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We’re just about to reach some creepy ruins when Jamie’s phone buzzes on the coffee table again. This time, though, Lewis is calling him rather than messaging. Jamie lets out an exaggerated sigh before snatching up the phone. “Aye? What is it?” A pause follows during which he stares up at the ceiling like his brother’s voice is personally offending him. “Where am I? I’m at Maisie’s flat . . . Jesus, no, we are not having sex! She’s feeling rubbish, and I’m looking after her.”

I let out an involuntary laugh—a surprised snort that escapes before I can stop it.

Jamie winks at me even as Lewis’s voice continues on the other end of the line, faint but distinct enough for me to make out snippets of his rambling, and one word in particular: Kyle.

At the name, Jamie sits up straighter. “You did what? Why? Actually, nope, never mind, don’t answer that right now.” He briefly glances my way then averts his gaze again. “We can discuss this later, Lewis. I’ve got to go.” He hangs up.

“What was that about?” I ask.

Jamie shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Really? Because you got upset when Lewis mentioned Kyle.”

Jamie flinches at the name, like he didn’t realise I’d have caught some of the conversation. He gives me a look that says, How much did you hear? Then he clears his throat. “Really, it was . . . nothing for you to worry about.”

I narrow my eyes at him because I get the distinct impression it was something I probably should be worried about, but honestly? Between my cramps and the painkillers I’ve been taking, I just don’t have it in me to interrogate him right now. In fact, I think Highland Legacy has been masking just how bone-tired I really am. Out of nowhere a wave of exhaustion washes over me.

Jamie rubs at his jaw, his gaze roaming the room, presumably searching for a change of subject. It soon lands on a framed photo hanging near the TV—a picture of me, aged about six, with my da and maw.

“She was really pretty,” he says after a beat of silence. “Your maw, I mean. I don’t remember her well—you must’ve been wee when she passed—but you obviously inherited her good looks.”

It’s such an uncharacteristically sweet thing for him to say that, for a moment at least, my doubts melt away. “Thanks.”

I let my head fall back against the sofa. My eyelids are growing heavy, fatigue pressing down on me like an anchor sinking slowly through water. “I think . . .” A yawn sneaks its way out. “. . . I think I need a wee break from the game. The staff will have to wait.”

“Oh?” He straightens. “Are you wanting me to go?”

“No.” I fold over my laptop and place it on the coffee table. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of reassuring to have around. Just . . . give me five minutes. I’ll be good to go again in no time.”

I really do mean to rest my eyes for just a little while, but the next thing I know, I’m drifting off, my head coming to rest on Jamie’s shoulder. The last thing I register before sleep takes me completely is the gentle pressure of him shifting closer, making sure I’m comfortable.

I stir, my eyes fluttering open to find myself nestled against Jamie, his arm draped around me. His warmth seeps into me, and for a moment—a fleeting, dangerous moment—I let myself sink into the comfort of it. He smells faintly of rain and the lingering woodsy scent of his aftershave, mixed with the minty undertone from the tea he’s been pouring for me all afternoon. It’s oddly appealing.

“Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing but softened by something gentler underneath.

I blink and sit up, stretching out the stiffness in my shoulders, his arm slipping away. “How long was I out?”

Jamie checks his phone. “About an hour. You were out cold.”

“I wasn’t out cold,” I protest. “I was . . . resting my eyes.”

“Aye, for an hour, with those wee snuffling noises that were definitely not snores.” His lips twitch.

“I do not snore!”

“Whatever you say. Anyway, feeling any better now?”

I nod, surprised to find that I do. My body feels heavy with sleep, but the cramps have eased.

Our eyes lock for a beat too long, and just as I’m about to look away and break whatever this is brewing between us, Jamie reaches out. His fingers brush lightly against my cheek as he tucks a stray strand of flame-coloured hair behind my ear. The touch is brief but lingers enough to send a shiver racing down my spine.

He leans back, almost as if gathering himself. “I should probably get going.” He stands and stretches somewhat reluctantly. “Lewis has sent me about twenty messages, and judging by the last one, I reckon he’s planning to stage a rescue mission if I don’t check in soon. I hope you’re back to full health soon, all right?”

I should leave it there. Let him leave. But before I can stop myself or think better of it, I catch a hold of his arm. “Wait.”

He turns back to me, eyebrows raised. “Aye?”

“I . . .” My grip on him tightens briefly before I force myself to let go. “I just wanted to say . . . thanks for today.” The words come out stiffly, like they’re being dragged from the depths of my pride. “Despite the cramps and your general tendency to be insufferable, it was . . . nice.”