“You’re in luck, then. Twins tend to skip a generation,” she said cheerfully. “Or so my gran used to say, and she always swore you could predict it if you cracked an egg and saw two yolks.”
“Bollocks,” Dougal grunted.
Malina waved him off like a fruit fly. “You laugh, but I had a dream about a blackbird in the heather the night we conceived Callum, and my mother said that meant he’d be a handful with a good heart.”
“Your mother said you were drinkin’ too much sherry,” Dougal muttered.
“She wasalsocorrect,” Malina said with a wink and absolutely no shame.
I looked at Callum. He just shrugged, blue eyes twinkling like I’d never seen before.
I’d known he came from somewhere different. That he’d left a lot behind to become who he was now. But this was a whole new piece I hadn’t seen before. A fuller version of him. Hisrealself, not just the fierce driver, broody independent, and obsessive strategist—but a man with a childhood, with dreams and superstitions and culture and a mother who called him “my boy” like it meant something sacred.
It was beautiful to watch.
And it made me wonder. He’d never mentioned any of this before. Not about how much he knew about wedding traditions, fertility rituals, not the superstitions or pressed herbs or holistic healing or oatmoon voodoo. Why? Was it something he’d kept hidden even from himself?
Did he think I wouldn’t understand? Think of him as less? Tease him or shut him down like people had in the past?
Did he think I would…judge?
Dougal groaned again, throwing his head back. “Christ, Malina, let the bairns breathe.”
“Oh, stop. They’re fine,” she said, rolling her eyes fondly. “And don’t even get me started on the fennel seed sachets,” she added, wagging a finger. “Hung above the marriage bed for stamina. And it works too.Ask me how I know.” Her voice dipped secretively.
Callum made a strangled sound somewhere between a gag and a protest. In the little FaceTime square, his eyes flew wide, actual horror written across his face.
I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.
Dougal let out a long-suffering groan and muttered, “Please tell me this is almost over.”
But it wasn’t. Because that’s when everything went sideways.
Malina suddenly stilled, narrowed her eyes, and leaned so close to the camera her forehead practically smushed the screen.
Oh no.
I recognized the expression instantly. It was the exact one Callum gave me when he was about to clock something I didn’t want him to.
“Oh for the love of Saint Brigid—is that anengagement ringI see?”
Time slowed. I froze like a deer in headlights. Callum’s head whipped toward me.
The realization hit me like a freight train.
THE RING.
I hadn’t eventhoughtabout the ring. I’d been so focused on scrambling for pajamas and making a good impression and not saying the word “oat milk” again that I hadn’t even remembered it was on my left hand. In full view. On FaceTime. With his very Scottish, very observant, very witchy mother.
“Oh myGod,” I gasped. “I forgot—oh no, no, no?—”
Malina’s mouth had dropped open, then spread into a delighted gasp that could probably be heard across the whole damn island. “Callum Fraser, did youproposeand not tell your own mother?”
“I was going to,” he said, defensively.
Fuck, I felt guilty. We’d barely processed it ourselves.
“When?” she cried out, hurt flooding her eyes.
