Page 105 of Kilt Trip

Especially when Devika somehow made jet lag look chic with her curly black hair pulled into an effortless half-pony. She dug in her purse and pulled out an oversize bag of Lindt peppermint truffles which were, unsurprisingly, already opened.

“You know what happens when we eat these.”

Devika waved a hand through the air to encompass all of Addie. “Warranted.”

She looked down at her general dishevelment and couldn’t disagree. At least she’d passed the raccoon-eyes stage last week and settled firmly into morose territory. She climbed into the middle of the mattress, sitting cross-legged, while Devika dropped her coat and bag on the second bed.

She tossed Addie a chocolate. “Talk to me.”

Who knew what would come out of her mouth if she uttered the name Logan Sutherland. Better not.

“Picture this. Stroll-and-sketch tours of Amsterdam, led by a real-life Dutch artist.” Addie untwisted the wrapper and popped the entire truffle in her mouth, letting the minty chocolate melt over her tongue.

Devika sank into the squeaky red leather chair in the corner and tipped her head with a thoughtful downturn of her lips. “Would’ve gone with an edibles tour myself.”

Addie couldn’t summon the panic at the thought of Marc’s reaction. She should be falling back in line. But she didn’t have the heart to tell the client to get into canal cruises or dispensary tours. The tourists would remember struggling through customs more than the actual trip if they were literally high the whole time.

Devika’s look turned serious as her gaze swung back. “But I don’t mean about work, Ads.”

Addie pulled in a slow breath through her nose. Her stomach buzzed like it was full of bees. She should have known she couldn’t call in an international SOS and expect to avoid the subject. If the roles were reversed, the rules would be the same.

“Tell me about Edinburgh.”

“Umm.” She worried her bottom lip. Scotland had always been a minefield of dangerous reminders of her mother that Logan had helped her navigate. And along the way, the whisky and castles, the kilt shops on High Street and the purple hue of the sky in the gloaming, had become hopelessly intertwined with Logan’s smile, the way his eyes narrowed when she teased him, the feel of his hand as it slipped into hers. And she found she couldn’t talk about one without the other. Goddammit.

Addie rubbed at her eye like there was an eyelash caught in it. “It’s a beautiful country” was all she managed to say.

What she needed to focus on instead was the piercing look in Logan’s eyes when he said he couldn’t do this anymore. The way he pulled his collar up and hunched his shoulders. The sight of his back turned on her.

The look of pity on Devika’s face made Addie cringe, as did the extra chocolate that came flying through the air.

“Have you heard from him?”

“No.” Addie rubbed her bottom lip, blinking against those overactive tear ducts. She didn’t expect Logan to reach out.

Even though she picked up the phone at least once a day, she hadn’t called him, either. “This is your fault, you know. You told me there wasn’t enough time for this to get serious.”

“What happened?”

“He said I was just like my dad. That I don’t connect with anyone. That I push people away.”

“Oof.”

But Addie had tried. She’d tried so fucking hard to open up to him, to show him parts of her that no one knew. To trust him with her stories. And in the end, it wasn’t enough.

He didn’t want her.

She puffed out her cheeks and blew out a breath.

“That’s attractive.”

“Go away, Devika.”

She clasped her hands under her chin. “I thought it was Please, Devika. Come to Amsterdam, Devika. I’m so lonely and sad.”

Addie pouted. “I am lonely and sad.” The two things she’d fought against for the last thirteen years. Look where she’d ended up. She crinkled up a chocolate wrapper and tossed it in the trash.

She was doing everything right: she’d taken a canal cruise, walked through a large quantity of museums, tried new foods, shopped in the boutiques, biked the city. But nothing set off the spark that used to come so easily.

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