Page 13 of Isla

"Now we wait for the next person to come through the door. It stays pretty manageable until around 5:30."

"What happens after 5:30?"

"It's guns blazing until close."

"Sounds like fun."

She snorts. “You can’t lie for shit.”

I try not to stare at her as she leans over the bar to talk to Seamus. Her hair is up off her face, loose strands hanging down, brushing freckled skin. My fingers itch to bury themselves in it. Feel the heat from her scalp. I imagine the feel of her cheek against my palm. The way her gaze would dip to my lips. She looks over her shoulder at me, pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth. She laughs at something Seamus says, her eyes still on me. They widen, and she swings her head back toward Seamus and swats at his arm, her cheeks red.

"Do I need to break you two up?" I tease, stepping closer. I hold out my hand to him. "I'm Dylan. Nice to meet you."

"So you broke my girl's heart, did you, Dylan?"

"I–I did what?" I stammer, looking between him and Isla. She rolls her eyes.

"You stole this pub right out from under her."

My stomach sinks. "I assure you that was not my intention."

"Then whatisyour intention, lad?"

"Ignore him," Isla says, firmly pushing me to the other end of the bar. "I'm going to warn you now–there's going to be a lot of that. Almost everyone that comes here has known me since I was knee-high. They all knew I planned on making this into 'The Hebridean.'" She shrugs. "I hope you have thick skin."

"The Hebridean, huh? I like the sound of that."

"Yeah? Me, too." She sticks her tongue out at me.

"Fuck. Sorry." A couple comes through the door, saving my ass. Why can't I keep my foot out of my mouth for more than thirty minutes at a time?

The rest of the day goes by in a complete rush. People don't stop coming in until Isla hangs a sign on the door thirty minutes before closing. I watch her laugh with the people sitting at the bar as she pours their last drinks, an easy smile on her face, like she's entirely at home here.

God. What have we done? My heart physically aches. Fucking hell. I try to breathe, but I can't manage to get enough air into my lungs. Sinking to the floor, I drop my head between my knees, focusing on breathing in through my mouth and out through my nose.

"Hey!" Isla drops down next to me, her small hand cupping my jaw, angling my head so she can look me in the face. "Are you okay?"

"I will be." I close my eyes, focusing on the warmth of her hand against my skin before she pulls away.

I hear her saying goodnight to someone, then a bolt turning. Next thing I know, she's on her knees in front of me, her fingers brushing through my hair.

"What can I do to help?"

I give her a small smile. "Nothing. Truly. I feel better now."

She studies my face, making sure I’m telling the truth. "What was that?"

"That’s what’s known as a good ol' panic attack."

"Too many people?"

I shake my head. "People don't bother me. The thought that I ripped your dream right out from under your feet does, though. I promise I'll figure out how to make this right, Isla." My voice cracks, but I hold her gaze, hoping she can see the sincerity behind my words.

"God, Dylan. I'll be fine. You better not tell Theo, but I think this was good for me. I've been in a rut for years. It's exciting not to have everything planned out for once."

"Really? You're not just saying that?" I ask, my gaze resting on the freckle on the right side of her top lip that makes me want to–

"Really, really." She stands, holding out her hands so she can helpme up. Pure instinct has me pulling her down into my arms. I tug gently, giving her the chance to step back. She doesn't. She folds herself into me, her knees on the floor between my legs, arms around my neck.

---