Page 87 of Highland Hearts Holiday Bookshop

“I … I, well, I was coming to drop a gift off for you and then I lost my nerve. So I decided to stroll the beach for a moment to work up the courage to come back and that’s when I saw the puffin. How is she? Did she…” I couldn’t bring myself to ask if she’d made it. She had to have made it. I would have hated to go through all this for her not to survive.

“She’s doing remarkably well for a bird that just lost aleg.”

“Oh no,” I breathed, sympathy filling me. “Will she survive an amputation?”

“Aye, lass. She will. I’ll introduce her to Tattie once she’s stable. By the way, the vet confirms what you already seemed to know. It’s a girl.”

“Iknewit. Oh, I hope Tattie likes her.” I didn’t want him to be lonely forever.Ididn’t want to be lonely forever. Emotion clogged my throat, and tears pricked my eyes.

“I hope he does too. They look to be around the same age, so maybe it will work out. If he gives her a chance.”

“Do you think he will?” I blinked at him, realizing we were no longer talking about puffins.

Alexander reached inside his pocket and unfolded a crisp twenty-pound note, which he handed to me.

“I’d like to order the Highland Hearts Special.”

Tears flooded my eyes and I had to wipe them away with the back of my hand. Hope filled me, and I took a shaky breath.

“Of course, sir. If you could do me a favor and get my supplies?”

“No problem. Where would they be?” Alexander kept his voice very polite as though he was a paying customer and not someone who had brought me so much pleasure that I’d almost fainted from it once.

“Top drawer behind the table. Notebook, pen, magnifying glass.”

When he disappeared from the room, I reached for a tissue and wiped my face, forcing myself to try and stay composed.

“Here we are.” Alexander sat and handed me the supplies. Flipping to a new page in the notebook, I cleared my throat.

“Name.”

“Alexander Theodore MacTavish.”

I wrote it down, realizing that I hadn’t known his middle name.

“All right, Mr. MacTavish, can you tell me your favorite book?”

“Yes, of course. It’sThe Hobbit. Have you heard of it?”

I grinned as the pen scratched across the paper.

“I have indeed.”

“Can you tell me how this works?”

“Well, now that I know your favorite book, I’ll start looking through my database of possible suitors. Once I pick a select few, I’ll pair their book choices with yours and try to determine whether there are any commonalities that will result in a good pairing.”

“I believe that I can narrow that database down for you,” Alexander said, and my heart stood up and cheered.

“Is that so? I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the full experience of my professional services.”

“I’m certain you can make it up to me in other ways.” His voice had grown husky, and heat flooded my body. I ached for his touch, for his nearness, and had to force myself not to throw this notebook across the room and beg him to crawl into bed next to me.

“Of course, sir. How would you liketo narrow the database? Did you have a particular candidate in mind?” I stared carefully at the paper.

“You.” His voice drifted across my skin, as soft as a gentle touch, and the tension I was holding in my shoulders released.

“Yes, sir.” I wrote Rosie Withers on the page and beneath it,The Hobbit.

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