Page 109 of Charlie

"She lives in an old folks' home."

"She what?" I ask, thinking I must have misunderstood him.

"It's a long story, but she rents an apartment in a retirement facility. Whenever she has extra food, she sneaks it in for her neighbors."

"I'm going to have to hear that story sometime," I chuckle. I imagine her sneaking down hallways and leaving trays of food on doormats.

"I’ll leave that story to her. She’s a fantastic storyteller."

I cut a piece of lamb, rolling my eyes in ecstasy as it melts in my mouth. Every dish is excellent – something you would expect from a Michelin restaurant, not a pub on a forgotten Scottish island.

"Why did she choose to open the pub here?" I ask. "She would have made a killing in pretty much any big city."

"This acted as her home base when she was fishing. She saw a need in the community and decided to fill it. There are places like this throughout the highlands – exceptional culinary talent that has been kept secret for years – and that's how they like it," he says, shrugging.

"Fulfillment, not recognition?"

"Exactly."

"That's kind of romantic."

Lach laughs. "I don't think she'd see it that way, but I agree. There’s something special about it, isn't there?"

"It's how all the Hallmark movies start," I tell him, "Small town, cute little business..."

"I sure hope it works out like that. She’s only met a few people her age here. I'm worried she won't ever meet that special person."

"You never know – meeting somebody wasn't even on the radar when I came to Scotland. And now I have three somebodies."

"Two somebodies and one fiancé," Lach corrects, grinning.

His smile startles me. He’s so fucking gorgeous. My fiancé. Suddenly I don't care so much about the bet. All I care about is getting back to the boat and getting lost in each other.

"Lach—"

"I know. Me too. I'm about to bust through the zipper of my pants. I have no idea how I’ll walk out of here with my dignity intact."

"Let's hurry," I plead, shoveling another bite of food into my mouth.

"'Hurry' isn't a word in Pen's vocabulary. She probably has a five-course dessert planned and a brewery tour after." He pulls me to his side and kisses my cheek. "I promise we'll survive this." He spoons some mussels onto his plate, snags one with his fork, and feeds it to me.

White wine, butter, and garlic explode over my tongue. "Damn. She can really cook, can’t she?"

"Pen's amazing. She’s good at so many different things." The adoration in his words is adorable.

After another ten minutes, I’m in absolute agony. "If you want me to be able to enjoy myself, I need to get this thing out of me. You've edged me to the point where I’m questioning my sanity."

"What about the bet?" he asks, sliding a piece of bread through the white wine sauce and holding it to my lips.

"You win," I say simply, taking the bread from him with my teeth and licking a drop of butter from my lips.

His gaze follows my tongue. "Only if I can take it out of you."

"What?" I balk, "People will see us go into the restroom together."

"So?"

It's hard to hold my resolve when he's looking at me like that – like he would strip me bare and fuck me right here on the bench seat if I told him it was okay.

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