“Because he’s tall and shaggy and scowls all the time?”
“I can hear you,” I shout back. “And I do not scowl all the time.”
They don’t reply, but their laughter carries up the path, bright as bells.
“You do a bit though.” Ewan frowns at me. “You’ve even got a line between your eyes from it. Right in the middle.”
“Don’t make me drop you.”
“Drop the injured boy with the dead friend? You can’t. Even you’re not that much of a dick.” He smiles lopsidedly. “Besides, she’ll fancy you more if you act like the hero. Now she’s sweet on me and all. Chicks are such suckers for a sob story.”
“Who will fancy me?”
Ewan rolls his eyes. “Who do you think? The pipsqueak with the violin? Her mum’s pretty hot. Bit on the stern side. Scowl city, the two of you.” He elbows me in the ribs. “Rowan, of course.”
“I don’t want her to fancy me.” I say it too fast, the words jumbling together into one barely comprehensible mess. “I don’t even like her.”
Ewan grunts in disbelief. “Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding, yeah?”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding.”
This time, I keep control of the speed, but lose it on the volume, squawking the last word.
“Wedding?” Priya bounds forward. “Is someone getting married?”
I fight the urge to dropkick Ewan into the trees. Dead friend and sprained ankle or no, the lad is getting on my last nerve.
Luckily, I’ve spent a lifetime dodging well-meaning questions and know how to think on my feet.
“A couple are holding their wedding at my farm this weekend. So, we were talking about that.”
There. The perfect excuse.
“Thisweekend?” Rowan’s eyes are wide.
“Yes?”
“At yourfarm?”
“Also, yes? That’s what I said.” I don’t know what’s gotten in to her, and I don’t like it one bit.
“Where is your farm?”
“About an hour’s drive north of Fort William.” There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“And are the couple’s names Sophie and Henry?”
The sinking feeling turns into a yawning pit. “Yes.”
“That’s my sister’s wedding!”
Priya stares at us like we’re a tennis match, her face scrunched in confusion. “So you’ll both be at the same wedding? Is that… good?”
Is that good? I have no idea.
Rowan. Whose presence lights something inside me. Who can drive me crazy with syllable. Who I’ve already sworn myself off because there is no way she’s a one-time fuck.
In a few days, she won’t be catching the fastest train back to London. She’ll be at her fancy-ass sister’s wedding, wearing a fancy-ass dress, drinking fancy-ass champagne. On my farm. On my land.
