Page 39 of Lochlan

We talk more about his exhibition while he waits for the photographs to come through.

“They're coming up now.” Seconds later, a high-pitched whistle comes through the phone. “Dammit, these are good. Who's the model?”

“A friend. The session wasn't planned; it was a spur-of-the-moment inspiration.”

“I always said you had a good eye. Yeah, I'll do the work. Most of my paintings have been in watercolors for the showing and I think this would look great in that medium. Is that okay?”

I think about this for a few moments. The image of her in more of a fantasy seems appropriate for these photos. “Aye, I think that would work.”

“Do you have a deadline?”

“No, take your time; there's no rush. I want to invite you to dinner and a tasting. You can choose the restaurant and I'll bring the wine.”

“You got a deal, if we can combine the dinner with helping me whittle down the exhibit.”

“Deal accepted.”

“Send me all the photos you have in the session. Depending on how it goes, I might have some preliminary sketches for you by next week.”

CHAPTER17

THE HIGHLAND CLAN

KENZIE

George was wonderfulto help me back into my apartment. Instead of taking hours to gain entry, I was walking through the door within minutes. Before I could offer him a tip, he had already hit the elevator button and disappeared inside.

It's been a long time since I had a day where I had nothing planned. I spend the time in activities I normally don't get to do, like watching copious amounts of television, reading trashy novels, and eating junk while lounging in my scruffiest pair of sweats.

Lochlan is intruding on my me-time as a continuous interrupting loop. He didn't handle the situation well when he caught me in his bedroom. The man didn't know me and I'm the one who took advantage of him. The more time we spend together, I continue to discover new facets of his personality. I might not pique his interest, but he's beginning to arouse mine. I'm curious to see how his presentation will be at the Wine Association lunch tomorrow.

* * *

It's takenme a long time to decide what to wear to the luncheon. I figure this is business, so I pull on a white shirt and a black pencil skirt and heels. Dull, but classic. I'm deciding whether to wear a matching jacket. But at the last minute I opt for a red structured cardigan and place my hair in a bun. I think about wearing a pair of glasses, but I don't want to look like a librarian attending this meeting.

I'm a little nervous when I approach Cherrywood Vineyards. The Wine Association meetings are held in a different venue each month. My cold hands and jittery nerves are a surprising reaction. This is probably sympathy nervousness for Lochlan delivering his presentation, then there's meeting his grandfather, Ian MacTavish.

The association doesn't have a large membership compared to nearby Sonoma and Napa counties. I estimate the turnout to be approximately fifty attendees. Mostly are from small wineries, but there are six that sell throughout the state of California and two internationally.

I stop outside the large private tasting room at a table with two women checking in the attendees and handing out meal tickets.

“Welcome to the Silicon Valley Wine Association,” says a woman studying me through chained spectacles that sit three quarters of the way down her nose. “What winery are you with?”

“MacTavish Cellars.”

She runs a finger down the list. “I see we have several attending from your winery. Your name, miss?”

“Her name is Kenzie MacGregor,” a voice booms from behind me. “I'm with the same party. You should find the name Geordie MacTavish also listed.” Geordie dwarfs me as he takes his place beside me. He's wearing a dark-blue shirt, suit jacket, and a MacTavish kilt. It's not the men's uniform for the winery; this is a dress kilt worn for occasions.

The woman pulls off her glasses and admiringly scans the big man next to me. “Oh, welcome to the Silicon Valley Wine Association lunch. I believe this is the first time you've ever attended this function.”

“Aye, it's my first time. Are our names on your list?”

His question breaks the spell of seeing a Scotsman in full Highlander dress. She glances at her paper again. “Yes, I see both your names are here along with Ian, Fiona, and, of course, Lochlan. You two are the first of your party to arrive. She turns to a middle-aged woman sitting next to her, who is staring at Geordie open-mouthed. “Liz, will you give Mr. MacTavish and Miss MacGregor their meal tickets?” She glances back at Geordie. “I would suggest the beef plate. The caterer does a wonderful job; it's a slice of prime rib with a blue cheese sauce...”

“I'll have the beef,” Geordie says. “Kenzie what's your pleasure?”

I try desperately not to laugh at the stir this man is causing. “I'll have the fish.”

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