Page 48 of Bad Reputation

“It’s only about twenty meters higher than we are now, and it’s all downhill after that.”

“Meters? I’m an American,” she whined.

“Trust me, it sounds better in metric.” He didn’t have the heart to do the conversion for her.

“In that village, at the end, you are buying me beer and french fries.”

He would’ve rather stuck with his original offer of dinner, but as long as she was letting him feed her, he’d take it. “Deal.”

The next bit of the walk wasn’t as hard, but the wind whipping over the crest of the ridge was wicked, and several times he had to grab Maggie’s jacket to steady her. They encountered more and more sheep, who watched them placidly, until at last they arrived at the summit. They were greeted by a small column made of stacked stones, topped by another plaque.

The Scottish people clearly liked their plaques.

“How is it possible we’re only 1,617 feet above sea level?” Maggie almost shouted into the wind.

“Wait, first you insist this is a mountain, then you’re pissed it’snottaller?”

“I’m tired, James. I’m allowed to contradict myself.” She fished her phone out of her pocket. “Take my damn picture.”

He did. Then, “Let’s get one together. We can send it to Tasha.”

“Sure.”

Trying not to think too much about it, trying not to sense the curves under her jacket and sweater, Cole pulled Maggie into the crook of his body. She came up to his shoulder, which made him feel bulky and awkward. But when he cinched an arm around her waist, when the warmth of her pressed against his chest, when he saw them on her phone screen, looking for all purposes sotogether, Cole melted.

Right there, on the top of that frigid Scottish hill, he went to goo.

Cole let his chin rest against Maggie’s temple. He could smell her hair, the clean soap of her shampoo mixed with the fresh air, and it was—peace. They might only be 1,617 feet higher than when they’d started. They might only be friends. Their hearts might be racing for very different reasons. But for a moment, Cole felt at peace.

He snapped a picture. Then another. Then a third, not because their eyes were closed, but because when this was done, she was going to step out of his arms.

“That’s good,” she said.

He let go of her and handed Maggie her phone. Then he turned and wiped his eyes, feeling just so silly. It was ridiculous for him to go soft over anyone right now. He needed to stay focused. And besides, Maggie was doing her job—a job she cared about as much as he did his.

“Be sure to send that to me.” Goddamn, but his voice sounded scratchy.

“Will do. It’s all downhill from here?”

“Yup. It should be a piece of cake.”

That was usually a lead-in to disaster, but compared to the first half of the hike, they practically galloped into Swanston. Their quick pace kept them from talking too much—and Cole from stumblinginto some other kind of mess. Clearly he couldn’t be trusted where this woman was concerned.

“Jeez, this is cute.” Maggie waved her hand at the whitewashed cottages and thatched roofs.

“I’m surprised we’re not filming here.” Cole was pretty sure pictures of this exact village had been in the packet Zoya had sent him when he’d signed the contract. Or maybe all adorable Scottish villages that seemed untouched by time looked the same.

“I can’t tell if it’s more Walter Scott orBrigadoon.”

“I’m just glad there aren’t bagpipes.” Brett, his publicist, had forbidden Cole from ever admitting it in public, but he couldn’t stand the things.

They found Phil waiting for them in the car, playing a game on his phone.

“We were a little slower than I’d expected,” Cole said. “Sorry about that. Is there someplace to get a drink around here?”

“There’s no pub in Swanston,” Phil explained. “But I know something nearby.”

Ten minutes later, Maggie was cooing her way through a plate of french fries. The noises she was making were next door to obscene.

---