Some of the tension in the room has eased as we sit back down. “I’ll have to think about it,” Bridget says. “Give it some real thought.”
“You know no one would judge you if you went back to your old job,” I tell her. “Everyone here cares about you and would want you to do what you feel is best.” Bridget bobs her head, her eyes glazed slightly as if she’s in deep contemplation. My own mind starts to swirl. This is my opening. Now is the perfect time to tell Bridget about my own desire for change. “I’ve actually been thinking about a career change too.”
Bridget rockets out of her chair. I startle, nearly sloshing the tea I just picked back up. “This isn’t because of the projects, is it? I’ll find you something else immediately. I can talk to—”
“No,” I say, cutting her off. “No, it’s not that.” She had been heading around the desk to her computer and now she’s frozen in place, her shoulders tense once more. “Will you chill out and let me explain?”
Her face softens and she laughs lightly. “I’m suddenly wishing I kept a flask in my desk. I feel like we could both use a shot right now.”
“Wanna just bail and head down to Connelly’s?” I ask, and she laughs again, retaking her seat. “I don’t want to say I’m bored with this job, but it’s something like that. I hate to complain, but my heart isn’t in it anymore. I’m working on autopilot.”
“What would you do if you left?” Bridget asks.
“That’s the thing. I don’t know.”
“What about the bookstore?”
“I’ve been working with Piper once or twice a week, but I couldn’t live off that money. It’s probably only a temporary position anyway.”
Bridget slumps down so she can rest her head against the low back of her chair. “I guess I’m not the only one with a lot of thinking to do.” She stares up at the ceiling. I mimic her lounged position, letting my body go limp. “We’ll figure it out.” From the corner of my eye, I see her turn her head toward me, so I do the same. “And in the meantime, I say we have a date this weekend and let loose. Have a drink or five.”
“You’re on.”
*****
After our meeting, Bridget suggests I leave early. “As much as I’d like to bail right now, I can’t, so I’ll live vicariously through you. Get out of here and go do something for yourself.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I gather my things and bustle out of the office. When I get in my car, I decide to drive around until inspiration strikes. Celia won’t be home for a while, and I don’t feel like going home myself. I drive down familiar streets, realizing after a few minutes I’m heading toward the bookstore. I guess I know where I’m spending the next couple of hours.
The weather is surprisingly mild for late January, so I drive past the bookstore’s lot and park down the street. I haven’t checked out any of these shops since my mad rush right before Christmas. I meander down the sidewalk, checking out the window displays. I’ve just stopped in front of a consignment shop when my phone buzzes.
I pull it out of my purse and smile when I see it’s a text from Hugh.
Had to bring the ol’ kilt out today for wedding prep stuff. Imagine me in a white shirt, knee socks, shiny shoes, and whatever else my sister insists on.
I open the attached picture and nearly fumble my phone into the gutter. It would be fitting since that’s where my mind has run off to.
Oh. My. Great. Scot.
The picture is a selfie taken in front of a full-length mirror in what looks like a bedroom. The lighting isn’t great, but that doesn’t detract from the image of Hugh in a kilt and nothing else. My mouth goes dry, then starts to water. I’ve missed that broad chest and the way the light dusting of hair feels under my hands. His hair has grown a bit, and it curls slightly around his ears and neck, giving him a definite Jamie Fraser/Outlandervibe.Yum. The picture is too dark to make out the exact colors of the kilt, but it’s a reddish tone tartan and it looks sinfully sexy on Hugh.
I save the image to my phone and close out the text, hitting the call button. Hugh answers immediately. I hear the smile in his voice as he says, “This is a nice surprise. I thought you’d still be at work.”
I glance at my watch; it’s half past three here, which means it’s eight thirty in Scotland. “Bridget told me to take off early. Who am I to say no to an order from the boss?”
His low chuckle warms me from head to toe, and a few key places in between. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Yours too.” I lean against the brick facade of the consignment shop. “I have to say, you look pretty spectacular in that kilt. I think you should only wear that from now on.”
“Think it may be a wee bit chilly this time of year.” His accent seems a bit thicker than it did when he was living here. The last time we spoke on the phone, I’d wondered if it was my imagination. “Now, fair is fair. I think you ought to send me a picture of what you’re wearing.”
“What I’m wearing? Well, I happen to be wearing nothing at all at the moment.” I turn my head just in time to see a middle-aged guy lingering in the doorway of the shop next door, his eyes wide as they sweep over me. Shit. I whirl away, putting my back to him and unsuccessfully trying to stifle a laugh.
“You okay?” Hugh asks.
“Fine, other than giving some random guy a mental image I’m sure he could have lived without.” I push off the wall and start walking again. “I’m actually heading to the bookstore. And in case you’re still wondering, I’m wearing normal work clothes with my veryunsexyfluffy winter jacket.”
