Page 16 of Some Like It Scot
I couldn’t even imagine. The electric bill for the farmhouse back home was impressive enough. The idea of upkeep and heating for some stone manor house on an island in the northern hemisphere? No thanks.
A whistling sound erupted from the back room, and Mirren’s head rose to attention. “Ah, the tea! I almost forgot.” She raised a finger toward me. “Take a look around at the books, and I’ll be back in a trice.”
She scurried off, leaving me to pleasantly peruse the room some more, especially the bookshelves lining the back corner. All sorts. And many featuring Scotland in some way or other. Hmm. What book had the Hateful Highlander mentioned?Lore and Legend?
Well, he was Scottish, so at least I should consider his recommendation.
I skimmed over the spines of the books. A few popular titles faced forward, particularly a series involving time travel. Another highlighted series featured dragons and swords on the covers. A crimson cover embossed with gold caught my attention, and I slipped the book from the shelf.Scottish Kisses and Other Romantic Secrets of Alba?
My face grew warm just reading the title. What on earth would the contents do? And yet, after a glance over my shoulder, I flipped open the book. Despite my less-than-stellar romantic history and uncertain romantic future, a title like that slapped on a book practicallycompelled the most inane romantic to take a little peek—orkeek, as the locals might say.
My gaze fell on a short paragraph near the top of the page.
Though your typical Scotsman may appear standoffish to the stranger’s eye, don’t let his expression fool you. The Scots are a deeply passionate people with a love for family, story, drink, and an extended coorie or snogging opportunity.
I cleared my throat and sent another glance over my shoulder. I didn’t know what coorie meant, but I sure knew whatsnoggingimplied. I’d read enough books to almost envision that one. My face reheated and I slammed the book closed but hesitated before returning it to the shelf.
I cleared my throat and slipped the book back open.
The history and romance of Scotland is part of the lifeblood of its people. And though they may talk a great deal about their stories and histories, they’ll not fail to show rather than tell when they find theirm’eudailorghràidh—darling or love, as the case may be.
A door snapped closed, sending me into motion, and I tucked the book beneath my arm to hide the title. Good grief. I didn’t needthatsort of distraction. Even though my thoughts had sufficiently dipped into the part of my brain that wondered how a wonderfully standoffish Scot might show his passion in a very non-standoffish kind of way.
And then a vision of the Sulky Scot’s eyes and shoulders—in that order—popped to mind.
Ack!
“Here we go, Katie Campbell,” came Mirren’s voice as she emerged back into view, a tray in hand.
I snatchedLore and Legendfrom the shelf and shoved a smile in place, hoping my cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “You’re so kind. Thank you. But let me go ahead and pay for these purchases so I won’t forget.”
Mirren placed the tray on a small center table near the bookshelves and followed me back to the counter, where I placed the wellies and the books out for her view.
She scanned my findings and looked up at me, a twinkle deepening in her eyes as she rang up the books. “Are you looking for a wee bit of lore and romance here in Scotland, Katie Campbell?”
The heat in my face took an upswing into feverish, but I shrugged and gestured toward the books. “Fictional suits me well.”
“No beau back home, is there?”
Back home? I didn’t even know where home was. And spending too much time trying to sort out the answer ended up hurting in places I tried to ignore.
“I appreciate that matchmaking twinkle in your eyes, Mirren, but I’m not really the type of girl a home-loving Scottish guy would want. I travel a lot. I’m a little nerdy and old-fashioned. Ridiculously clumsy.” As my list grew, the twinge of loneliness in my chest grew too. “Prone to snuggle up by the fire rather than party in the pub.”
My list didn’t seem to deter that twinkle as much as I’d hoped. “Ah, so you’ve set your mind against finding true love here, have ye?”
“No, not... I mean... I’m sure there are some... braw Scottish men in want of a wife.” And my cheeks may have started to sizzle a little. “But no guy wants a girlfriend who travels all the time, and very few are after a giant.” I gestured toward myself.
Her brows rose.
“Not that I’m looking, of course.” I scanned the room, searching for a diversion, and my gaze landed on some hand-carved fishing poles. “Oh, what are those? Aren’t they lovely.”
A smile crooked on the woman’s face, letting me know she wasnot deceived by my attempt at distraction. “Aye, if you’re looking for a nice souvenir, those would prove an excellent choice.” She opened a wooden box by the door that housed a dozen or more long poles, complete with a simple string and hook. “My brother makes them, and all the proceeds go to support our local school.”
I couldn’t help the grin that pulled against my lips, grateful for the topic change. The simple poles reminded me of going fishing with my grandpa in the little pond at the back of his farm. We’d never caught too much with them—an occasional surprise or two—but rarely anything to take back home for supper. The whole art and experience of fishing provided the real goal: time—with him.
I glanced back at Mirren. “Proceeds go to the school, huh?”
“They do.” She preened, clearly proud of her brother’s work. “He’s made ’em for over thirty years.”
