Page 72 of Scotch on the Rocks

Shit.

What magic sauce did these Macabe men possess and why did I crave the taste?Hell,maybe I should stay away from Mal, what if I got these …feelingsfor him next? No. My gut told me that was impossible.

Though my emotions felt as tangled as a string of Christmas tree lights, there was only one Macabe brother my body wanted, and it wasn’t the one who’d purchased the ring sitting on my sideboard. Spitting out my toothpaste, I crossed the room in two strides, snatching up the box. The diamond glinted in the sun, sending fractured beamsof light in every direction. While objectively beautiful, the square-cut diamond was ugly to me now. Little more than a fucked-up talisman of a hopeless woman too scared to move on with her life. A woman afraid to be hurt again.

Not wanting to look at it a second longer, I shoved the box into the closest drawer like it was the ghost of boyfriends past. Tears dampened my cheeks, and I brushed them away on my sleeve.

If there was a word to sum up an emotion both wonderful and a fucking disaster, it would be appropriate here, because for the first time I wanted to make the healthy decision and get rid of the thing. For the first time, I wanted to make room in my heart for something good. Even if that good was carried on timid wings, not quite certain they were strong enough to make the flight.

I wanted Callum.

I’d need to make things right with Heather before I continued any further down this path – I needed to explain myself properly. Pacing outside his cottage last night, I’d known the second I knocked on his door that I would further cross the line she’d drawn.

I’d also known after the showdown with his dad that Callum needed someone. It was selfish, but I’d wanted that someone to be me.

Then things spiralled and I hadn’t been thinking at all.

I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering if Heather would see the truth plastered all over my face. Was it better to go to her straight away and confess everything? Even if it meant she hated me, at least I’d be being honest.

Decision made, I grabbed my keys off the sideboard, deciding I’d pick up coffee and cupcakes from Brown’s on the way. You couldn’t hate a person who brought cupcakes.

* * *

If this morning’s little revelation had felt like dangling from a clifftop, Callum on his knees outside the vet practice, a dog’s squished little face clutched between his capable hands, might have been enough to plummet me quite willingly to the rocks below.

That was … until I saw who he grinned up at.

My stomach sank.

Jill Mortimer.Satan fucking spare me.She was nine years my senior, but I swear the woman aged backwards. She had skin like smooth glass and a laugh as lovely and effortless as a beauty queen’s right before announcing her singular dream was world peace. But worse than all that superficial crap … she never failed to make me feel small.

Callum’s mouth moved, his impossibly handsome face partially hidden behind her curves while she giggled with satisfaction, flicking her very long, very glossy hair over her shoulder.

I wanted to gouge my eyes out.

Had the roughness of his laugh always bordered on obscene? And had his lips – lips that sucked my clit last night – always been so captivating?Jeez, is he going down on her next?

He should. They looked perfect together. I wrapped my arms around my middle, suddenly feeling silly.

Keeping my head down, I hurried past them, only slowing when I reached the line of customers curling out of Brown’s Café and onto the street. The day was crisp and bright, even the chill in the air didn’t dissuade customers from occupying the wrought-iron outdoor tables. A group of young backpackers huddled shoulder to shoulder beneath the awning, laughing as they passed around pastries.

“Ouch.” The word caressed the hair at my temple, startling me. I didn’t turn as Callum slipped casually into thequeue. “A bit early in the morning for a brush-off, isn’t it?”

Thanks to the extra height from the raised pavement, we stood at exactly eye level, close enough for me to glimpse the light catching the strays of silver hair at his temples. He wore no coat, only deep olive-green scrubs that brought out a tan no Scot had a right to possess.

Sniffing, I straightened my shoulders and indicated the people behind me. “There’s a line.”

“We’ll order together.”

Ignoring him, I moved with the line, claiming another inch toward the door.

“Are we back to this, harpy?”

“We aren’t back toanything.”

His expression said I was full of shit. “Then you won’t mind buying. I think I’ll get one of those expensive cupcakes with the sprinkles on top.”

“You hate buttercream icing, it’s too sweet.” Heat crept up my neck as he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling.Call me Mrs Cellophane, because I’m bloody transparent.

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