“I live here, ya wee gobshite,” the man muttered. His voice was deep and gruff, thickened by the same Highland brogue as Malina’s. “Is that her?” he asked, peering closer at the screen.
Malina elbowed him before I could even wave. “Of course it is! Look at her! Isn’t she lovely?”
He squinted like I was a crossword puzzle he was determined to solve. “Aye. She’ll do.”
“Dougal!” Malina gasped, swatting his arm. “Behave.”
Callum was grinning like a smug little shithead on Christmas morning. “Auri, that’s my dad. Dougal.”
“Hi,” I squeaked, giving a tiny wave. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Oh, listen to that accent,” Malina swooned, hand flying to her chest in a way that reminded me entirely too much of her son. “She’s absolutely precious. Callum, if you drive this oneaway with your—your impish, bloody, ScottishFraserways, Iswear to God?—”
“Therewasa reason I called,” Callum cut in innocently.
I shot him a look that could only be translated asdon’t you fucking dare.
“Oh?” Malina blinked, lifting a brow. “And what would that be, son?”
He cleared his throat, visibly enjoying himself. “I was telling Aurélie about some of the wedding traditions back home. And, well…” He trailed off for dramatic effect. “She made a comment about fertility.”
“Idid not,” I said quickly, eyes wide.
“Pretty sure you did, love. You were talkin’ about French weddings.”
Malina looked far too interested.
“Anyways,” Callum continued, “I mentioned thatyouknow all the old wives’ tales. About post-wedding fertility rituals, moon teas, sprigs of heather for luck, that sort of thing.”
Malina’s face lit up like she’d just been crowned Queen of the Highlands. “Oh,absolutely.There’s the heather in the bouquet, of course, but did he tell you about the porridge oat charm?”
Porridge oat charm?
My brain flickered to life. “Is that like oat milk?”
Callum pinched my side, making me squeak and giggle.
“Oat milk daddy,” I whispered under my breath.
“I adore you,” Malina gushed. “You’ve made my boysoft, and I’ve never seen him happier.”
Dougal groaned. “Christ above, Malina, simmer down. Don’t scare the poor lass off before there’s even been a weddin’.”
“You hush,” she snapped back, then turned to me like nothing happened. With a rustle of motion, she set her phone down on what looked like a cluttered kitchen counter, and then both of them were fully in frame. Malina, animated and flushedwith enthusiasm, stood center while Dougal leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, clearly settled in for the show.
“You’ve got to soak the oats under the full moon,” Malina explained, eyes wide and absolutely serious. “Then place them under your pillow on the wedding night. It’s for healthy bairns.”
“Bairnsmeans children,” Callum stage-whispered in my ear, clearly amused. “Scottish slang. Usually wee ones.”
I nodded slowly, committing the phrase to memory like it might show up on a quiz later. “Soaked moon oats. Got it.”
Malina was undeterred. “And if the oats sprout by morning, it’s said you’ll have twins.”
“Twins?” I choked out, shaking my head furiously. “No twins. Iama twin. I already served my time in the womb.”
Malina blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“There’s a French expression,” I added with a small shrug. “Jamais deux sans trois.Never two without three. Which is basically a death sentence in my family.”
