‘Hey, it’s just me,’ he says.
‘That’s my cue,’ says Andrea with a smile, stepping back into the lift. ‘Have a great night, you guys, and happy New Year.’ She blows a kiss. The doors close on her, and she’s gone. I blink.
‘She’s off to meet Kirk,’ says Bailey, anticipating my question. ‘His mate is having a party in Haymarket.’
‘But ...’ I look around, confused, expecting more people to jump out of the shadows.
‘I asked her for help getting you here. I was worried you wouldn’t come.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Walk this way, and you’ll see.’ Bailey beckons for me to follow him around the side of the lift shaft. Only then do I see he’s dressed in full Scottish regalia: a black jacket with gold buttons, a white shirt with black bow tie, and a kilt with the McAdams family tartan—complete with knee-length black socks and shoes. He even has a furry sporran. Good lord! Hogmanay just got traditional. Maybe he’s part of a bagpipe performance before the fireworks? But no one at Christmas mentioned he played them.
There are no other bagpipers around the corner. Instead, there is a sheltered nook right in view of the castle. There’s a square of artificial grass, and on it is a couch with a fluffy throw. A couple of heat lamps at either end of the couch are glowing in a toasty fashion. In front of the couch, a low table holds a grazing platter of breads, dips, mini pizzas, quiche, and chocolate strawberries. There’s a bucket of ice with champagne and a bottle of red wine.
I suck in a breath of frosty air as I realise what’s happening. It’s a private function all right—it’s just for me!
‘You didn’t have much to eat before you came, did you?’ Bailey asks worriedly.
I shake my head dazedly.
‘Do you want to take off your coat and sit down?’ Wondering if I’m in a dream, I hand over my coat to him and plop down onto one end of the couch. ‘You look amazing, by the way.’
‘Thanks.’ I tug down the hem of Andrea’s sparkly white minidress, which I’ve paired with black-and-white polka-dot tights and black combat boots. ‘I feel a bit underdressed with you in your kilt.’
‘At least your tights cover your knees,’ Bailey replies, hanging up my coat on a nearby coatrack. He’s thought of everything.
‘Come to think of it, yours do look a bit blue.’ I check him out surreptitiously. Bailey can certainly pull off the kilt look. A ripple of desire runs through my body. I wonder if he’s wearing underwear or not—and if I’m going to find out.
I clear my throat. ‘You look great, though. So I thought there were going to be more people at this party?’
Bailey sits next to me and gestures at the wine, and I nod.
‘No, it’s just us. Are you disappointed?’ He unscrews the cap and pours me a glass. I take a sip and lean back against the couch, feeling more relaxed than I have in days. My nerves seem to have disappeared entirely now that I know what’s going on—I’m being wooed by a hot Scotsman in a kilt. I’m glad I got dolled up after all.
I shake my head. ‘Relieved actually.’
‘I figured.’ Bailey takes a long swallow of wine. He seems to be more nervous than I am.
‘This is ...’ I take a deep breath. ‘Lovely. Really lovely of you. I can’t believe you’d do this after I left on your birthday. I thought that was it, that I’d ruined things.’
He shakes his head. ‘I handled that badly. I’m sorry. You took me by surprise. I knew I wanted more, but I just hadn’t thought about the logistics.’
‘Logistics?’
‘As in I want to go on dates with you, get to know you better, have you stay over at my flat or stay at yours. And if we don’t see eye to eye, I want to argue with you. And if that doesn’t work, beat you with a cushion and then have make-up sex,’ he blurts in a rush.
I laugh out loud. ‘That sounds like my kind of relationship.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. There’s nothing I’d like more than to beat you with a cushion,especially if you’re wearing a googly-eyed Christmas jumper.’
Bailey grins, flashing his dimples, and I practically melt. ‘I missed you as soon as I went inside the house.’
‘I missed you the moment we drove off.’
He rolls his eyes and laughs. ‘What a pair. Now, not to change the subject, but can I interest you in a piece of quiche, madam?’
