Then us.
“Maybe he’ll just move along,” Finn suggests weakly.
Then Ragnar charges.
One second he’s standing there, and the next he lunges onto the plaid, grabs a corner in his teeth, and starts pulling.
“Ragnar, no!” I yell while pulling back.
Too late.
The sheep yanks with all his strength, dragging me with him because I had the brilliant idea of hanging onto the blanket. I end up sprawled flat on the grass, Finn tries to catch me, and suddenly we’re both tangled in tartan.
Fabric tears loudly.
Ragnar trots away triumphantly with a large chunk of the plaid clenched in his teeth, but I barely notice because Finn is practically lying on top of me, staring directly into my eyes.
My body reacts like I’ve never been this close to a man before.
Truthfully, it’s been a very long time since I’ve been this close to any attractive male specimen.
“Sorry,” Finn breathes.
But another bleat interrupts him.
Finn and I turn our heads at the exact same time.
Hamish is standing there.
Of course he is.
The legendary sheep appears out of nowhere, charges toward Ragnar, and literally tackles him.
The two sheep tumble across the ground in a violent blur of wool, horns, and tartan.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Finn groans.
We scramble awkwardly to our feet.
The remaining piece of plaid is now stretched between the two sheep as they yank in opposite directions like they’re competing in a tug-of-war tournament.
“We have to save the blanket,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because it’s our romantic picnic blanket!”
“It’s a blanket. We can buy another one. Besides, it’s destroyed now that it’s ripped in half…”
“Finn, the entire village is watching us.”
I point toward the road below.
Sure enough, several people have stopped to stare.
One of them is even holding up a phone.
Finn follows my gaze and visibly pales.
