Page 89 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
When I lift my head, I’m half sprawled across Finn with the tartan plaid tangled around us while Ragnar stands two feet away looking victorious.
And at that exact moment, I hear applause.
I turn my head.
At least ten people are now gathered at the edge of the field where we were supposed to be peacefully having lunch.
Duncan Fraser is there, naturally, grinning like an idiot.
“They’re so passionate they’re rolling around on the ground together!” he announces loudly.
“That’s so romantic!” a woman I don’t recognize gushes.
“I got the whole thing on video!” a teenager yells, waving his phone.
I look down at Finn.
Our faces are inches apart.
His gray eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
“Our plan is working a little too well,” I whisper.
“Way too well,” he replies hoarsely.
We stay frozen there, tangled in the plaid while the villagers watch us with delighted fascination.
I’m painfully aware of his breath against my cheek, of the arm instinctively wrapped around my waist to steady me, of the heat radiating from his body.
A bleat snaps us back to reality.
Ragnar has now settled nearby.
Hamish walks over, sniffs the rival sheep, then lies down beside him.
Rosita joins them and stretches out gracefully between the two males like a deeply satisfied queen.
The three sheep stare at us.
We stare at the three sheep.
The villagers stare at all of us.
“So what do we do now?” Finn whispers.
“I honestly have no idea.”
Then a familiar voice drifts toward us.
“Don’t mind us, children. Please continue.”
I look up.
Maggie.
My grandmother stands there wearing a deeply satisfied smile. She looks at us like a painter admiring her masterpiece.
“Grandma, what are you doing here?”
