Page 61 of Some Like It Scot
“Are you even listening to me?”
I looked back down at his face.
“Mark.” I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “I am not trying to beat you, okay? I hope you win so you’ll get whatever this”—I waved my hand toward him—“is out of your system.”
“But you’re trending. Trending!” he sputtered, running a hand through his hair and continuing to eye me with great suspicion. “How on earth did you take a fall in a loch and turn it into a social media sensation?”
Did this guy know nothing about social media?
“Ididn’t, Mark.” I bypassed him and started down the hall, him on my heels. The last bit of fur disappeared around the threshold into Mark’s room. I bit back my grin. One weasel for another?
Sorry, Caesar!
“Haven’t you figured out how all of this works? Theviewerschoose what makes it a sensation, not us. Onlyhalfof any interest is based on good writing, story, and visibility.”
“What’s the other half?”
I stopped at the top of the stairs. “The right time, place, and topic, and no one really knows what and when that combo will hit to make a trend, Mark. It’s up to the cyber faeries.”
With that, I rushed down the stairs before he got another idea of how to blame me for something, bypassing one of the footmen poised on the stairs with a young housemaid in his arms.
“Take it downstairs, y’all,” I murmured as I passed and slipped from the house on my way to meet my “fishing date” by way of Glenkirk. After all, I needed to pick up some bait, as well as a few snacks for lunch for the two of us. I figured Scottish fisherfolk spent the same lazy time fishing as I’d known growing up. Fishing easily lasted several hours, if not more.
I glanced back toward the house as I exited through the back garden, releasing my full grin into the foggy morning. Maybe Caesar would give Mark the big misadventure he’d been waiting for.
As if in answer, a loud male cry saying something about a “rat in my room” echoed down the stairwell toward me and ushered me right out the door.
Low-lying cotton ball clouds floated on a gentle breeze and offered a soft rainy mist to help wake me up even more. I loved the brisk feel of the morning air, all scented with sea and flowers.
Careful to check for the sinister cyclist, I made my way down the street and to Mirren’s shop window. A single light glowed inside. I checked my phone. Hmm... only 10:30 a.m. Maybe she didn’t open until eleven on Tuesdays?
I stepped back, sending another glance around the space.
A movement drew my attention to the counter. Mirren stood with her head down, going through some papers. A little tap on the window pulled her attention in my direction, and her entire face spread into a smile. Something twanged in my chest at the immediacy of her welcome, like she’d known me for a lot longer than she really had.
And she was happy to see me.
She walked over to the door, and the sound of a lock turning came from the other side. Then she flung open the door.
“Ah, good morning to you, Katie-girl.”
The endearment etched itself into my chest. “I didn’t realize you wouldn’t be open yet.”
“Och away! None of that!” She waved me inside to the inviting smells of baked goods, fresh tea, and books. Really? Was there any combination of smells quite so perfect? “Have you time for a cup?”
My answer popped out before my brain could stop it. “I have a little while, if you’re sure I’m not intruding.”
I wasn’t quite sure what kept drawing me toward this woman. Probably the twinkle in her eyes that reminded me of Grandpa. And the sweetness in her expressions so similar to Gran’s.
Whatever it was, being around her seemed to douse the loneliness and ushered me into a connection I didn’t even realize I fully missed until I felt it. I followed her through the shop to a back room where a cozy office nestled. A desk poised beneath the window, a bookshelf stood against one wall, and a small table and chair sat opposite. A filing cabinet in one corner was decorated with a massive fern, and a tall lamp cast a soft glow over a multicolored rug on the floor.
What a sweet little haven.
“Rest your feet and I’ll bring the tea.” She gestured toward the table, and I obeyed, taking a quick inventory of the books on her shelf. Some had titles in Gaelic or were unfamiliar to me, but others were old favorites. Austen, Brontë, Doyle, Christie. I noticed a few newer spines—John Grisham, Joel Rosenberg, Erik Larson, and even a Jaime Jo Wright book! Mirren liked a bit of suspense, eh?
“I s’pose you’re not joining the rest of the group for a day visit to Dervaig today?” She reentered the room, laden tray in hand, and sent a focused look to my fishing pole.
I stood and took the tray from her, placing it on the table. “I needed a little quiet and a whole lot of nature today. It’s calming.”
