“And a black Americano for me,” Locke said.
“Coming right up.” She plugged the drinks into the till. The charge popped up on the payment reader in front of me. I pulled my card out, but Locke knocked my hand away.
“I’ve got it.”
“No, I’ve got it,” I said. I could pay for my own drink. It’s not like this was an actual date or anything.
“But your doting fiancé wants to pay,” he said under his breath.
“I can dote on you too,” I argued.
Cat smirked at us, steaming the milk for my drink. “I see working out the kinks is going well.”
When I’d told Cat I’d agreed to be Locke’s fake fiancée, she’d practically started drooling, claiming this would be better than all her reality shows combined. And that was saying something considering she was binging bothThe KardashiansandThe Secret Lives of Mormon Wives.
“Working out the kinks is how we ended up in this situation,” I muttered under my breath, trying to get my card on the reader.
“That was smooth sailing,” Locke cut in. “Being your fiancé is infinitely harder.”
“Just wait until I start planning this fake wedding,” I teased. “Bridezilla coming at you.”
He pretended to shudder, and I couldn’t help laughing even as I nudged Locke out of the way. Or, at least, I tried to. The guy was like a brick wall.Must be all that muscle, I thought, letting my eyes flick up and down him in a way they had no business flicking.
Get it together, girl. This was mission critical.
Convince Jo. Lay the groundwork. And stop staring at Locke’s ass.
I had to get everyone on board thinking we were the most endearing couple they’d ever seen. And when Dad started wondering what was really best for the town, hopefully people would say, “You know, Dougal, wouldn’t it be grand if your daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law had the distillery property? Wouldn’t it just be the best thing ever to keep it in the family? Shouldn’t Braeburn get to benefit from having access to all that gorgeous land?”
I gritted my teeth together. I didn’t really think convincing Dad would be that easy, but a girl could dream.
Beeeep!
“Speaking of weddings, though,” Locke said, pulling his card off the reader. I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering where hewas going with this. “We probably should choose a hypothetical wedding day in case your father asks.”
“March,” I said.
“Why March?”
“Spring, no major tourist crowds, the midges aren’t really an issue yet,” I said, rhyming the reasons off on my fingers.
“We’re getting married in the Highlands?” Locke said.
I dropped my hand to my hips. “Aren’t we?”
“I was thinking tropical.”
“Ew, no. Hard pass.”
Cat snorted. “Isla doesn’t like the feeling of sand between her toes.”
“Really?” Locke said to me. “Weird.”
“There she is,” Cat murmured, dropping two mugs down in front of us, her eyes flicking toward the bathroom where Jo had just exited. “Showtime.”
I pulled my phone out quickly, flipping the camera around to make sure I looked all right. I rubbed the blush into my cheeks a little more and smoothed the gloss on my lips.
“You look fine,” Locke whispered, his hand falling to the small of my back. I chose to ignore the shiver that zipped up my spine.
