Page 12 of Highland Hearts Holiday Bookshop

The questions lit up the pub and I tried to answer them the best I could, smug in the knowledge that I’d outwitted the Book Bitches.

“He’s had his wing clipped, and I am working on building an enclosure for him. But I’m keeping him in a smaller pen while his wing heals, and then will gradually introduce him to the outdoors more to see if he can fly again. If not, well, I guess I’ll keep him if I can’t find a sanctuary that takes them in for life.”

“How old is he?” This from a man named Gregory who worked in the local government office.

“Young. Maybe four or five? I need to name him.”

“I always thought they looked like potatoes.”

We all stopped talking and looked at Cherise who seemed to be a wee bit tipsy. Esther reached out and pulled the wine glass away from Cherise.

“You think the bird—apuffin—looks like a potato?” Esther demanded, derision in her voice.

“Not the grown one.” Cherise hiccupped and waveda hand in the air. “You know. The young ones. The pufflings. They look like a fluffy potato.”

The pub was silent as everyone looked at each other.

“She’s not wrong.” Meredith held up a picture of a fluffy puffling on her phone. “Also, I forgot the babies are named pufflings and now I’m in love all over again.”

“You should name it Tattie,” Esther declared, and the pub cheered.

“I…wait, what? I can’t name it Tattie.” I was not going to name this distinguished bird, Tattie, after potatoes. Surely I would offend the poor thing.

“And why not? Tattie is a damn cute name.” Cherise hiccupped again, and Harper poured a glass of water at the bar.

“I mean, it is a cute name. But I was thinking something more prestigious.”

“Like what?” Gregory asked.

“Mm, maybe like the pirate? Since he came in off the seas? Captain Kidd?”

“Not bad, not bad.” The pub collectively thought it over and I took another sip of my pint, pleased with myself. Captain Kidd was agreatname for an esteemed puffin.

“No. Tattie.” Cherise sniffed, her voice a touch wobbly, and I realized she was close to tears. Shite, I was horrible with women’s tears. They just completely undid me, and I had no idea how to handle that level of emotion. Which usually meant I froze and agreed to whatever the woman wanted, so long as they put the water streaming from their eyes back inside theirbodies.

“But he isn’t a puffling anymore,” I said, my tone gentle, a last-ditch effort. “He no longer looks like a potato. You’ll have to come meet him.”

“It’s Tattie.” Esther’s voice was dangerously low, and she tapped the back of my hand, so I met her eyes. Seeing she was dead serious, I sighed.

“Right. Tattie it is then.”

Cherise grinned, a radiant beam of sunshine, and the pub cheered once again.

Bloody hell.

Why had I decided to stop in here again? Making my escape, with the promise that I would update everyone on my puffin, who I couldn’t quite bring myself to call Tattie, I ducked into the rain. Maybe I’d just tell others that was his name but call him Captain Kidd in private.

Resolved, I bent my head to the rain and walked toward home. The light in the window of Highland Hearts gave me pause. It was nice to see it there, even if I was entirely unsure of the new owner. She’d seemed a touch odd, skittish even, and out of sorts. Not that I was one to talk about other people and their awkwardness. I spent my days coding and building software. My people weren’t renowned for our social skills.

I wanted to see if she was okay. Was she lonely? Scared? Nervous?

Shocked at my thoughts, I forced myself to keep walking. That was entirely unlike me. I made a point of not diving into other people’s business, and wondering if the newcomer to Kingsbarns was scared in her bookshop was not a normal thought for me to be having. Of courseshe wouldn’t be scared. Kingsbarns was a safe town, we looked out for each other here, and Highland Hearts was a lovely, albeit eclectic, place to call home. She’d be just fine. Whatever her name was.

Speaking of names, I needed to test out this Tattie business on the puffin. By the time I got home, my wool cap was soaked, and I’d lost any warmth I’d taken from the fire at the pub. I’d put the puffin in the back mudroom attached to my house, as they were well used to the cold, yet it didn’t feel right to leave him outside on his own. When I spied him sleeping in his pen, I made to tiptoe back out, but his eyes sprung open. The wee lad hopped to his feet and moved closer to the door, clacking his beak at me.

“Tattie?” I asked.

The puffin regarded me and then bobbed his head backward and gave out a low call that sounded like a deep belly laugh. It was the first I’d heard it from him, and it sounded like an old man laughing at a funny joke.

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