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I hit play then glance at my hand, which is resting oh-so-innocently on my thigh.

“Looks like it’s just us again, mate. No offence but you’re not exactly my first choice. But beggars can’t be choosers, eh?”

CHAPTER TEN

JAMIE

It’s been five days since Lewis dropped his bombshell about potentially closing the snug, and I’ve been racking my brains for ideas to save my wee bar. I’ve been taking the whole thing very seriously—so seriously I’ve resisted going back to season one, episode one of the Highland Legacy TV show. Why? Because if I do, I’ll probably end up bingeing the whole thing, and I’m trying to impress Lewis and Emily, not swap one time-sucking habit for another.

My phone buzzes.

SassyLassie

Good luck with your presentation!

LochNLoad

Aw, thanks! Not really a big deal though

Sass and I haven’t gamed much over the last few days, but we’ve chatted a bit instead, which is . . . fine? Except it hasn’t been as fun as usual because she’s ditched the banter about boss fights and secret kinks in favour of asking dull questions—like about my work. I’ve kept things vague, obviously. Who wants to chat about their job when they’re supposed to be relaxing? But she’s persistent. I told her I had some ideas to pitch to my brother just to get her off my back.

Is this her way of trying to make us “closer” somehow? No clue. Women are hard enough to figure out when you actually know them. When you’ve got no idea what they look like or even their real name? They’re complete enigmas.

Anyway, whatever, right now there’s no time to dwell on Sass because bigger things are at stake—like convincing Lewis and Emily not to close the snug.

I take a deep breath outside the door to the hotel office and straighten my shirt. Bloody hell, what’s wrong with me? Why am I worried about looking smart for these two? And, more importantly, why do I feel nervous? God, is this what happens when you care about something?

Well, screw that. I don’t have time for nerves. I need to show Lewis and Emily I mean business. It’s showtime.

I burst into the office with all the bravado of LochNLoad charging into battle. “Prepare to have your minds blown!”

Lewis glances up from his computer and arches an eyebrow. “Er, hi, Jamie. Nice to see you too.”

Emily sits beside him, one hand resting lightly on her neat baby bump. She smiles, amused but clearly also bracing herself for whatever is about to come out of my mouth.

“Well?” Lewis leans back in his chair. “What have you got for us?”

“Right.” I roll my shoulders and crack my knuckles for dramatic effect. “Picture this. It’s a scorching hot day in Bannock⁠—”

“Scorching hot? In Scotland?” Lewis cuts in instantly.

“Maybe let him get through more than two sentences before interrupting?” Emily suggests.

Lewis shrugs but waves me on like some benevolent laird giving me permission to continue. How magnanimous of him.

“It’s sunny,” I clarify with exaggerated patience. “Guys are wearing shorts; women are complaining about how it’s too hot. It happens every once in a while, believe it or not. Now, imagine you’re a tourist who’s just hiked up a mountain or maybe a local looking to catch up with mates after work. You’re parched. Desperate for a cold pint.” I lean forward as if sharing a great secret. “Do you really want to trudge into the dark, stuffy Pheasant?”

They exchange wary glances—the kind that says they expected some half-baked suggestion about the snug but not whatever tangent they think I’ve wandered off on. Before either of them can voice their doubts, I plough ahead.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I say quickly, holding up both hands like I’m pleading my case in court. “The Pheasant is great when it’s pissing down outside or blowing a gale. It’s charming—traditional—I’m not denying any of that. But when the sun finally decides to bless Scotland with its presence, do people really want to be cooped up in some old pub where natural light is practically outlawed? No, they want to be right here at the Bannock Hotel’s brand-new . . . drumroll, please . . .” Neither of them obliges. Tough crowd. “Beer garden!”

I throw both hands out like a magician finishing his trick. Ta-da! Sadly, there’s no applause, but Lewis leans forward slightly while Emily’s eyebrows lift in curiosity. At least they haven’t kicked me out yet.

“I thought you were going to talk about saving the snug,” Lewis says slowly.

“Aye, and I am!” I nod eagerly. “Just hear me out. The snug is brilliant, but it’s small. That’s literally why we call it the snug—it can only handle so many people at once. But if we convert part of the garden into an outdoor bar during summer? Boom! We double—nah, triple—our space.”

My enthusiasm snowballs faster than Lewis can chug a protein shake (and trust me, that man downs them fast).