Page 93 of Charlie

"Have you thought any more about our conversation last night?"

"About the rules?" She nods. "A little bit. I want to say something to them, but I’m worried they’ll be offended. Especially Jack – I feel like he’s the one that’s keeping us in a straight line and doing his best to start us off on solid ground."

"Jack isn't perfect, Charlie. You should talk to them. I don’t want to see your relationship go south over some silly rule that wasn’t thought out ahead of time."

"You're right," I say with a heavy sigh. "We have two long car rides this weekend; I can either tell them on the way to Edinburgh or on the way back home."

"Oh God, definitely not on the way there. Wait till after."

"Good thinking."

Isla walks back to her car and picks up a couple of towels, throwing me one. "Do you want to help me dry the car off? We can make dinner when we're done."

"Yes, please. I'm starving," I say, my stomach rumbling, "I think I only have apples and honey in the cottage, anyway."

Dinner is a fantastic seafood pasta with homemade garlic bread and a Caesar salad with the best dressing I’ve ever tasted. I'm not sure if it’s because Lach showed up just in time to make it, but I would eat it for every meal if I could. We finish eating around seven o’clock, and Lach shoos me out of the kitchen with a kiss on my lips and a pat on my butt, telling me to get down to the cottage and sleep. Maybe it's the seriousness of what tomorrow represents or perhaps my developing feelings, but I really don’t want to leave.

"Tell me a bedtime story?" I ask hopefully.

"Even I know that’s a horrible idea," Isla says, rolling her eyes.

"We'll keep our clothes on. I promise."

"How can I resist a promise like that," he laughs, linking his fingers through mine. He calls out to Isla that he’ll be back to help clean up in a little bit.

I thank him once we’re on the path to the cottage, swinging our joined hands as we pick our way over the rocks, Milo joining us, weaving in and out of our legs. "I think I must be feeling a little sentimental today. Tomorrow and Thursday will change a lot, you know?"

"And how does that make you feel?" he asks, his thumb tracing circles over the sensitive skin between my thumb and forefinger.

"Excited. Nervous. A little scared." I say, honestly, bending down to scratch Milo's ears.

"I feel the same way, if that makes you feel any better. Having to rely on four people to keep a relationship intact is fucking scary."

I use my hip to jar open the cottage door and pull Lach inside with me. He sits and waits on the bed as I wash up, meticulously going through the steps of my routine: washing my face, washing it again. Serum. Moisturizer. I throw my hair up into a messy bun, change into my pajamas and return to the bedroom.

"God, you’re sexy," he groans, grasping my waist and pulling me to him, his hands a little rougher than usual as he slides them down over my ass to my thighs. "I knew this was a bad idea," he rasps, his voice thick with need.

"I didn't bring you down here to seduce me," I say firmly, stepping out of his reach. "I just want to spend more time with you. Come on, think of your best bedtime story. Let’s hear it."

He smacks my ass as he walks to the bed, pulls down the covers for me to slip under, tucks me in, then lays down on top of the comforter, pulling me against him.

"I don't have many stories that would put you to sleep. Would a lullaby do the trick?"

"You'll sing for me? Really?" I turn to face him, raking my fingers through his silky hair.

"Any time you ask, my love," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

I drift off to the dulcet tones of 'The Skye Boat Song', dreaming of a certain sandy-haired man and his dog Milo.

51

Ithought I would have a hard time sleeping, but Lach's lullaby did the trick, and I was out cold until my alarm went off at seven-thirty. I blow on my coffee while waiting for the shower to warm up, dancing from foot to foot, anticipation crackling under my skin. I take my time getting ready, making sure my skin is smooth and silky, spritzing on my favorite perfume, and swiping on an extra coat of mascara and lip gloss instead of my usual Chapstick.

I make myself a couple of pieces of toast as I wait for Lach to text me back about what clothes to bring. As I'm drizzling honey over the melted butter, he texts me back: comfortable layers. Easy enough. I check the weather before throwing on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, and a pullover, packing a bag with an extra change of clothes and some warmer layers. I toss in my toiletry bag and a few extra hairbands. I've never been a lingerie girl, but I find myself wishing I had something sexier to bring.

True to his word, there's a light knock on my door promptly at ten o'clock. My hands shake as I smooth them over my shirt. This is it.

I walk to the door, my heart in my throat, energy thrumming through my veins. But when I open the door, it's not Lach, it's Jack. He's in loose lounge pants, a tank top, and flip-flops, his hair a wild, sexy mess.

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