Page 85 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
It’s exactly the kind of thing a real couple would do.
I find Finn in the living room. He’s leaning over his phone with a half-empty mug of coffee in front of him. His hair is still tousled from sleep.
He looks annoyingly attractive.
“We’re having a picnic on Saturday,” I announce without preamble.
He looks up.
“Excuse me?”
“A picnic. You, me, a blanket, a basket full of food. By the loch.”
He frowns like he’s struggling to process the concept.
“Why?”
“Because everyone will see us. It’s romantic. It’s public. It’s perfect.”
Finn stares at me like I just suggested we jump off a cliff.
“We’re really doing this?”
“Yes. And you’re even going to smile.”
“I don’t smile on command,” he mutters.
“Well, you’re going to have to learn.”
He sighs but doesn’t argue any further.
I take that as agreement.
Saturday arrives with clear skies,an actual Scottish miracle.
The sun is shining, which means half the village will be outside.
Exactly what we need.
I carefully pack the picnic basket: smoked salmon sandwiches, local cheese, Mrs. Finley’s shortbread discreetly stolen from the castle kitchens, and a bottle of cider. I even add cloth napkins because apparently I’m incapable of doing anything halfway.
I also grab the old tartan plaid lying around the guesthouse living room. It’s thick, comfortable, and big enough for two people.
Finn appears in the doorway wearing jeans and a black sweater that somehow makes him look even grumpier than usual.
And also... unfairly sexy.
“Ready?” I ask with possibly excessive enthusiasm.
“No.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
The loch is onlya ten-minute walk from the castle.
The trail winds through the hills, and the view is spectacular. Sunlight glitters across the water, mountains rise in the distance, and the rooftops of the village can be seen below.
I pick a strategic spot slightly uphill and, more importantly, perfectly visible from the main road.
