Page 49 of Highlands Summer Wedding

Caitlin came over. “Are you guys ready? Angus loves music, and he has a good vinyl collection. But albums are probably too fragile to pack to bring back to the Stat?—”

“Oh, remember this band?” Melissa asked cautiously. “They were really popular and had all these hits—then the lead singer died.”

“Wait—I know her face.” Caitlin whipped her head between us. “Are you telling me Angus’s ex was the front woman for this band?”

I flipped the album over, scanning the small print on the back. “Caitlin, look—Angus is credited. He was in the band too.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Yet she snatched the record from me, her eyes narrowing as she examined the goateed musician’s face more closely.

“I used to listen to them in college.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s actually him? That’s Angus?” She looked up at us, her expression caught between disbelief and dawning recognition. “I’ve known every word to their songs for years, and I never once realized…”

I watched Caitlin’s eyes dart across the liner notes. “This never came up?” I asked.

“I knew all the details. I knew he’d been in a band before his pub’s house band. I knew he was in a serious relationship with the singer and that she died, and it broke him. He hadn’t sung like that with anyone since she died… until we were snowed in at New Year’s last year and we played together. He told me later that it felt like he was whole again. Oh my God. I mean, he told me everything, I just never really pieced it all together.”

“So he wasn’t lying. Just omitting,” I said

Caitlin pursed her lips. “He actually didn’t even do that. He told me he sometimes liked to invest in startups. He told me he’d saved up the money for the pub. He told me all about this girlfriend and how broken he was after her death. He must have thought I knew what he was talking about.”

She marched straight to the register, album clutched against her chest. “I’ll take this one,” she said, then hesitated. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything else by them, would you?”

The clerk checked the band name. “I do. An older woman in town drops them off every once in a while. She must’ve been quite a fan, because she seems to have everything.”

Caitlin opened her phone and found a picture of Angus’s mother. “Is this the woman?”

The clerk nodded, smiling. “Yeah, that’s her!”

Caitlin fumbled with her wallet, nearly dropping it twice as she counted out pounds and pence.

“Your fiancé’s a rock star!” Melissa whispered.

We were still giggling when we hit the street.

CHAPTER 20

Mom and Dad stood waiting for us at the airport pickup zone, suitcases at their feet. We threw our arms around them, breathing in the familiar scents of Dad’s aftershave and Mom’s lavender hand cream. Mom had on her signature yellow rain gear—a slicker and those rubber boots that always reminded me of puddle-jumping in elementary school. Dad looked like he’d stepped out of a business meeting and straight onto the plane—pressed slacks, crisp shirt, jacket perfectly aligned at the shoulders.

Caitlin’s cheeks were flushed with excitement. “I can’t believe you’re finally here!”

“I can’t believe you’re getting married!” said Mom. “We can’t wait to see the wedding venue!”

“We can’t wait to show you! It’s a long story, but it’s ours for the wedding,” I said. “If you want, we can drive you there straightaway.”

Dad raised an eyebrow. “Straightaway? You’re already picking up the lingo.”

“I guess I am,” I said, shrugging.

Mom wrapped Caitlin in another hug while Dad admired her ring, tilting it to catch the light. “Just stunning,” he whispered.

We piled into the rental car with Caitlin behind the wheel. Her knuckles were white as she maneuvered through Inverness traffic. “Sorry!” she called each time we lurched around a roundabout, Dad clutching the door handle.

After twenty minutes of winding roads hugging the loch’s edge, the MacAlister Inn came into view—stone walls and a slate roof perched on a hillside, with the banks of Loch Ness below and Urquhart Castle’s ruins visible in the distance.

We found parking easily. Since all of the non-local film crew had packed their bags and headed back to LA, the inn now had plenty of rooms. We helped Mom and Dad with their bags and stepped into the lobby. It really was a perfect setting. Brick and stone and wood, with lots of wide-open spaces, broken up by antique wooden furniture and blue plaid accents. Three fireplaces—in the corner, the dining room, and the bar—made the inn feel warm and inviting. I noticed there was only one small TV in the bar area, unlike the overstimulating sports bars so common back home.

I hoisted Mom’s suitcase up the narrow staircase and glanced back over my shoulder. “Do you want to get settled in your room, and we can meet for lunch downstairs? Caitlin and I can start making lists, and you can join in the planning when you’re ready.”

We satdown for lunch in the MacAlister Inn bar. My parents arrived first. Mom was dressed as if she’d just stepped onto a reality show set in a Scottish castle—plaid blazer, matching slacks, hair perfectly styled. Was she expecting to meet with royalty today? Dad had changed into a navy blue sweater and khakis.