Page 117 of Geordie

She eyes Lochlan. “If he doesn't mind me dancing in his absence.”

I cut Lochlan off before he answers. “He won't mind. Have your pick of the laddies here.” She kisses him before jumping up to find a partner.

“Remember, I'll be back soon,” he calls after her. His attention swings back to me. “I thought we talked about Catriona this morning. Has something happened?”

“No, you great idiot, I need to talk.”

He stands, throwing his napkin down. “Is this why you've been in a black mood since you came back from fetching a shawl?”

“Follow me,” I say, checking that Lily and Kenzie are occupied. Kenzie already snagged a dance partner, a big, strapping kid.

Lochlan takes a step toward the dance floor.

I clamp a hand on my cousin's shoulder. “Come on, man, you can beat him senseless later if she's still dancing with him.”

We weave through our guests, who are moving toward the music. When we reach the private wing of the house, I push open the door to our home office. I pull down two glasses and a bottle from the drinks cupboard. We sit in overstuffed chairs.

“What do you want to talk about?” Lochlan asks, swiping the glass I filled with a fingerful of whiskey. “Because, if you want to talk about your feelings, I'll say it right now that you're picking up too many American habits. You're a Scot, laddie, you need to buck up.”

I ignore the sentiment I've heard a thousand times growing up; it's the MacTavish answer to everything. “You know Connie's offer is on the table to carry my child, and I'm still trying with Lily.”

He leans forward. “So, you want advice? Take Connie's offer and continue with Lily. That way, you'll have your bases covered.”

“You sound like Granda. It's exactly what he'd say. Be serious. You're the only one I can talk to without it getting back to Lily.”

He gives an apologetic shrug, the closest I'll get to a sorry. “I was channeling Granda. It's good to have advice from a different generation.” He tips his glass to me. “Is it my advice you want? You want me to tell you which one of these women you should have a child with?”

“No, your advice would probably be shite. I've been thinking about what makes a family. We always talked about the legacy of our parents. They fell in love, married, and had the next generation of our clan. That's the pattern we look to follow.” I top off our glasses. “Lily or Connie, neither is a perfect choice.”

I think about Lily meeting her ex. Fucking hell, how long has that been going on behind my back? That's another grim factor to consider.

I take a drink, then glance at Lochlan. “Maybe it was easier for our parents, but it's fucking complicated now.”

Lochlan shakes his head. “Our women are too independent. They've ruined us for soft-spoken, obedient women,” he sighs. “Family is how you choose to create it. There are couples who are happy without children. Are you afraid that Lily won't conceive?”

“It's been months. I don't want to acknowledge that it might never happen. I love her, but I also want a child. If I say yes to Lily, and she can't get pregnant, I could be saying no to having a child with a woman I know well.”

“Adopt. There are always children looking for a home. You could find a child in Scotland.”

I shake my head. I've been thinking about this for too long. “Lily's desperate to have her own babe. I don't think that will change. She's getting older; it's clear she needs to prove she can have a child.”

“Then you have a tough decision, cousin.”

Chapter fifty-seven

Revenir Bredouille

Lily

Theonlylightinthe room is a chocolate birthday cake on fire. Geordie stands to my right, Molly on my left as the band plays a crazy rendition ofHappy Birthday. The guests sing the Beatles’ version; I suspect it was Molly’s idea not to be traditional.

“Make a wish,” someone shouts. I close my eyes and wish for a baby, and I add that I want it to be Geordie’s. It takes the three of us to blow out thirty-nine candles. Someone hands me a cake cutter and I’m slicing into the middle of “Happy Birthday, Lily” scrawled on chocolate, pulling out a wedge, dumping it on a plate, and handing it to a server. It’s a production line as plates of cake circle the room.

The music begins with a softer melody as people finish their cake, then they trail back to the dance floor. Couples cling to each other as they sway, the lights low, as the evening winds to a close.

“You haven’t danced with me tonight,” Geordie says, looking even more handsome than usual, in his tux.

I hand my dish to a passing server, then take his hand. “Because I was saving my last dance for you.”

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