Holt nodded. “You might have if you hadn’t locked yourself in the midst of dusty old— very old— furnishings for days. The only breaks you’ve taken have been to go into the village, where you got mugged. And again with me.”
“Checked up on me, have ye?”
“Farrell filled me in on what you’ve been doing, though he neglected to mention the mugging. And I have been there for part of the time since you arrived.”
“Aye, well, some of those old— and some ancient— furnishings are quite interesting to me. And valuable.”
“Not all of them?”
“Nay.” Caitlin set her menu aside. She didn’t need it to order what she hoped were the best fish and chips on the island. “The precious pieces are where you might expect— where visitors to the house see them. The more private spaces tend to have more disposable furnishings which, I expect, have changed over time with fashions and the family’s taste.”
“Makes sense. So?—”
Their server interrupted at that point and took their orders.
“So?” Caitlin prompted once they were alone again.
“How much more do you have to do?”
“I’ve done a cursory look in the bedrooms and the upstairs parlor but want to get a closer look at a few pieces up there.” Warming to her favorite subject, she went on to describe the ones that had caught her eye but cut short her explanation when she saw Holt’s gaze wandering around the room. His attention clearly had wandered, too. She clamped down on her irritation. She’d hoped her enthusiasm for the estate and its contents would begin to sway Holt in its favor, but she’d been fooling herself. “As for the main floor, I’m nearly done.” Caitlin frowned at the thought. She should be glad to finish a job where she was so at odds with the client’s wishes. It would allow her to return home for the holidays rather than remain here with strangers, but for some reason, she wasn’t eager to leave.
“Is there a problem?”
Damn, Holt noticed her frown. She needed to guard her expression more carefully. “Nay. I was just trying to recall how many days until Christmas. I don’t mind missing it so much, but I would like to be home for Hogmanay— New Year’s to ye.”
Holt frowned at that. “So, you’ll be here for an American Christmas. Of course, you’re welcome at the estate, though you won’t find much of the spirit of the season there.”
Caitlin nodded. “I know you said you wanted me to finish quickly, but I don’t think I can do a proper job and be gone before Yule. Christmas.”
“No. I…that’s fine. You should know I’m going to the city for work tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few days. But that makes me think. If you wanted to see an American Christmas, New York City is a good place to experience it all.”
“Are you asking me to go with you?”
He leaned back, his expression suddenly hooded. “No, not this time.”
“Is there a problem?” Caitlin echoed his earlier question.
“I will be in meetings the entire time I’m there. And you said you have more to do. You did say you wanted to be home for New Years.”
“Okay.” Caitlin chided herself for thinking he would offer to show her the city. But her stomach sank at the thought of days without having the distraction of Holt around to talk to. To spar with. “I thought the will said you had to remain at the estate.” On the other hand, with him out of the way, she’d get a lot more work done.
“And here you go,” a waiter interrupted before Holt could answer, setting beers and baskets of fried fish and chips for her and a lobster roll for him in front of them. “Is there anything else you need?”
A thick wedge of lemon decorated one side of the pile of golden-brown breaded and fried fish, and Caitlin had noticed the bottle of malt vinegar on the table earlier, so she shook her head.
“We’re fine,” Holt told him.
“Thanks,” Caitlin added. Despite wondering what else Holt had been about to say, she turned her attention to lunch. After a few bites, she told Holt, “You were right. This is good. Not quite up to Scottish standards,” she added with a grin, “but entirely acceptable.” She broke off a piece of the fried fish and handed it to him. “Taste that.”
He chewed for a moment, swallowed, and said, “If the Scots have something better than this, I want to taste it. I’ll have to come over so you can show me all your favorite spots.”
Caitlin nodded, butterflies suddenly fluttering among the bites of fish in her belly. Her favorite spots? She could take that several ways, at least one having nothing to do with food, but everything to do with enjoyment. She studied him while he focused on his food. Had he meant the double entendre, or was she reading more into his comment than she should? At the very least, for a change, Holt only seemed to be trying to charm her. Would he really come to Scotland? Surely not just to try the fish and chips. For her? She sipped her beer, trying to cool the fire that bloomed in her blood. “I have a few ye would enjoy,” she allowed. “But it’s a long flight from California.”
“My business does take me to Europe now and again. I could show up on your doorstep someday.”
An image filled her mind of Holt at her door, stepping inside, and then pulling her into his arms.Ach, she had to stop that right there. Heat was climbing her neck, and she knew her face was going to be red in moments. “Ye’re welcome any time,” she managed to say, grabbed a chip and dribbled enough malt vinegar on it to clear her sinuses for a week— or explain her sudden excess color.
* * *
