“Oh, I was simply taking my daily walk,” she replies innocently. “It’s a lovely day for eating shortbread during a picnic, don’t you think?”
I press my lips together.
She must have seen me leaving the kitchen earlier.
Maggie always knows everything.
She walks away humming to herself.
Eventually, Finn and I finally stand up.
We’re covered in grass, our hair is a mess, and the destroyed plaid lies in pieces at our feet.
Duncan Fraser waves enthusiastically from the road.
“You two are adorable!”
I answer with a strained smile and a tiny wave.
Finn picks up what’s left of the picnic basket, including the shortbread tin, which somehow survived untouched.
“We could still... try to finish the picnic?” he offers awkwardly.
I stare at him.
“Seriously?”
He shrugs.
“We came all this way. And technically, we gave the village quite a show, so I think we deserve a reward.”
Despite myself, I smile.
“Okay.”
We settle onto the grass again—this time on half a plaid—keeping a respectful distance from the three sheep.
Finn opens the cider and pours it into two plastic cups.
We clink them together quietly.
The spectators from our sheep-related disaster have finally dispersed. The village below us looks peaceful again. The sheep are asleep.
And for the first time since this whole ridiculous charade started...
I feel good.
“Mary?”
“Yeah?”
Finn looks at me, and there’s something different in his expression.
“Thank you.”
“For what? Dragging you into the worst picnic in Scottish history?”
A real smile spreads across his face this time.
