Page 79 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
I stay there staring into my coffee, wondering how exactly my life ended up here.
An hour later,we climb into my Land Rover.
Mary’s wearing jeans, a green sweater, and a jacket. Her perfume carries fresh floral notes.
Inside the confined space of the car, the scent is distracting.
I discreetly crack open the window.
“You hot?” she asks.
“No. I just needed air.”
She gives me a curious look but doesn’t comment.
The drive to the village square takes five minutes.
The market is already crowded when we arrive. There are stalls selling vegetables, cheese, meat, local crafts, and villagers everywhere—talking, laughing, bargaining.
I park and shut off the engine.
Mary turns toward me.
“Ready?”
“No.”
She laughs.
“Perfect. Me neither.”
We get out of the car.
The second we’re outside, Mary slips her arm through mine.
I instantly tense.
“Relax,” she murmurs. “You look like I’m holding you hostage.”
“I’m not tense.”
“You’re stiff as a board. If you keep acting like this, nobody’s going to believe us.”
I make a conscious effort to loosen my shoulders.
“That’s better,” she says with a crooked smile.
We start walking between the stalls arm in arm.
I’m hyperaware of her closeness. Her shoulder brushing my arm. Her perfume lingering between us. The way she chats with vendors like we do this every weekend.
“Morning, Mary!” a woman behind a vegetable stand calls out.
“Morning, Mrs. Murray! How are the vegetables this week?”
“Perfect! Want some?”
Mary examines the produce with a level of seriousness that surprises me. She weighs several vegetables in her hands, checking firmness and color.
