Page 76 of Scotlander

I like you.

She needed to say something else. Something better.

I think I’m falling in love with you.

Definitely not what she needed to say. Just because she’d been instantly smitten with his photograph didn’t mean it was true in real life. Sure, he gave her butterflies. Yes, her reproductive system threw frequent glitter parties in his presence. But there was that tiny little thing called reality waiting to slip a huge wedge between them. He lived here. She lived in LA. He wanted to be a farmer. She wanted to – well, she wanted to interview film stars, obviously. Be one of the growing team of exec producers on TiTs. That had been her trajectory the day she’d left LA. Five days in a corset with the most attractive, kind, generous human she’d ever laid eyes on hadn’t changed that.

Had it?

She gave his hands a squeeze because words were failing her. To her relief, he gave them a slight squeeze back, but then, to her horror, he whispered something about needing to check on the cows and slipped away into the darkness, the cold instantly skidding down her spine.

Idiot! If no one was around she’d be pounding her fists against her head. Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!

Why hadn’t she told Finn she liked him too? He’d been so amazing today. And yesterday. All of the days. Even though everything about this whole immersive experience was epically outside his wheelhouse, he was here. Trying, helping, occasionally poking fun at Willa, but mostly he was being a hero. He listened. He offered advice. Good advice. He let her hold piglets and taught her how to stick straw up a calf’s nose if it wasn’t breathing when it was born. And she’d just pooped on everything she’d encouraged him to be: open, vulnerable, honest. No wonder he’d walked away.

‘Of course,’ ChiChi switched off her laser, ‘many of these stars have already died. What we’re seeing now is actually hundreds of light years’ worth of history. And one day, all of it will – poof! Disappear. As if it had never existed at all.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

Finn had gone straight to the barn this morning, asking Orla to let Willa know he’d be there when she finished her breakfast.

He wanted to get his head straight before they talked. Before the questions inevitably arose about last night.

He did like her. He fancied her too. But it wasn’t like they were going to start dating or anything. She was going to be here for another week, then head back to her shiny, sparkly star-studded life.

‘’lo.’

He looked up and saw Duncan. He gave him a nod, which was returned.

‘Will this do?’

Finn examined the piece of plywood Duncan was propping against the barn wall. It had a wee door cut into the centre and hinges had been pre-drilled on to the edges. Duncan had also painted some flowers on the exterior wall, which was very un-Duncan like. Maybe one of Orla’s kids had done it?

Duncan saw where his gaze had snagged and said, ‘Your wee girl insisted. Said she wanted to cheer you up.’

His heart tried to squish through his ribcage, taking what little dignity remained with it.

The that’s sweet moment last night had been a proper kick in the teeth. Not because she’d been rude. Or dismissive. She’d squeezed his hands, not catapulted out of his weird I’m-trying-to-keep-you-warm embrace. It was more . . .

I like you.

What was he? Twelve?

He felt stupid for even going there. No one in their right mind would want to have a holiday romance, let alone a proper relationship, with a guy mired in debt, at odds with his stepfamily, who picked ultra-awkward times and places to confess his affections. Especially when she would have to move eight thousand miles away from home to live here if – and it was a big if – he managed to save Balcraigie.

He gave the plywood the thumbs-up. ‘That’s perfect, Duncan. The piglets will love it. Thanks.’

They gathered the tools they needed to put the creche together, then set to work, barely a word passing between them. That was normal. The pair of them had a long history of silence to lean back on. What was different was the atmosphere. It lacked the usual tension.

‘Aye, lad. That’s right. Drill it in on the wall, there.’

Duncan was holding the plywood against the corner of the stall. The space behind it would offer a safe, warm area for the piglets to nap and rest away from their mum who was prone to rolling on her wee bairns.

‘I like the nameplate, Dunc.’

Duncan’s eyes flicked to his, then moved across to the hand-hewn wooden nameplate, already attached to the plywood. It had been sanded, polished and carved with care. It read, ‘Bonnie’.

Duncan said nothing in response. Standard practice.