Page 7 of Highland Hearts Holiday Bookshop

And to answer the question, it appeared I was both.

Not that I’d ever tell the Book Bitches that.

They needed to stick to their book club, and not to matchmaking. The last thing I needed was a woman in my life. One divorce had been enough and at the ripe old age of thirty-four, I was happy for my space.

By the time I’d finished gathering materials to build a pen for the wee bird, made up of chicken wire, two-by-fours, and piles of rocks and fresh grass for a burrow nextto the wading pool, I had just enough time to go get him some food from the fishmonger before they closed. Torn between leaving him in the carrier, or bringing him with me, I did what any logical bird-loving man would do. I took him with me. What if he wanted to pick out his own fish?

Right, I probably wasn’t allowed to take a bird into a fishmonger, what with health and safety rules, and maybe being a hermit was getting to me if I thought that was acceptable behavior. Either way, the bird sat in his kennel on the front seat and eyed me through the door.

“I promise, you’ll be happy with our next stop.”

The bird rattled at me, gnashing its beak together to likely tell me what a jerk I was, but that was probably due to hunger. There was no way he’d been diving for food with that clipped wing of his. Once at the fishmonger, a tiny shop outside Kingsbarns, I rolled the window down to let in the cool air.

“I’ll be just a minute. I promise.”

The puffin made that chattering sound again and I rushed inside, not wanting him to hurt himself more by going crazy in the wee kennel in my car.

“Hiya, Alexander, how’s it going then?”

“All right. So, I’ve rescued a puffin, and it looks like they eat herring. Do you have any I can feed him?”

The fishmonger nodded. “Sprat too. Their favorite are the sand eels, but we can’t get those. I’ll get you sorted.”

I liked this fishmonger. No long chats or intrusive questions about my life, he was all business. I was in andout in just a few minutes and happy for it as the puffin was making increasingly annoyed sounds from my car.

“I’m here. I’m here.” I held the bag up like the bird had any idea what I had. But at least it stopped its complaining. “All right, you’re probably starving. How about a wee snack to tide you over on the drive?” Digging in the bag, I unwrapped one of the packets marked herring, immediately berated myself for opening fish in the car as the smell filled the air, and the puffin danced closer to the door of the carrier.

“Here. Try this.” I slipped a fish through the door, and he snapped it up so fast I drew my finger back. “So you are hungry.”

I fed him a few more through the gaps in the cage door and then started the car, humming all the way home.

Next time the Book Bitches cornered me about my love life, I could tell them Ihadtaken a bird home. Snorting, knowing that very few would find me funny, I glanced at the puffin who seemed to regard me with a much friendlier look in its eyes.

“Well, mate. Shall we find you a name?”

Chapter Four

Rosie

Scotland? You’ve never even left your hometown.

Running a bookstore? You need real business acumen for that.

Meeting new friends? That means you’ll have to actually talk to people.

Dating? Nobody will be as good as sweet John.

No, those weren’t my insecurities in my head beating me up on the long flight to Scotland. Those were actual comments John and his family made when I’d picked up my last paycheck. Why they still hadn’t figured out direct deposit, I do not know, but I was forced to do the walk of shame to the back office to pick up my check while the other employees eyed me either with envy or scorn. It was hard to tell when I refused to make actual eyecontact with anyone. There, John and his family had descended on me, picking apart my plans to move to Scotland all while I’d sidled closer to my employee mailbox and tried to retrieve my check. There wasn’t a word of praise or thanks or support between all of them, not that I was surprised. But it would have been nice for the ego to think I’d be missed.I was good at my job. Their loss.However, I didn’t stoop to their baiting, though it had taken a level of control that even I wasn’t aware that I had, and somehow, I’d managed to leave the store without burning it down behind me. I hear arson charges make it hard to board an international flight.

The flight and the subsequent taxi ride to Kingsbarns seemed anticlimactic at this point. They’d both gone smoothly, and even though I’d never flown internationally before, I’d researched the process thoroughly and had made enough lists to guide me through the experience. Now, pleased that I’d navigated things fairly well thus far, even with jet lag, I let out a little sigh of relief as the sign for Kingsbarns came into view. The taxi drove about another block after the sign and pulled to the side of the road.

“This is Kingsbarns. The shop is down that wee lane.”

I blinked at the village that seemed to stretch a few blocks at most. Whirling, I looked out the back window where the rain misted down in fine sheets. This…this was the town? Surely there had to be more to it than this.

“Is this…it?” I asked, leaning forward in my seat until the seatbelt stopped me. I’d been so consumed with packing my apartment, travel research, and making sure my passport arrived in time that I hadn’t looked up much about Kingsbarns. A mistake on my part, it seemed, as this place was tiny. How would a bookshop even prosper in such a small town? Biting my lower lip, I tried to quell the rising panic that put me in a chokehold.

“Aye, this is the main bit. There are plenty of cottages on farmland and whatnot spread out around here as well.” The driver turned and indicated the card machine for payment before popping out of the front door and rounding to the trunk for my luggage. I slipped my card in the reader, trying to do a quick calculation on the dollars to pounds conversion, and then froze when there was no option to tip on the reader. Easing the door open, I winced at the icy wind that sliced across my face.

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