“Have you eaten dinner?”
“No.”
“Twelve hours in front of a screen and you haven’t eaten,” I mutter, trying not to sound as irritated as I feel. The hotelprovides meals for all staff; there’s no excuse for this. “The kitchen’s there for a reason.”
“I forgot,” she says with a shrug.
“You don’t forget to eat, Georgie. That’s not optional.”
“I wasn’t sure if the chef with the neck tattoo was planning to poison me after this morning.”
I chuckle. “Davie does hold grudges. But only for about six months.”
Her eyes go wide before she realizes I’m joking.
“Have dinner with me. I guarantee they won’t slip arsenic into your soup at my table.”
“You don’t have to. I can just grab something from—”
“I want to. Unless you have plans?” I add, giving her an out.
She glances back at the cottage uncertainly. “I was just going to finish up some work.”
“You’re eating. Nonnegotiable. Change if you want. I’ll wait.”
We walk the short distance to her cottage in silence. I can practically feel the nervous energy radiating off her.
“Fee?” she calls out as we step inside. There’s the sound of movement from somewhere deeper in the cottage.
“Must be having a bath,” she mutters.
She turns to face me, looking uncertain. “Do you want a beer or something?”
“I don’t drink midweek.”
“Oh! Me neither. Not on work nights. Obviously. I just thought—social convention—”
“Georgie,” I cut through her spiraling. “You’re allowed to drink. You’re a grown woman.”
“Right. Yes.” She nods too many times, that blush climbing up her neck. Absolutely everything makes this woman turn scarlet. “I’ll just be five minutes.”
“Take your time.”
She disappears down the hall, leaving me standing in her living room, feeling like I’ve strong-armed my way into her personal space. I probably have.
The window draws me over. That view—wild sea trying to demolish Scotland one wave at a time. This is what I miss in London. Real water, not the Thames pretending to be a river while it flows between concrete banks.
Maybe that’s why Jake and I understand each other so well. Give us a mountain to climb, a kayak to navigate through rough water, a stretch of wild coastline to explore, and we’re content.
“I’m going to grab a glass of water,” I call toward her bedroom. No response.
I head to the kitchen. All the cottages have identical layouts.
I turn on the tap, letting the water run cold while I hunt for a clean glass when something on the wall stops me dead.
A chalkboard.
I frown, staring at the scrawled text while my glass fills.
