Page 86 of Some Like It Scot
He nodded, squinting as he looked ahead at the archers. “I read a few of your posts online. You’re a braw writer.”
Ah,brawI knew, and my happiness meter kicked up to thrilled. “Not too sappy for you?”
“Well, you’re not a Sassenach.”
And then all happiness dropped. I had completely forgotten aboutthoseposts!
The “Hot Scot” posts.
The comments debating my future love life with said Scot. I turned my face away from him to grimace my displeasure before returning with a smile. “My editor chose the titles.”
He kept his face forward but said nothing.
“I... I never mentioned your name, and I haven’t even put any of the photos up from the Highland games yet.”
He ran a hand over his mouth and nodded. “But you did mention I was hot.”
My jaw slacked. And my face took a fevered trip to sunburn hot.
I sure had. More than once. I held in a little whimper. The semi-confident flirt had been vanquished by Miss Humiliation. “I was recovering from a near-death experience.”
He coughed. “Of course.”
I shrugged to try and play cool. “I described things for the readers so they could use their own imaginations. You know—poetic license and all. And the weather’s been rather warm the last few days.”
He seemed to have a wrestling match with his grin for a minute and then nodded again, keeping his gaze forward. “I also read some of the comments.”
The desire to cringe began a whole new war with my shoulders.
The comments! My followers had always been active before, but add a life-saving, dancing, woodworking, single Scot into the mix, and they’d become ravenous. However, Graeme really had an amazing fan club right now, plus his own hashtag: #Katieshotscot.
Did God read hashtags? Because I could count that one as a prayer.
“And read about your fear of sheep.”
Not the response I was expecting. I stared over at his profile. Great nose, BTW. “Sheep and I have a long and somewhat troubling history. I would share it with you, but I’m not sure you’d recover.”
His lips twitched. “Since your followers know about your sheepish past, it might be just the right time to distract them from the bad press by overcoming your fear.”
Sheepish?(I ignored his clear desire to distract folks from my love life.) Had this wonderfully burly man just tried a pun? Seriously? Mr. Tree-Trunks-for-Arms tried a pun? “And you have just the right place for me to overcome my fears?”
“It’s not abaaadidea.”
I tried to catch my laugh from escaping, but it just sounded like a tuba failure. “What’s your idea? I’veheardfacing your fears is a good thing.”
He turned in the chair, gaze locking with mine. “You have an early supper this eve, and then I’ll show ye. Interested?”
In more ways than one. “Okay.”
His smile spread wide. “The servants’ entrance by the kitchen. Meet me there after supper.” His gaze trailed down to my impractical shoes, leaving a little fire trail in its wake. “And wear sensible clothes too.”
***
Graeme
Dancing with Katie Campbell fed my dreams.
Bantering with her from across the table in my kitchen fed my heart.
