Page 19 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
I point dramatically toward Ragnar, who remains entirely unbothered by any of this.
The stranger raises one skeptical eyebrow.
“Apparently not well enough.”
And there it is.
The brief flicker of gratitude evaporates instantly, replaced by an overwhelming urge to throw something at his head.
“You know what? Forget I thanked you.”
“My pleasure.”
He climbs into his Land Rover and drives away, leaving me standing on the side of the road soaked, muddy, and furious.
I watch his taillights disappear into the rain.
“He saved me, and I still want to throw rocks at him,” I mutter.
A bleat makes me turn around.
Ragnar is still there by the roadside.
And he makes a sound.
A long, deep bleat that sounds suspiciously like mocking laughter.
“Ragnar,” I say, pointing a finger at him, “you and I are going to have a very serious conversation.”
He stares at me one second longer before calmly wandering back toward the fields, as though this entire situation existed purely for his personal entertainment.
I climb back into my car and start the engine. It turns over perfectly fine, thank God. I pull back onto the road toward Glenfield, my hands still trembling on the wheel.
I don’t know whether it’s from the accident or my encounter with the grumpiest man in the Highlands.
Whoever you are, Mr. Land Rover, I sincerely hope I never see you again.
Because next time, I can’t guarantee I’ll keep my temper.
CHAPTER 5
FINN
The Impossible Patient
(Or the Impossible Patient)
I pull up in front of McGregor Castle wondering whether I took a wrong turn somewhere and accidentally ended up in an episode ofDownton Abbey.
The place is enormous.
Massive.
Turrets rise toward the gray sky, mullioned windows reflect the clouds overhead, and an immaculate gravel driveway winds all the way to the main entrance.
The kind of building that says,Our ancestors slaughtered yours in the Middle Ages, and we’re still very proud of it.
Then again, maybe that’s just my murderous mood talking.
