Page 49 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
“My new roommate. Who knew Grandma’s cottages were so popular?”
Her tone is light, teasing, but there’s something in her eyes suggesting she’s not entirely comfortable with the situation either.
“Sit down, Doctor,” Maggie orders, pointing toward the only empty armchair. “Right there beside Mary. Jamison will bring you a drink.”
I sit.
The armchair is comfortable.
The kind of seat you sink into and can’t easily escape afterward.
Jamison appears with a glass of Scotch, which I accept gratefully.
“So, Doctor McLeod,” Callum begins as he sits back down, “how are you finding Glenfield?”
Trapped by the very first question.
If I tell the truth—that the village hates me, that everyone compares me to a saint currently sunbathing on a beach somewhere, and that I was formally evicted from my bed and breakfast this morning—I’ll look pathetic.
If I lie—the village is charming, the locals welcoming, I already feel at home—I won’t fool anyone.
“It’s… different from Edinburgh,” I answer evasively.
I take a sip of whisky, satisfied with my diplomatic response: neutral and impossible to attack.
“Different how?” Lachlan asks with what seems like genuine curiosity.
“Smaller. More intimate.”
Mary coughs into her wineglass.
I glance sideways at her.
She’s smirking.
“That’s a polite way of saying everyone’s involved in everyone else’s business,” she translates.
“Exactly.”
“That’s the charm of the Highlands,” Alistair says. “Community. People helping one another.”
Helping one another.
Right.
Like when six people gather at seven in the morning to vote on your eviction.
I clear my throat.
“Indeed.”
“And how’s your integration going?” Keira asks. “Are the patients accepting you?”
She’s direct.
Normally, I appreciate that.
Not tonight.
