Page 131 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
“I... yeah. Sure. Why not?”
“Perfect. We’ll figure out a date. And Finn?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop living like a ghost inside someone else’s life. Build your own. McKinnon doesn’t need this clinic anymore. But you do.”
Then he leaves.
I slowly look around the room again.
The yellowed wallpaper.
The cracked linoleum.
The faded curtains.
Huge potential.
Maybe Nate’s right.
Maybe it’s time I stopped living in McKinnon’s shadow and started creating a space of my own.
Maybe it’s time to choose to stay.
CHAPTER 20
MARY
The Baby Shower That Revealed Too Many Truths
(Or How You Can Lie to Everyone Except Yourself)
Jane’s baby shower is exactly the kind of event I hate—packed with people asking when it’ll be my turn.
The blue drawing room at the castle has been transformed into an explosion of pastels and garlands that clash violently with the medieval tapestries. Balloons float near ceiling beams that have probably witnessed executions. Pink and blue ribbons decorate chairs that once held the weight of warlords. It looks like someone threw up a Pinterest board all over five centuries of Scottish history.
Jane, seated in the honorary armchair by the fireplace, is glowing. She’s wearing a pale yellow dress that hugs her rounded belly, and she has that perfectly blissful pregnant-woman smile that should make her unbearable—except she’s Jane, and hating Jane is physically impossible.
Callum hovers around her like an overprotective bodyguard, adjusting cushions, bringing her water, checking every three minutes to make sure she’s comfortable.
It’s disgustingly romantic.
And a tiny, inconvenient part of me envies them.
I’m sitting on the couch between Keira and Emma with a glass of punch in hand, watching Finn stand near the window with Nate and Alistair. He looks like a man who would rather be literally anywhere else. His shoulders are tense, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze drifting toward the gardens every few seconds like he’s plotting an escape route.
“You’re not drinking alcohol?” Emma asks, pointing at my fruity punch.
“Someone has to stay sober.”
“Why? The Highland Games don’t start for days. You’ve got plenty of time to recover.”
“Ragnar’s probably inventing a brand-new way to humiliate me as we speak. I’d rather keep all my mental faculties intact.”
Keira laughs.
“At least Hamish likes you.”
