Page 53 of Highlands Summer Wedding

“We need a theme,” said Melissa, stylus at the ready. “Something Scottish but not cheesy. No inflatable Nessies.”

“Agreed,” said Caitlin while I pretended to pout.

Melissa tapped her chin with her stylus. “What about a whisky tasting? Lindsay could do a cheese pairing. We could even do it at the Inn.”

“Angus’s mom, Flora, would love that,” Caitlin said.

“Perfect! She’d know all the good ones.” Melissa looked up. “Abby, you’re being very quiet.”

I pulled my attention back to them. “I’m just thinking.”

“You’re thinking about Max,” Caitlin guessed.

“I'm thinking about the spa,” I said.

Melissa pointed her stylus at me. “Same thing, apparently.”

Caitlin and I exchanged a glance, then shrugged in unison. Looks like I’d be able to juggle the film and the wedding with no problems as long as Melissa was around.

CHAPTER 22

Angus and Caitlin dropped me off at the house. I walked through the front door, expecting Max to be there, perhaps sitting on the deck and pouring over a script. The cottage was silent except for the distant bleating of sheep and the soft ticking of the antique clock in the hallway. I checked my phone.

No messages.

Whelp. It wasn’t like we were actual roommates. And yet. The roads, the sheep, the long drive. So many things could go wrong.

I settled into the bed with its thick tartan quilt, listening to the wind whistling through the eaves until I fell into a restless sleep.

The next morningmy phone was buzzing with messages. Momposinginfrontof InvernessCastle. My cousin Jen’s kids making faces at Loch Ness. Caitlin’s full Scottish breakfast.

Excited, I showered, dried my hair, and dressed in my favorite pair of jeans and a light hoodie.

Max’s room was quiet. I told myself I was just checking that he’d made it back safely. I told myself that right up until I was standing in his doorway, looking at an unslept-in bed.

Whatever. What had I expected?

Angus and Caitlin’s car turned into the driveway. I flung the door open and hurried down the stone steps before their car could come to a stop.

Caitlin rolled down her window, her face practically glowing. “It’s happening! They’re here!”

“You sound like a commercial for an old 80s horror film,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Caitlin stuck out her tongue. “Leave it to you to pick up the Spielberg reference, Sis.”

I hopped into the car, and Caitlin handed me a cup of coffee and a small paper bag.

“Scottish breakfast pastries. Scones, oatcakes, and flapjacks,” she said, pointing to each one through the translucent grease stains on the bag.

I reached in and pulled out a dense, golden square. I took a bite of the flapjack, the taste of buttery oats and golden syrup filling my mouth. It was the perfect balance between chewy and crumbly. “Oh my God,” I mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.

I mainlined the coffee and began to feel human again.

The car hummed over the Skye Bridge, leaving the island behind as we merged onto the A87 toward Inverness.

Along the way, we created a playlist to share with friends and family as they made the drive from Inverness to Drumnadrochit, featuring a mix of old and new songs, all by Scottish artists.

That’s when I couldn’t resist. I went searching and found the band Angus had been in, then chose their most popular song.