And then there’s Mary.
She’s perched on the armrest of Maggie’s chair, wineglass in hand, laughing at something someone just said.
She’s wearing a dark green sweater that makes her auburn hair stand out.
She looks relaxed.
Everything I’m not.
“Ah! Doctor McLeod!” Maggie exclaims when she notices me. “Come in, come in!”
Every head turns toward me.
Fantastic.
I walk into the room with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man heading toward the gallows.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening,” the tall brunet replies, standing to shake my hand. “Callum McGregor. Nice to finally meet you.”
His handshake is firm.
The kind of handshake that says I’m evaluating you and will decide afterward whether you’re trustworthy.
“Finn McLeod.”
“And this is my wife, Jane.”
Jane rises with difficulty, one hand resting on her rounded stomach.
“You don’t need to stand,” I say automatically.
“I’m not sick, Doctor,” she replies with an amused smile. “Just pregnant. There’s a difference.”
I feel my ears heat slightly.
“Of course. Sorry.”
“I’m Keira McKenzie,” the auburn-haired woman says from the couch. “And this is my husband, Alistair. Owner of the McKenzie distillery.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“Lachlan McGregor,” says the last man. “And this is my wife, Emma. She owns the village dry cleaner’s.”
“Hello.”
Emma gives me a little wave.
Her smile is sincere.
Warm.
The kind of smile that immediately puts people at ease.
“And of course, you already know Mary,” Maggie says with a smile dangerously reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat.
Mary lifts her wineglass toward me.
