Page 101 of The Grump I Got Stuck With

31

MADISON

Three Weeks Later

Turns out, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of your life is actually really freaking hard. Even with a clear schedule, no work commitments, and the magic of the Highlands surrounding me, I was still at an utter loss.

I groaned and flopped back against my pillow, the container of beads I’d been working from rattling.

My door creaked, and I glanced at it as Isla peeked her head in. She had three-week-old Baby Andy strapped to her front. She bounced slightly, soothing the baby as she stared at the crafting mess on the bed. “Doing okay? You sound frustrated.”

“Honestly, I am frustrated. And so bored,” I complained. “I didn’t realize how empty the days would feel without a four-year-old to fill them.” Now that Kenna had gone back to nursery, I was at loose ends.

“No luck plotting out your next route?”

I grumbled. I’d gotten the idea to research the different festivals where my mom might’ve had a booth with the idea of visiting those places. I’d tried using reverse image search to identify some of the locations from the copies of her photos I’d saved to my phone, but there weren’t enough identifying features in the photos to give me anything concrete. “No. I’m sick of staring at maps of Scotland, waiting for some magical sign to appear.” Andy made a tiny squeak, and I couldn’t help but smile. The one good thing about hanging around the Deerhound was that I’d gotten more than my fair share of newborn snuggles over the past couple of weeks. “How’s the world’s smallest inn manager?”

Isla yawned, giving me a wry grin. “He had a giant blowout which I made Locke deal with. I don’t know how a tiny human makes so much poop.”

I laughed. From what I could tell, Locke and Isla were taking this parenting thing in stride and handling the sleepless nights better than I ever would.

“He’s being a little fussy and fighting his nap,” Isla said. “You don’t fancy coming for a walk with me, do you? Please. I’m feeling a little stir crazy.”

“Of course,” I said, taking in her desperate expression. “Sounds great.”

I tucked my beads away and found my jacket while Isla got Andy bundled and into his baby stroller. I peered in at him, marveling at how tiny he was beneath his baby blanket. It wasn’t particularly cold, but for a three-week-old, the lovely April weather was probably a far cry from the womb he was used to. Andy confirmed my suspicions the moment we stepped outside by releasing a wail.

“You’re okay,” Isla cooed. “Shhhh.”

“You’ve picked up that mom voice quickly,” I noted.

“What mom voice?”

“The little half-whisper thing.”

She chuckled. “Just comes from trying not to wake him whenever he dozes off.”

As we made our way down the high street, Andy quieted, and when I next peered in at him, he was asleep.

“You know what I’ve been craving lately?” Isla said. “A giant plate of chips.”

It took a second for me to realize she meant french fries. With her American accent, it was easy to forget she’d assimilated herself pretty thoroughly in British Isles culture after moving back here a few years ago. You could take the girl out of Scotland and raise her in the US, but it seemed you couldn’t take Scotland out of the girl.

“Like the ones from the pub?” I asked.

She nodded. “Andy seems to be content for now. How about we swing by?”

“Why not?” It’s not like I had anything better to do with my time, and who didn’t love deep fried potatoes?

Together, we managed to get Andy’s stroller through the door without waking him, but inside, the crowd was surprisingly large, especially for this time of the day. They were definitely going to wake Andy. “Is there a football match on I didn’t know about?”

Isla shrugged, giving me a smile. “There’s always footie. Still seems unusually busy though. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.” She navigated the stroller toward the bar where everyone was crowding around to watch the TV mounted above the shelves of alcohol. As we drew closer, instead of the sports game I expected to see, it was showing…Alistair?

“What the hell?” I murmured, stopping in my tracks. He was sitting in front of a middle-aged woman with a fancy hairdo and a pile of flash cards. I recognized her immediately. That was Helen Hartford! She was a big-deal interviewer, known for bridging the gap between hard news and celebrity journalism. Her interviews brought in massive ratings.

I laughed awkwardly. “Are you kidding me? Is he actually sitting down for an interview?”

Isla shrugged.