WhatdoI say?Nothing, nada, zippo.When my lips finally part, the only word that emerges is a soft "uh."The sound is so faint that I'm not sure even I heard it.Kirk scrunches his eyebrows, clearly confused.After a full five seconds in which the only audible noise is the dripping of water off my sleeves onto the floor, like a cheap faucet that'll never quite shut off, I miraculously manage to speak.
"Um, uh...sure, yeah."I clear my throat, lifting my chin."Lunch sounds fine.Thank you."
Iona doesn't bother hiding her amusement.She sits back and crosses her arms, her gaze ping-ponging between us."Kirk, take her to the chippy that just opened up a few months ago."Iona jerks her chin at me."Don't murder him 'til he brings ye back, aye?"
"That's up to the jackass," I tell her."But I'm open to any groveling he wants to do to appease me."
I'm not proud of it, but my first thought is...maybe I can get a free lunch out of this.Even if it means sitting across from Kirk and listening to his entire inventory of bad decisions.
Kirk is still holding my hand.The touch of his skin makes me shiver ever so faintly, though not because I'm cold.The sensation he gives me feels like a silky warmth that reminds me of our time in his flat and how incredible he is in bed.
Get a grip woman and stop fantasizing about the Scottish jackass.
Kirk places a hand on my back, guiding me out of the newspaper office and down to a car I don't recognize.But I glean one salient fact from its presence.The jerk drives a frigging sports car, the kind that costs thousands upon thousands of dollars.Amazingly, Kirk opens the passenger door for me.At lease, I assume this is his vehicle.Once we're both ensconced inside the car, I have to ask him a question.
"What kind of car is this?"I wriggle around, trying to get into a more comfortable position."Definitely a sports car, hey?"
He feigns disgust."A Porsche Boxster isn't simply a sports car.It isthesports car."
"Sure, whatever you say."I do up my seatbelt, finally comfortable inside Kirk's car."Do you always drive such a wildly expensive vehicle?I mean, it seems out of place in this town."
He grins at me."It's a practical car, you have my word.It fits all my essential kit.And at least it's not the sort of ruddy awful SUV the tourists use when they're clogging the Glencoe roadways."He throws the car into gear, and the engine revs with a throaty purr that vibrates up through my sneakers in an almost indecent way."Besides, it was a bargain."
"I think you're full of shit again, Balfour."
He grins roguishly at me, employing the same tone my mother used when she brought home a $400 stand mixer on Black Friday and Dad nearly blew his top.
The rain comes down in thick beads that streak down the windows as we snake through the village.The streets are narrow enough that two normal-sized cars passing each other need to do a quick, mutual side-eye and politely negotiate who gets to risk scraping the curb.Kirk doesn't bother.He barrels along like he owns the asphalt.
As we cross the village square, past a grocery store and the newsagent's shop that proclaims itself "Ye Olde Tartan Boutique," I swear it has a mannequin in the window wearing a pink plaid mankini.The sling suit looks goofy to me, but I'm hardly a fashion maven.For all I know, that silly thing might be the height of couture.
Kirk's hand strays to the stick shift, which is not some sort of innuendo, but honestly should be considering the way he keeps sneaking glances at me.I pointedly ignore him in favor of staring out the window as he narrates local lore with cheerful mansplaining gusto.
"Ye see that past the burn?"He nods toward a humpbacked bridge."That's where Mad Colin took on an entire rugby squad back in the nineties."
"Color me shocked.Did he live?"
Kirk's grin makes his cheeks dimple."Aye, but three of the lads cannae have children anymore."
He laughs at this, like it's the most wholesome thing in the world.I drum my fingers on my thigh, just to prove I know how not to get sucked in by the Balfour charm and make a note to look up "Mad Colin" at the first opportunity.For all I know, that's Kirk's way of saying, "Please don't ask why I kicked you out of my flat with barely enough time to get dressed."
We pull into a slot outside a low, whitewashed shop with a faded red sign that reads DAVINA's FISH 'N MORE, THE TOAST OF GLENCOE.The block letters look freshly painted, but only in the sense that a toddler has recently upgraded the old ones with fingerpaint.Kirk leaps out and does the door-for-the-lady routine again, which I do appreciate.Most men won't treat a woman that way anymore.No one's done that for me in years, and the idea of being doted on by a slightly damp Scottish himbo feels not terrible at this moment.
Inside the shop, Davina's is a shrine to Scottish Highlands food at its best.No fish and chips here, no sir.The shop also features charming artwork depicting crashing waves, salty sailors, and smiling Scots.Will Kirk wow me with Highland foods and beverages?
He's got one more chance to prove himself to me.
With food.
Chapter Eight
Kirk
Gretchen seems to enjoy the ambiance here in Davina's Fish 'N More.Her eyes widen along with her smile as she notices the painting of Highlanders in kilts lifting unfathomable weights over their heads with one ham-sized arm and drinking from barrels of whisky with the other.It's a wee joke for tourists.On the opposite side of the shop, a framed photo shows Davina Lowry herself grinning and laughing.The menu above the counter is handwritten in a loopy script that makes some of the words seem like incantations.Not that I believe in such rubbish.
With Gretchen's permission, I order for us both.She seems glad I did that as I rattle off items both traditionally Scottish and more worldly."Coupla full dinners for here, extra chips, a coleslaw side, two Irn Brus, and a deep-fried Mars Bar to share."
Gretchen's brows gradually inch upward as her eyes grow wide.I did just order her a sugar bomb for dessert after all.We stake out a high-top table overlooking the main street of the village.The misty gold light of the streetlamps creates an almost otherworldly glow, thanks to the darkening sky.Gretchen and I have become the center of attention for reasons I cannae fathom.But I reckon it's mostly because I rarely go out in public with any lass.
