But Carli didn’t believe that, and she didn’t want him to either. So when she was around, he tried not to. And somehow, with her in his camp, it was whole lot easier.
Chapter 9
Carli
Shivering a little in the cooler evening air, Carli waited at the entrance to the marquee. Niall was wise to get his jacket. Scottish summer evenings were not balmy, like Australian ones. However, what more than made up for the temperate climate was the view down the Butlers’ expansive lawn towards the coastline. At the foot there was a hedge, and beyond that, across a small road, a golf course that led down to the sea. It was gone half seven and the evening light was dimming.
There came a light touch on Carli’s shoulder and she turned to see Niall again.
‘Alright, let’s go?’ He held up his jacket, the short, fitted affair with epaulettes she’d admired him in earlier. ‘This is for you.’
‘No, you wear it.’ Carli wanted him in his full Scotsman outfit again. Niall’s sturdy legs were made for a kilt, and the jacket along with it made him practically edible. Although the best part, she’d realised from glimpses this afternoon, was when it came off and there hewas, kilt belted tight around his waist, white cotton shirt and fitted waistcoat hugging at his broad frame.
Oh, to be that waistcoat.
‘Nope, I didn’t get it for me.’ While Carli indulged in her sexy memories of him, Niall was still chivalrously holding the jacket out. ‘I got it for you. That dress is stunning, but it can’t be warm.’
Conceding, she let Niall slip his jacket onto her shoulders. It was huge and boxy and smelled of him: citrus, sea salt, masculine.
They meandered down the lawn towards the golf course, the evening light pink and peach as the sun set behind the Isle of Islay in the distance.
Beautiful. No wonder Mum’s heart never left here.
‘It’s stunning, isn’t it?’ Niall remarked.
‘It truly is. There’s something about Kinshore. It’s like being in a bubble. And I’m closer to my mum when I’m here. As if she’s looking out for me and asking her friends here to do the same. Everyone’s been so lovely tonight, especially your family. You’re so lucky, still having your whole family.’
‘Aye.’
At this monosyllabic response, Carli’s mistake hit her. Niall didn’t technically have his whole family because of his biological dad’s death in the fire he started to sabotage the distillery. And he was about to lose Jimmy Butler. She, of all people, should get how much this dynamic would mess with his head.
‘Sorry,’ she added. ‘I know it’s not all shortbread and cupcakes.’
‘Shortbread and cupcakes! Nope, that it ain’t. I do appreciate my family, though. Being ten thousand miles away hasshown me how much they mean to me. And then, being back, I realise it even more. I guess you don’t appreciate how much you’ve missed something until it’s right back in front of you.’
There may have been a double meaning in that, but Carli wasn’t about to ask. So, instead, they walked the short distance to the beach in silence, strangely, not as awkward as it might be, considering the circumstances. How was it you could know some people all your life and had to fill the quiet with words, and with others you could go years not seeing them and be so at ease saying nothing?
On the beach, it became apparent how sheltered the marquee had been and even, to some extent, the golf course. Here, on the wide expanse of whipped buttery sand, the wind had free rein to do what it liked. There was no protection; everything was exposed, much like her heart in Niall’s presence.
‘Will you be braving any surfing when you are here?’ He was staring out to the horizon, a wistfulness cloaking him, his gaze so far away it was like he was trying to see Australia. Niall had always been different on the beach, but it was usually a happy different, like he was as free as the elements surrounding him.
‘Maybe,’ he said distantly.
‘You scared of the cold?’ Carli ventured. ‘You used to say you’re not really Scottish if you find the water here cold.
‘Did I say that? Ha. You could put that inspirational quote on a dishtowel.’
‘Yes, and you’re still Scottish, so I’m sure you could handle the temperature.’
‘I could get used to the cold.’ Niall agreed. ‘But surfing isn’t doing it for me like it used to.’
‘Seriously?’ Was there ever a surfer who stopped loving it? Niall was always wedded to his board, so much so thatthe family joked that when he was born, he’d come out surfing. ‘But you love it. You used to love it.’
‘I did. I do. But stuff happened.’
‘Did you get an injury?’ Surfing had been Niall’s medicine. It was what he did to get over or through things. Not something to be avoided. What was going on?
‘Och, it’s fine.’ He picked up a stone and threw it down the sand. ‘I don’t want to bring the mood down.’
