And worst of all, one question keeps haunting me:
Did Finn think there was something between Jamie and me?
Did he misunderstand?
Is that why he’s avoiding me?
The day rushes past in a blur.
I don’t have time to look for Finn because veterinary emergencies keep piling up. A dog got into a fight. A sheep—not Hamish, for once—got its leg trapped in a fence. One horse starts showing signs of mild colic.
I don’t stop.
I barely eat.
I barely drink water.
And every single time I glance toward the medical station in the distance, I search for a familiar silhouette that never appears.
Evening finally settles over the Highland Games.
The day’s competitions are over. People gather around the bonfire laughing, drinking, bragging about their victories.
I’m exhausted.
But I need to talk to Finn.
We haven’t been alone together since…
Our kiss.
My heart stumbles, warmth flooding my chest at the memory.
I cross the Games grounds, weaving around groups of laughing people until I reach the medical station.
The tent glows softly from inside.
I can see Finn’s shadow moving around, probably putting away supplies.
I stop outside the entrance, inhale deeply, and step inside.
Finn is there with his back to me, bent over a crate of medical equipment.
He doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense almost imperceptibly.
“Can we talk?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Silence stretches between us.
Long.
Uncomfortable.
“About what?” he replies finally without turning around.
“About us. I feel like you’re avoiding me.”
He places a stethoscope into his medical bag with movements that are too precise.
