She breezes through the cottage door moments later, flopping onto the sofa. “Want to talk about the crying?”
I shrug, the universal gesture for “yes, but also no, but maybe.” “My great-aunt died recently,” I say, fiddling with my coat sleeve. “We were close. That’s all. I’m fine; I’m just… being silly.”
Fee’s face softens. “That’s shit. I’m sorry.”
I manage a wobbly smile. “Thanks.” I deliberately change the subject. “This cottage is absolutely lovely.”
“I’ll be honest, I’ve gotten spoiled having the whole place to myself,” she admits, then pauses. “Hope you don’t mind if people occasionally stay over?”
“Stay over?” I blink in confusion.
She grins. “There are some seriously hot fishermen in these parts. I’ve been enthusiastically sampling the local talent, if you catch my meaning.”
“Oh.” My face goes full tomato. Of course she meansthatkind of sleepover.
“No, of course not. That’s totally fine.” I pause, my inner rule-follower rearing its anxious head. “Are we… allowed to? I mean, does the company—?”
“Allow us to date?” She dissolves into giggles. “I’m pretty sure McLaren Hotels aren’t monitoring our vaginas, Georgie.”
Fair point. Nothing screams “excellent new flat mate” quite like inquiring about HR’s shagging regulations.
“What about you? Got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?” she asks, settling deeper into the cushions.
“Nope. Neither.”
“God, dating’s exhausting, isn’t it? So bloody time-consuming. All that swiping and small talk.”
“I’m not really dating right now… what with work and whatnot.”
She grins. “Fancy getting back into it while you’re here?”
The question catches me off guard. “Hmmm, I… maybe?”
I haven’t thought seriously about dating in a long time. It’s been easier to live in my books and my Hallmark movies. Because those are safe. They can’t hurt you like real relationships and real men. It took months before I could even think about Steve the Shit without panic clawing up my throat.
But seeing Patrick in that helicopter seemed to crack open something I’d carefully locked away. Something that made my pulse race for reasons that had nothing to do with fear of crashing.
“Is the dating scene good here?” I ask, shoving those dangerous thoughts back into their box.
“Like everything in life, it’s what you make of it.” Fee’s eyes light up. “Skye men can fix literallyanythingwith their hands. Tractors. Boats. Sexual frustration.”
I laugh.
“You should come to the pub with me. I’ll introduce you to some locals. Oh! And the Fairy Pools. There’s this group of guys who guide boat tours that swim there. Proper Scottish beef.”
Fee seems horny.
“The Fairy Pools?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t research Skye at all, did you?”
I shake my head sheepishly. “I didn’t have time.”
I was too busy obsessively researching everything about the hotel itself—room layouts, technical specifications, network infrastructure details. I could sketch the building’s floor plan from memory, but ask me about tourist attractions? Total blank.
“They’re these natural pools in the mountains. Freezing as fuck but gorgeous. Come with me.”
Riri’s voice pipes up in my head:Wethot Scots frolicking in those pools. Get your ass in that freezing water before I haunt you properly.
