Page 32 of Kilt Trip

“Jack, is that you?” Gemma called.

“Aye, and Addie’s here, as well.”

As much as she was looking forward to Gemma’s cooking, Addie’s motives for joining the Sutherlands tonight weren’t exactly pure. Jack coming early to help Neil with supposed computer viruses and suspicious emails was the perfect opening to talk to Neil about new itineraries without Logan sabotaging her.

In the downtime between Christmas and New Year’s, Addie had filled every minute designing the Hogmanay tour and other hot-spot itineraries—hoping all that progress would feel like an accomplishment, like she wasn’t so unreasonably behind schedule. But the sickening dread in her stomach every time her email dinged said otherwise. Marc was going to need answers, and soon.

She’d been naive to think all it would take to change Logan’s mind was a unique and lucrative tour suggestion in the middle of their slow season, since he was clearly allergic to profit and determined to cling to the past to the detriment of all their futures.

But he wasn’t the only one in charge of decisions at The Heart.

If she could get a few minutes of Neil’s time to plead her case, she could finish this project before another contract came up. So she’d be ready to hop on the next plane out of here, to keep growing a business—a future—with the people she loved most in this world. She wouldn’t let Devika and Marc down.

Addie pushed away the niggling guilt tweaking her conscience that Logan had mostly given her first stop a fair chance and she was going above his head.

But she couldn’t afford to sit on her hands any longer. And neither could The Heart.

While Addie slipped out of her shoes, Neil appeared, wearing his outrageously checkered jacket she recognized from their first meeting. He wrapped her up in a quick hug with a pat on the back. “Haud Hogmanay, my dear.”

“Haud Hogmanay,” Addie repeated.

Gemma barreled into the foyer, apron tied around her waist and tendrils of graying hair escaping her messy twist, a testimony to a morning of cooking.

Neil inched closer to the open kitchen doorway. “It smells lovely in there. Maybe I’ll take a wee taste—”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Gemma said, swatting at him with the dish towel while he hopped away. It was the most charmingly domestic scene Addie had been privy to since her mom had passed.

Gemma enveloped Jack in a hug he barely tolerated and proceeded to adjust his collar. She was ready to go in for his hair when he swatted her away.

If Addie didn’t miss having a mom who fussed over her, maybe she’d be annoyed, too, but she couldn’t help feeling Jack was ungrateful and didn’t even know it. She swallowed down the twinge of resentment. She wasn’t wrecking a festive party by feeling sorry for herself.

“Happy New Year, Addie.” Gemma pulled her in for a quick squeeze. “Don’t you look nice,” she said, clasping Addie’s shoulders to get a good look at her. “We’re so pleased you could join us.”

“Thanks for having me.” Addie smiled and glanced back at Neil, but he and Jack had somehow disappeared before she could preempt the computer mission.

The ticking of the grandfather clock mocked her. Neil did nothing in a timely manner. At the thought of Logan’s impending arrival, a lead ball the exact weight of a tour bus she had no intention of getting on settled on her stomach. “Maybe I’ll wait with them...” And make sure they didn’t go off the rails the way Neil’s vendor calls did, dissolving into bragging about fishing conquests within three minutes.

“Nonsense. We’ll have a cup of tea and a blether,” Gemma said, guiding her down the other hall.

Jack and Neil were already gone, and she didn’t want to be rude. “That would be wonderful, thank you.” Addie pushed aside her mounting anxiety and let Gemma lead her into the kitchen to wait. She’d make an excuse and check on them in twenty minutes.

Walnut cabinets lined the walls, copper pots hung above a stove that might have been from the Bonnie Prince Charlie era, and soft light filtered in through the bay window.

“What am I smelling? It’s heavenly.”

“The turkey. I like to get it going nice and early.”

“What can I help with?”

“Och, you settle in and keep me company. I’m not putting you to work,” Gemma said.

Addie wasn’t offering to be polite. She’d been too much of a typical teenager to care about preparing a holiday meal the last time she had a chance. “I’d love to learn a family recipe.”

Gemma’s eyes crinkled with an affectionate smile. “Come over, then.” She pulled an apron from a drawer and slipped it over Addie’s head, tying it in the back. The motherly gesture made her eyes prickle, and she blinked back the emotion. Must’ve been all the onion in the air. “You can help me make a clootie dumpling.”

“A what?”

Gemma gave Addie’s shoulder a playful nudge. “A cloot is how we say cloth. We’ll make the dough and wrap it up in a cloot before boiling it. It’s a dessert.”

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