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“Evie!” Fiona waved as Ava munched chocolate wedding favors and a pouting Poppy tugged at her dress.
“Mummy! Mum…” The pink-cheeked cherub bounced desperately on the spot.
“One moment, sweetie.” Smoothing Poppy’s auburn ringlets, Fiona glanced up. “Eves, I bet the kitchen still has meals.”
Food was the last thing on her mind. “Oh, it’s fine. I ate already,” she fibbed, looking for Nick. To her left, the bride and groom plied guests with the Bride’s Cog, a drinking vessel resembling a mini wooden barrel cut horizontally in half. Boasting two handles and a warm, brain-numbing concoction of whiskey, brandy, rum, gin, port, beer, stout, spices, and brown sugar, the long-celebrated Orcadian wedding tradition was passed from reveler to reveler until the potent mixture was finished (but even then, it was usually replenished). Recipes varied from family to family and were a sworn secret.
“Evie Sutherland!” Rebecca held out the tub-shaped cog, inviting her to partake.
“Congratulations, Becca! I’m so happy for you!” Evie stuffed her clutch under her arm and took the smallest of sips. Sweet and spicy, the flavor was as familiar as the winds on an Orkney beach. Lowering the cog, she leaned in to hug the bride, spotting Nick over her shoulder.
Hollywood handsome, wearing the morning suit he’d teased her with in an earlier text, his shoulders were stiff and eyes cold as he engaged in what looked like a heated conversation in the corner with her brother.
Shit. Evie snapped the clasp on her silver clutch. Sam knows already?
Distracted by a blond toddler careening past, her friends were oblivious to her unease. Diaper bag dangling from his shoulder and a plush baby Yoda in his hand, Tarquin nodded hello tightly and darted through the crush of guests in hot pursuit of his offspring.
“Peedie”—Fiona crouched down to Ava while Poppy yanked her dress again—“why don’t you help Uncle Tarq with Luke?”
The corners of Ava’s chocolate-speckled lips dipped. “But Mum, Luke bites!”
Sunita held her hand. “Let’s teach him how to be a gentleman, yeah?” With a wink, she whisked Ava away.
Lifting Poppy, Fiona turned to Evie. “This one needs the loo. Be back in a sec.”
“’Kay.” Evie smiled, her cheeks blazing. Wow. She fanned herself. That cog was something else! Revisiting the corner, she saw Nick and Sam were gone, but she spied Gemma, rosy-cheeked and arm in a tie-dyed sling chatting with Rupert. She scanned the other side of the room. Caleb held hands with the school’s sprite of a science teacher while Puggie, the bride’s (and Sunita’s) ex, slumped against the wall beside a moustached Stuart and his pregnant wife, an eco-lawyer from Glasgow. The trio clinked their pints in celebration and—
“Evie.”
Goosebumps pricked her bare arms as she spun around, fighting the angst knotted in her belly. “Nikolai.”
“You look lovely.” His expression remained all business, but his voice crackled with smouldering want. And that suit! Nick rocked a bespoke suit like 007, but this traditional attire—the fitted black jacket (with tails), crisp white shirt, charcoal-striped trousers, and cream waist coat—made him look like he’d stepped off the world’s most delicious, raisin-free wedding cake.
Ignoring the thrum in her chest, Evie kept a respectful distance, determined not to reward the rubbernecking guests mingling nearby with a lusty grab of his lapels. “We need to talk,” she said calmly with a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glance around the room.
He nodded once, his focus skimming her simple updo. “Meet me upstairs in five. Room twelve.”
It felt like the longest five minutes of Evie’s life.
Door flying open, Nick pulled her close, his heavy gaze locked on her mouth. “God, you look stunning! I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too.” Breathless, Evie met his lips and let him in, tasting the cog’s heated spice on his swirling tongue. She pushed him back against the closed door, her hands roaming through his hair while Nick pressed into her, his thigh wedged between her slightly parted legs. He moaned into her mouth and Evie pulled back. “Nick…”
He peppered a curve of open-mouthed kisses along her jaw. “Yeah?”
“We really need to talk.”
Nick’s lips stilled on Evie’s neck. “Right.” He straightened up and motioned into his messy hotel room. “Want a drink first? Some water—?”
“Does Sam know?” she blurted. “About…you know?”
“No! I haven’t told anyone.”
“He looked angry.”
Scratching his brow, Nick glanced away. “Yeah, because he hates my guts and I stupidly asked how he was.”
“And that’s it?” Evie searched his face. “You’re sure?”
