Page 86 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

She pressed her lips together, debating whether she should tell him, then thought,What the hell. ‘I thought you fancied me.’

‘I do. I don’t kiss women I don’t fancy.’

‘But you just said that we should have done the piggyback thing from the start.’

‘We should have. Carrying you like that was a daft idea.’

‘Because it led to us kissing.’ Her voice was flat.

‘No, you numpty – because it made my arms ache and my back is in bits.’ He chuckled. ‘Did you think I meant that it was a mistake to kiss you?’

She refused to meet his gaze. ‘No,’ she replied sulkily.

The chuckle turned into a chortle. ‘Yes, you did.’

‘It was a logical assumption to make.’

Mack sobered. ‘I’m going to be honest with you, Freya. I fancy you rotten. You’re beautiful and sexy, and I like you a lot. The problem is, I think I like youtoomuch. So yes, I do want to kiss you again.’ He leant towards her, his mouth almost touching hers. ‘I want to domuchmore than kiss you, but I don’t think it’s wise.’

He was right, it wasn’t wise. Getting involved with him was a bad idea. She should concentrate on her father and her future, not on a quick fling, especially since she’d just come out of a relationship.

‘Do you still intend to walk home in your bare feet?’ he asked.

Oh, what the hell! ‘Giddy-up, Burns,’ she said. ‘I need a lift home.’

Chapter 22

How are your tootsies?Freya read the message and laughed.

Tootsies fine, she replied.

Her feet were still sore, even though she’d been wearing sliders for the past three days. It would be a while before she wore heels again. Her phone pinged with another message.

What are you doing?

Making stuff

At the byre?

Yes

She was pleased with her progress. Seven pieces so far. She was itching to fire them, but they’d have to wait until she got back to her studio. Anyway, they weren’t bone dry yet, the clay still holding too much water. Potters learnt early on in their careers that patience was most definitely a virtue. Firing too soon could, and often did, cause pottery to crack or even explode in the kiln.

She examined her most recent piece, studying it critically. The bowl appeared organic: a delicate weaving of sprigs of heather, the stems emerging from the base, and covered in tiny delicate petals. It was intricate and fragile, and it had taken her a long time to make.

With extreme care, she placed it on the shelf to dry, then rinsed her hands. She was done for today. Dad would want his tea soon and he could probably do with some company; she’d been here longer than she’d intended, having become so engrossed that she’d lost track of time.

She’d almost finished clearing everything away, when she noticed another message on her screen.

Is next Thursday OK for a meal at the castle?

Freya brushed a stray strand of hair off her face.

Thursday was a whole week away and she was surprised at how disappointed she felt that she wouldn’t be seeing Mack sooner.

‘Thursday,’ she grumbled aloud.

‘Is that OK?’

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