Izzy grabbed a couple of items from the display in front of her. ‘I need to pay for these,’ she said, now feeling quite flustered. She wished Philip would stop staring at her like that. It was making all her good intentions start to cave. She did not want to get back on the Philip sky train of hope and despair.
‘Can I call you, Izzy?’ he asked and stood there, staring after her like some tragic romantic hero as she took a few steps backwards before turning to scurry away clutching her purchases like they were tiny life belts keeping her anchored to common sense.
Chapter Fifteen
Izzy’s mind whirled during the short walk back across to the Old Town and she barely noticed the icy bite of the wind nipping at her cheeks as it whistled around the corners of the tall stone buildings. Philip wanted to talk. Was she about to fall into the same old pattern?
Determined to push him out of her mind, she focused on her surroundings and the obvious drop in temperature. The odd snowflake had started to fall and it felt a bit like the orchestra tuning up before the main event.
As befitting an age-old celebration that had its origins in bringing cheer to the dead of winter, the darkness of the city was banished by exuberant light displays from giant snowflakes dancing up and down the Scott Monument, a laser show lighting up Edinburgh Castle’s walls through to the dazzling tunnel of light outside St Giles on the Royal Mile.
As soon as she walked into the restaurant, she spotted Ross perched on one of the high stools at the rustic wooden tables in the bar area. His size alone made him an imposing presence but there was that self-possession about him that she found so attractive. He was also surrounded by all her shopping bags, which made her smile.
‘Hi,’ she said, suddenly unaccountably shy and conscious that her face must be glowing and the tip of her nose was probably doing a very good impression of Rudolph.
‘Hi,’ he said, with a smile that suggested he understood her sudden confusion.
He wasn’t Ross Strathallan anymore, her history professor guest, he was Ross Adair, bestselling author with several books under his belt, the first of which had been made into a very successful television series.
‘Hi,’ she said again, her tongue not so much tying itself in knots but attempting macrame. Why couldn’t she think of anything to say? Then her tongue unravelled itself and she blurted, ‘Now the Range Rover makes sense.’
If he’d been wearing glasses, the look he gave her now would have been one of those peering over the top of the frames.
Flustered, she tried to explain. ‘I didn’t think history professors made that much money.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded.
‘So. Ross Adair.’
He winced. ‘Sorry. I—’
‘Oh god, was I fangirling when I talked about your book that day?’ Izzy put her hands up to her face, her eyes widening as she tried to remember what she’d said to him about the audiobook she was listening to when they were decorating the dining room. Had she gushed about how much she loved his books? ‘How embarrassing. Of course, I do like your books. I’ve read them all. Oh, I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just … well, I really do love them.’ She felt the blush creeping up her neck. ‘Sorry, I’m making a dick of myself. I can see why you don’t tell people.’
He reached over and put a hand on hers. ‘McBride. It’s fine. You’re fine. Would you like a drink?’
‘Oh god, yes, a triple whisky. I need one.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay. Maybe a glass of wine. Yes, a glass of wine.’ Why, oh why, was she suddenly so all over the place? It was Ross. He hadn’t changed. Except he had. Now he was some kind of distant superstar. She surreptitiously examined him as he spoke to the waiter and ordered a glass of wine for her and a sparkling water for him.
As if he read her mind, he said. ‘I’m still the same person.’
She heaved out a sigh. ‘I know. Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. It was a… Why don’t you tell people?’ She paused and slapped her forehead. ‘Duh. Because of this. The way I’m behaving.’
‘They don’t all behave like this,’ he teased.
‘Just me.’
‘It’s kind of cute.’
‘Urgh. I’ve never been cute in my life. Always too tall. Clumsy, too. Like I’m being now.’
He laughed and squeezed her hand. ‘You’re not being clumsy.’
She put a stop on her tongue, preventing herself from saying anything else, and concentrated on breathing. He was holding her hand. Did he realise? The weight of it, warm and strong, was rather lovely, but she shouldn’t read anything into it. Then he removed it to hail a passing waiter.
Despite his denial, she felt like she’d made a complete idiot of himself. No wonder he kept what he did quiet. She winced suddenly, imagining Xanthe’s reaction. She’d be shouting it from the rooftops. God, she’d have a field day with this juicy titbit and would maximise the drama from it. She could hear it now, her mother’s loud voice broadcasting the news to all and sundry. ‘Did you know we have the world famous author Ross Adair staying with us at the moment? Writing his new bestseller. Underourroof.’
