I whip around.
Cameron is on the other side of the street, dressed in a thick wool coat and scarf, his broad shoulders tensed against the wind.
A mixture of relief and embarrassment floods through me. “Cameron!” I squawk. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” he says shortly, crossing to me. “You didn’t come home before sundown. Dougal called a couple hours ago and said you were wandering the streets.”
I deflate. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost track of time.”
He considers me. I blush under his gaze. I bet he’s seen the video of me crying. Maybe he’s thinking that I’m a shallow airhead.
“Not your fault,” he says eventually. “The clouds are making it darker than usual. A storm’s coming.” He eyes my bags. “You went shopping? InDalbrae?”
“Yes, I gotsomuch cute stuff.”
“You get a coat? Or a decent pair of shoes?” He scowls at my heeled boots.
“Um. No?” As if on cue, the paper bag holding the wedding dress starts to dissolve in the rain. I quickly snatch the dress out before it splits. Cameron stares at the massive white wedding dress in my arms, astounded.
I smile at him awkwardly. “You never know when the big day could happen, right?”
After a few long seconds, Cameron shrugs off his coat. The next thing I know, I’m being wrapped in soft wool still warm from his body.
“Oh, you don’t have to—” I say. The coat smells of wood chips and fresh air, and I have to fight the urge to nuzzle into it.
He takes the shopping bags and waits for me to button up the coat. “You had your dinner?” His voice is gruff.
“Not yet! I got distracted. The town is so pretty.”
His jaw tightens. “Come with me. You need to eat.”
“You really don’t have to?—”
He stomps off. I don’t have much choice but to follow.
FIFTEEN
SUMMER
Cameron leads us through the streets to a stone pub with a thatched roof. A painted sign reading “The Dewdrop”swings creakily in the wind, dripping with rain. Cameron opens the door and steps aside. It takes me a second to realise he’s holding it for me. “Oh. Thank you.”
He grunts.
The inside of the Dewdrop is adorably cosy. The interior is all done in dark-stained wood and crowded with worn-looking round tables that are all busy with locals laughing and drinking. Several huge orange fires roar in fireplaces around the room, and condensation steams up the windows, making the whole place feel like a little golden-lit bubble of warmth.
A curly-haired woman in dungarees strolls over. “McLeod!” she greets Cameron. “I was hoping to see you. Tell Alec he needs to RSVP for the wedding. Emmy needs the numbers, and he’s ignoring my calls, the prat.”
“He’ll be there,” Cameron mutters, scanning the tables.
“Aye, he’d better be. He’s been a crappy friend recently.” Her eyes fall on me. “Oh, and you brought a girl. Hiya, precious. I’m Isla.”
“Summer,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m staying at Lochview for a bit.”
Isla looks taken aback. “My God! You’re English!”
“Unfortunately,” Cameron says flatly.
Isla pats my hand. “Don’t worry,” she reassures me. “We don’t discriminate against those from less privileged walks of life.”
