Page 23 of Scotch & Shortbread

“I might die without a sharp cheddar in my life,” he deadpanned, and Quinn almost snorted.

“I think I do huv some honey somewhere,” he added, digging through a cupboard.

“Thanks.” She smiled, leaning in towards the fireplace and trying to let its delicious warmth envelop every body part at once. Quinn felt relieved again. For a second, she worried she’d poked the bear. She couldn’t handle confrontation right now, she craved the kindness and care he had been so openly giving her. Bear, his German Shepherd, laid his head in her lap, and Quinn absently petted his soft black-brown ears and stared into the fire basking in its heat. It felt like she was finally thawing out from the bitter cold that had gripped her in its icy embrace.

Alex filled the kettle for the lass's tea and peered out the window at the blowing snow. He had been out for a hike with Bear when the blizzard had whipped up. They were calling for the “storm of the decade,” so he wanted to get in one last good hike before it hit. In the mountains, the weather was unpredictable at the best of times, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when the storm arrived in all its fury a good twelve hours ahead of schedule. He was heading back to his cottage when Bear found her. Thank God for his furry beast. It wasn’t the first time he’d been deeply grateful for his pup.

When he joined the police force in Canada, he had been given little choice in his partner. The force wanted the advantage of a dog, and, being the new guy, he’d been first in line to take on the duty. At the time, it was far more responsibility than he wanted, but it turned out that Bear was the best partner he could ever have. The dog had crazy instincts and had saved Alex’s arse more than once. Glancing back at Quinn, he saw his loyal pup had his head nuzzled right in her lap. Apparently, his dog was oblivious to the troublemaker he was cuddled up with. Where were those killer instincts now? Alex sighed. Poor lass. He had to admit he was relieved she was safe and sound.

Since his trip to Scotland was cancelled and knowing this storm was coming, he’d gone for a large grocery shop this morning. Aside from doubling up on staples, he found it rather satisfying to splurge and buy some of his favourite foods for Christmas.Why not?he’d thought. Now, his cupboards and fridge were very well stocked—and a good thing too, given his unexpected house guest.

Alex had been invited to a friend’s for Christmas dinner. As much as he appreciated the offer, he was almost relieved the impending weather forecast gave him an excuse to stay home. Time spent up here on the mountain with no work or people always helped clear his mind. The Canadian wilderness had become a part of his soul almost as much as his homeland. It was bloody ironic though that just last night he’d been reflecting on how getting out of town for a week or so would also thankfully quash the chances of running into Quinn West again. But low and behold, here she was…in his cottage. Christ, what kind of shenanigans was the universe playing at?

Pouring himself a hot cup of coffee and throwing in a hearty splash of baileys, he felt a bit bad, reflecting on the fact she couldn’t have dairy. No Bailey’s for the lass. ’Twas a downright shame. As he let the tea steep on the counter, Alex looked back at the lass huddled up in his favourite leather chair staring pensively at the fire.

Where had she come from? In a few short days, he’d pulled her over and given her a bloody useless ticket, gotten her safely back to her hotel room (something he did not want to think about), rescued her in the “storm of the decade,” and now, here she was sitting in his home with his normally incredibly perceptive police dog loving her up like she was the one who paid for his food.

It seemed like an odd set of coincidences. All he knew about her was she was headstrong, talked too much, and that her big brown eyes and full lips were mesmerizing. He swallowed, tearing his gaze from her as he pulled out the tea bag from her mug, squirted in a small blob of honey, then reconsidered and squirted in some more. If she couldn’t have Bailey’s, she could at least have sweet tea. He stirred it and carried the steamy mugs into the lounge.

She looked up at him as he handed her the tea. Aye, she did have beautiful eyes. He couldn’t deny it.

“Thank you.” She said softly and Alex’s eyes dropped momentarily to her pink full lips. God that mouth. He did his best to clear his head as he sat in his second favourite chair across from her.

“Mmm, it smells like Christmas.” She swooned, holding the mug close to her and savouring its warmth.

“It’s a Christmas spiced orange tea,” he provided by way of explanation.

She eyed him, curious how this big brawny cop who appeared to live alone had a fancy Christmas tea. Somehow, he didn’t seem the type. The steam wafted its warm festive scent and Quinn sighed contentedly.

“My mam sends the tea to me every year for Christmas. It’s the only tea I have.”

Ah, mystery solved, Quinn thought, taking a sip. “It’s a Scottish tea then?”

“Aye, I suppose so.”

Taking a tentative sip, her lips puckered from the excessive sweetness. “Mmm,” she croaked, covering up a cough. The honey completely overwhelmed the flavour, but she wasn’t about to complain.

“’Tis good then?” he asked, appearing almost hopeful, and somehow she felt obliged to say it was.

“Mm-hmm,” she lied, reasoning that the tea was likely great without the overwhelming amount of honey. “You haven’t ever tasted it?”

He glanced at her and raised his mug. “I prefer mud.”

She laughed at his reference to her earlier comment about coffee tasting like mud. “But your mom sends you the tea, and you never drink it?” Her full lips were pinched, and her brows knitted together as if she couldn’t understand how he couldn’t have at least tried it.

He shrugged. “I dinnae throw it out either. I have three boxes of the stuff in the cupboard. If ye like it ye can fill yer boots as they say here.”

“I don’t know anyone who says that.” She scrunched her nose in disapproval and again Quinn noticed a slight quirk in his lips, like he was holding back a smile.

“Are you always so objectionable?” he asked, his lips settled back in a serious line.

“I’m not objectionable!” she huffed frustrated as she’d been trying hard not to be objectionable.

He arched a disbelieving brow.

Quinn ignored it. “You should at least try the tea. Your Mom sent it,” she argued, but he didn’t look persuaded. “It’s like a taste of Scotland,” she added, digging her heels in. She took another sip and tried to focus on the flavour beyond the excessive honey.

The low rumble of Mean Hot Cop’s laugh took her off guard. “Och, lass, that is no’ a taste of Scotland.”

---