Page 30 of Kilt Trip

Logan shared a smile with a man in a gray knit hat and bonfire sparks in his eyes. Logan’s torch caught, red and orange flames flickering and popping, and he turned to light the torch of the woman behind him.

The connection was a bit lovely.

They wove into the thousands of golden lights bobbing in all directions, and Jack waved his torch, a blaze trailing behind like a flag.

Elyse clamped a hand on his arm. “That’ll do, ya chancer.”

Thank god it wasn’t windy. One wrong move and he’d end up with a singed eyebrow. Logan stepped closer to Addie.

Her eyes followed the orange embers floating in the air. The tangle of waves tumbling from her hat turned a gleaming copper in the firelight. She looked bonnie, painted in rose gold. And so like that first day: present, curious, enraptured.

Maybe it hadn’t been an act after all.

A couple in front of them stopped to take a selfie, and the crowd bunched around the rapid they’d created.

Logan’s body unintentionally curled around Addie’s from the push and shove of strangers, and he held his breath as his hips pressed against her arse, his chest flush with her back. His hand caught her waist to prevent them from pitching forward, and she looked back at him, lips parting, probably to yell at him—only she didn’t. Their eyes locked, and his heart sputtered like his torch.

A heat he surely couldn’t feel through the layers of their clothes burned between them, nonetheless.

Addie stepped around the couple and back into their line, but the distance did nothing to dull his pulse flickering in unwanted places.

“Do you want to say a few words?” she asked Logan.

“About what?”

The twinkle in her eye undermined her neutral expression by about a million percent. “The ancient traditions. Fire as a symbol of new beginnings...” She twirled her hand in a motion for him to continue.

Elyse and Jack burst into laughter, Logan’s glare not diminishing their mirth.

“That’s fine. I can show you how it’s done.” She turned to walk backward, gesturing to the crowd. “I’m Logan Sutherland. Welcome to The Heart of the Highlands Tours—”

Jack interrupted. “That accent may very well be a human-rights violation.”

Truly abysmal, but the overblown outrage on her face made him grin. Long gone was the poised woman from the office, and in her place stood a playful version of Addie he hadn’t realized he missed.

“Ahem,” she said with an exaggerated hand on her hip. “Tonight, we’ll recreate the ancient Hogmanay customs from a thousand years ago. Our ancestors lit bonfires—”

“I do love a good bonfire. Really any excuse will do,” Elyse said—the poster child for Guy Fawkes Night. She thrust her torch into Logan’s face. “Hold this, will you?” She bit the finger of her glove and pulled it off to better retrieve Goldbears from their crinkly plastic bag, dropping the sweets into Logan’s outstretched hand.

“You’ve lost complete control of this tour already,” Logan said around a mouthful of gummy sweets. It was a spot of fun to tease Addie. To be lighthearted with Jack and Elyse.

It felt like the old days when they’d wander down to High Street looking for traffic cones to steal and red phone booths to take drunken photos inside. Before everything was complicated.

Addie was different around them, too. More carefree. Less like she was seconds away from stabbing him with the blunt end of a pen.

Jack swiped Elyse’s Goldbears, and Addie cleared her throat dramatically, ignoring their interruptions. “They’d light bonfires and roll fiery tar barrels down the hills. The roots of these festivities can be traced back even further to the Norse pagan festivals. Your torches—not to be confused with the British word for flashlight—aren’t wrapped in animal hide luckily, but we’ll assume the modern-day smoke will still ward off evil spirits. Now, have fun and don’t light anyone on fire.”

The history and symbolism did lend itself to a good tour. Community. Being a part of something bigger.

He was begrudgingly impressed by how much she’d prepared for this tour over the Christmas holiday. She was dedicated, he’d give her that.

A small part of him wondered what they could do if she worked with him, not against him. He was irrationally warm all over at the thought.

“Logan would have droned on for ages longer,” Jack said, and Logan stuck out a foot, tripping him.

Following the crowd, they walked to the beat of the marching band. The bagpipers were too far ahead to see, but their shrieking version of “Auld Lang Syne” resonated in the frigid air.

Whooping punctuated the deafening chatter of the crowd, and a smile split Logan’s face. He couldn’t help it. The revelry was contagious.

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