Page 37 of Charlie

"Doing what?"

"Building that damn wall." He meets my gaze. "I won't hurt you, Charlotte."

"It's not you—" I start.

"It's me?" Jack finishes my sentence, his words sarcastic. "Bullshit. It's not you – it's that bastard you wasted all those years on."

"That's part of it," I admit.

"And the other part?" he asks, one eyebrow lifting toward his hairline.

"I don't know how to do this."

"Do what, Charlotte?"

My cheeks flame just thinking about having to explain what I mean. That probably means I shouldn't, right? "Lachlan told me about the two of you."

He doesn't say anything, just waits for me to continue.

"I don't know how to do something like that. I don't know if I even can."

"And that's perfectly fine, Charlotte. No one is pressuring you to do anything. We just want you to be happy. But if you want that – or think you might – the first step is talking about it."

Can I talk about it? Talking about it doesn't mean I have to do anything. God. How am I even considering this? I peel off my jacket and fan my shirt away from my body. Why is it so fucking hot in here?

"I have an idea," he says, pushing himself up, "wait here."

Like I have anywhere else to go. He walks further into the cave and comes back with a dusty bottle. He wipes it on his pants and turns the label toward me. "I hid this back here when I was fifteen years old," he laughs. "I can't believe it's still here." He removes the wax seal with his pocketknife and then pops the cork using the attachment. He takes a swig, testing it before handing it to me.

Dubious, I peer through the opening at the golden liquid. "You're sure it's okay?" I ask, wondering how it can still be good after twenty-five years

"Better than okay, Good whisky only gets better with age."

I take a swig, spluttering as the smooth heat spreads through my body. "You're right; that's glorious," I agree, taking another sip before handing it back to him.

"It better be; that bottle is probably worth three thousand pounds now."

I choke. "Three thousand? Why the hell are we drinking it?"

"We're stuck in a cave during one of the worst storms I've ever seen, Sassenach. That is why we're drinking it." He shakes his head, chuckling, "Couldn't have planned it better if I tried."

We pass the bottle several more times, and sure enough, I can feel myself loosening up. "Now what?" I ask him.

"Now you talk."

"Alcohol was your plan?" I laugh, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand. Our fingers brush, the heat spreading through me utterly unrelated to the whisky this time.

"A damn good one," he says, throwing one of his twigs at me with a smirk.

"Fine." I pout. "Ask me something."

"Tell me about your last relationship, that way I know how bad I have to beat the bastard if I ever see him."

I sigh. This is going to suck. "Rob and I met the first year in college and married a couple of months after graduating. He was my first real boyfriend." I wince at how lame that sounds. "He went to work for his dad in the family landscape business and I went on to graduate school. I did the ancestry stuff on the side, eventually growing it enough to pay for school entirely. Rob's parents died a couple of years after that and he was really struggling with the responsibility of the business. I stepped in before he could bankrupt it. Eventually, our marriage turned into a job, too." I look at Jack, unsure if he wants to keep hearing about my failures.

"Go on," he says, passing me the bottle again.

I take a long swig. "Rob started getting nasty a couple of years ago. We both worked long hours so we didn't have to see each other." I laugh, "Actually, it was me working long hours. Rob was, well, Rob."

---