Page 60 of Some Like It Scot
Despite her being an American travel writer and me a well-grounded Scot, was it possible her pun held a little truth? Mad, barmy, completely insane truth?
Had I met my match?
Chapter 12
Katie
Craighill House and the whole Edwardian Experience thing was really starting to grow on me in a cozy, sweatpants-snuggle-by-the-fire sort of way. Especially if the snuggling included the fantasy of a certain Scotsman I couldn’t stop thinking about. I mean, I had tiptoed into a little bit of flirting with him, which seemed to be going really well until... I hit him in the eye with a tennis ball.
Usual Miss Adventure stuff.
I was a disaster. In all ways, especially in romance.
Ana Lennox had screamed something like “Have you made him blind?” Mrs. Lennox ran forward, but not close enough to actually do anything. And Mr. Lennox had raised his glass in another cheer before giving a nod of acknowledgment.
What had Graeme done?
He’d grunted. Almost grinned. And then talked about a similar incident with a piece of wood and his ex-fiancée.
Ex-fiancée.
I was glad for the “ex” part but of course wondered why such “ex-ness” happened.
After writing up some notes, which included deleting about five hundred words that consisted of detailed descriptions of Graeme’s eyes, lips, and physique, I decided some solid distance from the man was what my mind needed most. Because any attraction to him was simply based on a little harmless and somewhat inept flirting, a dance,and the saving of my life. Plus some good conversations. And the chasing of a parrot while punning.
People didn’t build futures on a collection of moments like that.
Did they?
Before my head started to hurt from my attempts at solving future problems I may not even experience, I packed my bag, grabbed my fishing pole, and left my bedroom, only to run face-to-chin into Mark. My chin. His face. #tallgirlproblems
He stumbled back, swiping at his face as if my chin were the problem with his proximity.
“I didn’t think you’d stoop so low, Katie.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and looked down at him. “What are you talking about?”
“First, you take all the attention by falling into a loch, and then you try to hit me with a tennis ball last night as if I’m not already injured enough.” He waved toward his foot.
I stared a full five seconds, trying to comprehend his lunacy.
“Mark, if you’d been paying attention to the full match, you’d have realized I almost hiteveryoneat least once. I’m just that skilled. You weren’t special.”
He sucked in an audible breath at the statement. “I think you’re trying to get me out of the way so I don’t steal your spotlight because you know I’m a threat.” He narrowed his dark eyes. “Did you train that bird to take your hairband too, just to have another story trend?”
I took another step away from him and all his ridiculousness, though the idea of my post having a solid viewing never hurt my feelings.
Now the matchmaking going on in the comments section was a little over the top. A guilty pleasure to my daydreams—but over the top.
“Sure I did, and for my next trick I’ll teach him how to pick upridiculous men who ask stupid questions and then shake some sense into them.”
A movement behind Mark almost distracted me from my utter annoyance of his entire person. Was that gray rug on the floor... moving?
“It’s not fair you’re up two years in a row.” His voice pulled me back to him, his frown deepening to such an extent his chin size doubled. “It’s my turn to win the Vision Award, and you know it.”
The rug moved again. And had grown a tail.
And slipped to the door of Mark’s bedroom. Was that Mr. Lennox’s weasel? What was his name? Caesar?
