Page 35 of Scotch & Shortbread

“Good?” she hedged.

“Aye, for someone who doesn’t like coffee, ye make it well enough.”

She smirked, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I used to make it for my Grandmother, and she was very particular about the water-to-grounds ratio.”

“Canny woman," he said savouring another sip. Then his blue eyes squinted suspiciously as he scanned the kitchen like it was a crime scene. "Smells good in here." He concluded.

Ahh, finally he notices, Quinn smiled inwardly. “I made shortbread cookies,” she said over her shoulder as she pulled a batch out of the oven. “I was going to make sugar cookies, but I saw you had icing sugar, so I decided to do whipped shortbread instead. Plus, you didn’t have cookie cutters or a rolling pin, so sugar cookies were pretty much nixed as an option.”

Alex looked over at the fresh cookies sitting on a cooling rack and his stormy blue eyes widened with interest. It pleased her more than it should.

“Help yourself,” she said, sweetly noticing he’d already moved and was hunched over the rack inspecting which cookie to snatch up and try.

Taking one from the cooling rack, Alex examined it briefly and then popped it into his mouth. Quinn watched him with a tentative look on her face as she awaited his verdict.

“Mmm,” he groaned and then grabbed another. “They huv a familiar sweet buttery taste, ach God, and they just melt in your mouth.” He took a sip of his coffee after making short work of a second cookie. “They remind me of the ones my Nan used to make.”

That felt like high praise coming from Sergeant Mackenzie. Perhaps her Grandmother was right. Kindness was the key—or maybe it was baked goods.

“Here try this one.” She held the cooling rack to him with the final batch. A little thrill ran through her that he actually liked her cookies.

He eyed her curiously as he took one and popped it whole into his mouth. His stormy blue eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Och, what is that? I recognize that taste. Mmm. God lass, ye could make a fortune if ye sold these.”

She grinned delighted by his praise. “Thank you.” She hoped he’d like them, but she didn’t expect such compliments from Sergeant Mackenzie. “I added a splash of your scotch to this batch.”

“Ye put my single malt scotch in yer cookies?” His eyes narrowed.

Oh shit. Was he angry? “I-I—” She didn’t know what to say.

“It’s fine, lass,” he said, reassuring her as if sensing her unease. “But I thought ye dinnae like my whisky.” His dark brow raised in a challenge as his blue eyes bore into her with a knowing twinkle in them.

God, he could make a nun stray with that look. She grinned, relieved he wasn’t angry. “I don’t like your whisky,” she said, pointedly scrunching her face up, “but cookies make everything taste better. And I don’t know… Somehow scotch and shortbread seemed like a good mix.” She shrugged.

His deep chuckle disarmed her. God, she’d almost forgotten how shockingly hot he was when he smiled.

He bit into a second scotch shortbread cookie. “Mmm, I honestly cannae believe you wasted single malt whisky in a bloody biscuit, but damn, they’re good lass.”

It was a backhanded compliment, but she’d take it. She was pleased that he was enjoying them. She giggled. “Glad you approve, Sergeant Mackenzie.”

He threw her an arched brow. “Are ye a baker then?” he asked between bites.

“Oh heck no.” She snorted. “But I do enjoy a little Christmas baking.”

“Maybe not such a bad thing having ye stranded here wi’ me after all,” he remarked.

“I can earn my keep with baking.” She smiled, glad to have an easy light interaction with him.

“Aye, ye can.” Alex leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee. “So what is it ye do Ms. West, if ye’re not a baker?”

“I’m a writer.” She smiled, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“What do ye write?” He watched her intently as she moved cookies from a baking tray to a cooling rack. Then he snatched a warm cookie from behind her, making her feel a fluff of pride flutter in her chest that he liked them so much. She’d never had someone to bake for before, except for herself.

“I write lifestyle articles for a couple of magazines and online publications. It pays the bills, and, for the most part, I enjoy the writing,” she said. “But it’s not really where my passion lies.”

“Oh?” he said curiously.

It was the first time he seemed interested in something about her, but still, she was hesitant to tell him—nervous to share something that meant so much to her. Writing a novel was her dream, and it was still early in the process. She didn’t want him to judge her.

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