Page 33 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
Moira rises from her chair and fixes me with the intensity of a prosecutor.
“You made me uncomfortable during your visit.”
I stare at her blankly for a second.
“I performed a standard medical examination.”
“You spoke to me like I was a file, not a person. Doctor McKinnon reassured me. He knew me.”
“He knew you because he’d been your doctor for forty years.”
“Exactly!” she shoots back triumphantly, as though I’ve just proven her point. “Forty years of dedication, presence, humanity.”
I feel my jaw tighten.
“As far as I know, I can’t travel back in time and know you for forty years.”
I’m not even forty years old!
“That’s the problem,” she mutters as she sits back down.
Duncan Fraser takes over without being invited.
“At the pub, you spilled a pint. On Ewan’s counter. McKinnon never spilled anything. Ever.”
I stare at him in disbelief.
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“It’s the principle of it,” Duncan replies. “McKinnon respected alcohol.”
“McKinnon could handle his alcohol,” someone adds from the far end of the table.
I turn toward the speaker, a man in his fifties wearing a tweed cap.
“I’m sorry, are you criticizing me for not holding my liquor?”
“It’s a legitimate grievance,” Mrs. MacLeish confirms while consulting her list.
I open my mouth.
Close it again.
Take a deep breath.
Stay calm, Finn. Stay calm.
“Go on.”
Old Angus leans forward, elbows on the table.
“You wanted to send me to the hospital over a simple cough! McKinnon knew I was tough. A Highland man doesn’t need a hospital for that.”
“You had acute bronchitis that could’ve turned into pneumonia,” I snap back. “You had a hundred-and-four-degree fever.”
“McKinnon would’ve treated me at home.”
“McKinnon wasn’t equipped to handle severe pneumonia!”
