Page 42 of Highland Hearts Holiday Bookshop

I sighed, twisting the stem of the wine glass in my hand.

“I’d lost my job as a technical writer because I was too fanciful in my wording. My ex-boyfriend’s family owned the discount store, and it was an easy transition when I needed to pay the bills. In hindsight, a dumb one. I wasted two years of my life being bored out of my mind.”

“You’re a writer?”

“I am. Apparently not a very good one.”

“Did you want to be writing technical descriptions?”

“No, I want to be finishing my fantasy novel.”

“So how can you say you’re not a good writer if you were using the wrong tools for the job?”

I blinked at him, surprised at how easy it was for him to state the obvious of what I should have seen a while ago. Losing my writing gig had been a blow to my ego and I’d let it poison my hopes of becoming an author someday. But the two jobs were so different that I never should have conflated them.

Insecurity was messy like that.

“I have no idea. Nobody’s ever phrased it quite like that before,” I admitted.

“Will you write now? Now that you’re in a better place that is? I’m sure the bookshop will be inspiring.”

“Or intimidating. Seeing so many published authors on the shelves can be overwhelming.”

“Or motivating.”

“True. You’re very motivational. Can I keep you around just to cheer me on every time I talk myself out of writing?”

“Of course.” Alexander said it so seriously, even though I’d been joking, and warmth sent a funny tingle through my body. This conversation was dancing too close to some of my long-buried vulnerabilities, so it was time to change the subject.

“Ah, so where’s this puffin of yours? Or were you just making that up to lure women back to your home?”

“You’re the first person I’ve had here. Plus, you invited yourself,” Alexander said, a serious note to his voice, as though he was trying to convince methat he would never invent a puffin to trick women into coming to his home.Note to self: Alexander can be quite literal.

“I know,” I said, weakly, as I mentally laughed at our mutual awkwardness. While I’d always known I had some socially inept moments, it was refreshing to meet someone who seemed to have the same.

“He’s this way. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Alexander turned to a door at the back of the kitchen and I followed him as he nudged it open and made a soft cooing noise.

“I don’t like to startle him,” Alexander said over his shoulder. “I’m hoping his wing will heal soon. In the meantime, I have him in the mudroom where it’s cool enough for the weather he’s used to, but safe from the elements.”

A large dog crate had been placed in the middle of the room, with gray plastic sides and a slotted metal gate for a door.

“I don’t like keeping him in this, but it’s bigger than the box I started with.”

“Oh my God, he’s so cute.” I gasped as the bird waddled to the door, making a clacking noise with his beak as he knocked it lightly against the wires of the cage, gnashing lightly against the metal.

“Tattie, meet Rosie.”

Tattie paused and looked up at me, cocking his head, and I grinned down at him, fluttering my fingers.

“Here, you can feed him some herring.”

“Just hand it to him through the bars?” I sat on the floor directly next to the carrier, and Alexandersat next to me, his shoulder lightly brushing mine as he handed me a container of fish.

“Aye. The wee lad loves it.”

“Aww, I feel so bad for him in there.” I plucked some fish from the container, ignoring the slimy feel on my fingers, and gently slid it through the door to an eager Tattie.

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