Page 88 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander

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“Shit.”

“Exactly. So help me save this blanket before this entire performance turns into a total disaster.”

We cautiously approach the sheep.

Ragnar growls.

Actually growls.

I didn’t even know sheep could growl.

Hamish keeps pulling the plaid with terrifying determination.

Then a third, softer bleat sounds behind us.

I turn around.

“Rosita!”

“The whole flock’s going to show up at this rate,” Finn mutters.

Hamish’s companion stands there looking elegant and perfectly calm. She watches us with what suspiciously resembles amusement.

Assuming sheep are capable of amusement.

“Oh great. Reinforcements,” I mutter sarcastically.

Rosita calmly walks around the chaos and starts eating the salad that spilled from the overturned basket.

“She’s eating our picnic,” Finn says.

“I noticed.”

Suddenly, Hamish releases the blanket and turns toward Rosita with an outraged bleat.

Apparently stealing food ishisexclusive privilege.

Ragnar takes advantage of the distraction and bolts with the plaid.

“No!” I shout, sprinting after him.

Ragnar accelerates.

I run after Ragnar.

Finn runs after me.

Hamish runs after Finn.

And Rosita keeps peacefully eating salad like none of this concerns her.

Ragnar suddenly veers left.

I slip on the wet grass.

Finn catches me at the last second, but the movement throws both of us off balance.

We hit the ground hard.

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