinced a lad I knew to bring us into the distillery after hours.”

Logan had wanted to impress their group, to set The Heart above the thousand other whisky-tour providers out there, to give the tourists a behind-the-scenes peek. “One of the tourists posted it to TripAdvisor. We were banned from touring there again. The industry may be competitive, but it’s surprisingly tight-knit. Word got round, and soon we weren’t welcome at any of the big distilleries. And my mate got sacked.”

Guilt still churned in Logan’s gut when he thought about it. He’d been so reckless, so unconcerned with the risk.

“Oh, no.”

“I had to cancel the upcoming tours. We lost loads of money. Hence...” Logan gestured to Addie and everything she represented, although he couldn’t summon the same ire he once harbored.

Instead of getting defensive, she looked thoughtful. “You didn’t give it a fair chance.”

Logan clenched his teeth. “Someone lost their job. Because of me.”

She held her hands up, palms out. “And I’m sure that weighed on you—”

“It still does. It’s not easy to design new tours. Our guides don’t have a background in whisky—aside from personal experience—and bussing to Islay is expensive. It was all very complicated.”

“I could help you. Negotiate rates with distilleries. Orchestrate kickbacks—”

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