Page 26 of Scotch & Shortbread

“A snow in?” she repeated, still trying to comprehend the full extent of the situation.

“Aye, when there is so much snow you have to stay in.” He spoke as if he was explaining the concept to a small child.

A frustrated growl escaped her lips, and she flopped back down on the chair in front of the fireplace crossing her arms. Resignation set in. Like it or not, she was stuck here. With him.

“Trust me, I’m no’ thrilled with this situation either,” he declared as if reading her mind.

18

Maybe It's the Whisky

Thelasswasexceptionallyquiet from what he knew of her. She sat staring at the fire, her perfectly arched brows knit together in worry.

“Is someone expecting ye lass?” Alex didn’t make any reference to a so-called boyfriend this time, but he realized that maybe someone would wonder where she was, especially being Christmas time.

“No. Not really.” She sighed.

Her response seemed odd to him. Given the current circumstance though, perhaps it was a good thing that nobody would be worried about her whereabouts. “What about the lassies ye were with the other day? They won’t expect to hear from ye?”

She looked back at him. “No, they’ll be busy with their families. We weren’t planning to connect again until the new year.” There was a sadness in her tone. Why was she alone at Christmas? Realizing that was a can of worms he did not want to open, he pushed the thought aside and didn't question her.

This time, when he came back from the kitchen he brought over a glass of scotch and handed it to her. Nothing like sipping on a wee dram to calm a situation.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“An actual taste of Scotland,” he said, plopping down on the chair across from her.

She eyed the golden liquid with suspicion.

“’Tis a single malt whisky from the highlands,” he added.

“Hair of the dog,” she said before shooting it back like a bar star. “Ugh,” she huffed with her face scrunched up.

Alex was stunned. “Ye dinnae shoot whisky lass, fer the love of fuckin’ Mary.”

Her eyes went wide as if she was surprised he’d sworn. “Oh. Right. Well, that didn’t taste very good.” With a skeptical look on her pretty face, she set the empty glass carefully on the table between them. “I think the Christmas spiced orange tea would be a much better representation of your country. That stuff burns.” She rubbed her chest.

Alex stared at her and then took a deep breath to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t. God, what a woman. How the hell did she end up in his home? And why was he wasting good whisky on her? He didn’t know what possessed him to forge on.

“Scotch Whisky is the very essence of Scotland, and this particular one, well, ’tis from a distillery near my home. Close to the sea.”

She seemed to look at him thoughtfully. Alex lifted his glass to his nose and breathed in its essence before taking a sip.This is definitely a taste of Scotland, he thought as he closed his eyes to savour it. “Ye can smell the salty sea air in it,” he said proudly.

She guffawed, and he snapped his piercing blue eyes open to glare at her. Why was she so infuriating? “Smell it, lass.” He handed her the glass wondering why he didn’t just give up.

Eyeing him with suspicion, she tentatively sniffed at the glass of golden liquor. “Oh God,” she moaned. “It smells like rubbing alcohol.”

The little quiver of disgust is what threw him over the edge. He looked up at the ceiling in a silent prayer for patience. Not that he was a religious man, but he needed all the help he could get. The lass was painfully obstinate. “Right. What is it you’d like to drink then?”

“I don’t know. What else do you have?” she said reluctantly.

“Beer?” he asked, getting up and heading back to the kitchen.

“Wine?” she countered.

“Beer,” he said, brokering no argument as he pulled a bottle from the fridge and twisted it open.

Alex strode back to her as she cuddled up her legs beneath her in the chair, getting comfy. Her gaze was drawn back to the fire. He handed her the open bottle of beer.

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