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“Your maw loved running that quiz.”
“I know, Da.” I reach out and squeeze his shoulder.
“When she passed . . .” He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I couldn’t do it myself. Wasn’t my thing. But when you picked it up again—when you made it yours—I was proud. Still am.” His jaw tightens as he places the tray on the counter with deliberate care. “And now that bloody lad thinks he can—” He breaks off, turning away to gather himself.
I stare at him in stunned silence. Da’s not one for big displays of emotion. Grumbles? Sure. The occasional (or not so occasional) flare of stubbornness? Absolutely. But this? This feels different. Seeing him like this stirs something sharp and fiery in my chest—a mix of protectiveness and simmering rage.
Jamie riling me up is one thing, but upsetting my da? That’s a whole other game entirely.
It’s time for me to have words with him.
“Da, I’m going to pop out for a quick break, okay?”
Moments later, I’m power walking down Main Street towards the Bannock Hotel, fury fuelling every stomp of my boots against the pavement. The sound of laughter drifts from the beer garden, and it grates on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Without hesitating, I push through the main entrance and into reception, aiming for the garden—but stopping when I spot Jamie behind the bar in the snug.
I go in. There are no customers in here—they must all be outside—but Jamie is obviously in the midst of preparing an order for someone. But he spots me coming, and his eyes light up. Oh, he thinks I’m here for a friendly chat? That’s adorable. Time to wipe that smile off his face.
“You absolute arse.” I plant both hands on the counter, leaning in. “A whisky tasting? Tomorrow?”
“Aye. Fancy coming along?” That devilish spark in his eyes. Doesn’t he realise he’s playing with fire? That this time he’s gone too far?
“You know fine well Monday nights are quiz nights!” I jab a finger in his direction, my voice rising. “The quiz is a bloody Bannock institution! You came over to my flat and acted all pally with me, and all the time you were plotting this?”
“Actually,” Emily’s voice cuts through the tension as she appears behind me, arms crossed. “Jamie wanted to do the tasting on Wednesday.”
I turn to her with a frown. “What?”
She raises an eyebrow. “He even planned to call it ‘Whisky Wednesday’, if it became a more regular thing. Quite catchy, don’t you think? But Kyle from the distillery called and asked to change the event to Monday instead. It was Lewis he spoke to since Jamie was out, taking care of you, if I’m not mistaken?” She gives me a pointed look that makes heat creep up my neck. “When Jamie got back, he wasn’t best pleased with Lewis. Got pretty grumpy with him, actually. He knew about your quiz. But it was too late to change things.”
I glance back at Jamie, who’s watching this exchange with maddening calm. “That true?”
He shrugs, offering nothing more than a curt, “Aye.”
Oh. Well . . . that does change things a bit, not that I’m about to let him off the hook entirely.
“Well,” I huff, straightening up. “You could have bloody told me. A touch of common courtesy wouldn’t kill you.”
Something flickers in Jamie’s jaw—a momentary tightening—and when he speaks, his voice is low and measured. “Well then, Maisie, it’d probably be courteous of me to let you know that I’ve organised a beer and whisky tent for this year’s Highland Games.”
My breath catches in my throat as my temper reignites. “What?”
Emily groans audibly behind me. “Jamie, seriously? I was trying to defuse the situation. Did you really think that was the right time—or the best way—to tell Maisie that news?”
“I know what I’m doing.” His eyes remain fixed on mine as he responds to her. “Thanks for your input, Emily, but this is between Maisie and me.”
Emily throws up her hands as though washing herself of the mess entirely. “Fine! Is this ready to go out?” She gestures towards the tray of drinks Jamie has been prepping.
“Aye,” he replies without looking away from me. “Table five.”
With an exasperated sigh, Emily grabs the tray and disappears through the door, heading out to the beer garden.
The moment she’s gone, Jamie moves from behind the bar and rounds it slowly, closing the space between us like a predator stalking its prey. He stops less than a foot away. “You can’t just storm in here and tear strips off me when something doesn’t go your way,” he says. I notice his breathing has quickened ever so slightly.
My heart pounding, I take a half step closer to him. “I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”
We’re toe-to-toe now. I tilt my chin up defiantly to hold his gaze, the hazel shadowed with irritation but flickering with something deeper: desire, need . . . something reckless enough to make my heartbeat trip over itself.
His gaze dips briefly—to my mouth—and when it rises again there’s no mistaking what’s about to happen. For one taut second we hover on the edge—then he snaps like a breaking storm.
