Page 62 of Scotch on the Rocks

I muttered an assurance, accepting my coat without meeting his eye, and stalked away. I didn’t once look back, but I felt his attention on me. Even when I tucked myself into bed that night, Shakespeare purring at my feet, I still felt it, with his words ringing in my ears:

That’s all I’ve wanted since that day on the train when it took me less than a second to fall completely under your spell.

17

Callum

Callum: Any luck securing that time off?

Callum: Alistair?

Callum: Are we ignoring each other now?

Alistair: Sorry!!! Long day.

Alistair: I’m still working on it, I’ll let you know.

“Is this the last delivery of the morning?” In the car park outside the town hall, I swung down from my brother’s ancient Land Rover and opened the back door for Boy. His tail swishing eagerly as his paws met the gravel.

“This and the Sheep’s Heid.” Bottles clinked as Mal rearranged the crates of whisky stacked three-high, secured in the boot with wide straps.

I had less time to help my brother at the distillery these days, between Dad, Ivy House and the practice. I found time when I could, mainly because it was one of the few ways to spend time with him. My wee brother could be more of a workaholic than me.

He’d never complain but I knew he had a lot on his plate with the anniversary ceilidh only a few weeks away.

Boy’s wet nose met my palm, and I brushed it down his neck, kneeling to fuss him. “There’s a good lad.”

“Don’t praise him,” Mal groused, meeting us on the path, three very full crates in hand. “He almost refused to get in the truck.”

Taking the crates from him, I looked down at the angelic golden retriever I was certain had never done anything wrong in his life. “How does a dog refuse, exactly?”

Mal’s fingers rolled anxiously over his other digits as we neared the high street. A familiar gesture I’d seen less and less in recent months. Despite his weekly therapy sessions I knew he attended diligently, he still found it tough to come into the village some days. Rome wasn’t built in a day.

“He tucked himself into bed beside April and huffed every time I asked him to move. He didn’t want to leave Dudley behind,” he explained. “The two of them are attached at the hip these days.”

I smiled at the mention of April’s feisty, three-legged dachshund. “That’s fucking adorable.”

“It’s a pain in my arse.” He could grumble all he liked, I knew he’d do anything for the little family he and April had made for themselves. Even wear a dog sling when Dudley’s legs grew tired.

“Will Dudley go with April when her shoot starts?”

The change came over Mal immediately, eyes lowering, shoulders hunching, and I felt like a shit for bringing it up. He’d never admit it aloud, but I knew he felt the time slipping with growing trepidation. Mal was proud of her, but he didn’t relish the idea of her being away for months on end.

“He’s staying with me, it seemed pointless to go to the effort of getting Dudley a pet passport.”

I nudged his shoulder with mine. “That’s great, Mal. Let me know if you need any help.”

He smiled, though it was small. “I think Ava and Emily have you beat. They begged me to let them dog-sit weeks ago.”

I grinned at him over my shoulder, paying little attention as I led us onto the stone path and around the corner. “Luckily I’m their favourite uncle – woah,harpy.”

“Oh,” Juniper gasped, leaping back as we almost collided. Bottles clacked and I held the crates tightly, fighting my first instinct to reach out and steady her. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

I ate up the sight of her, from her heeled boots to her perfectly styled fringe. I’d missed her so much; I swear even my teeth ached from it.

It had been three days since the shinty game. Three days since she’d patched me up in a toilet and, in return, I’d offered up my heart on a butcher’s block. Three days of cursing my sister’s poor timing and diligently following my own promise to give her space. I’d almost been tempted to ask Mal’s advice, but I didn’t want to draw him into the mess with Heather. And while my brother had many talents, conversing with women had never been one of them – even he would admit he’d fallen into his relationship through sheer dumb luck.

A fish could tell another fish how to walk, but we’d both still have flippers instead of feet.

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