Page 27
“Don’t make me count, Noah.”
He growls like a feral wolf pup and rolls over, hair sticking up in all directions as he runs his fingers through his black curls.
I put the plate down on his lap, then get back into bed next to him. “Eat up, we have a busy day ahead.”
“What? Why?”
“I have the day off work, and you’re finished with the barn, so I’m taking you out.”
“What if I don’t want to go out?”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Then I’ll throw you over my shoulder and make you.”
He scoffs, like he thinks I’m joking. I’d prove to him I’m not, but I don’t want to risk it so soon after eating. Being stuck in Portnalong for three weeks would be enough to drive anyone crazy; he needs some fresh air.
I finish my eggs and hold my hand out to take his plate. He passes it over to me, and when I see he’s eaten everything I cooked him, something warm and strange unfurls in my chest.
“Where are we going?” Noah asks as he follows me along a rocky footpath.
“Bodach an Stòir.”
He stops suddenly, frowning. “You speak Gaelic?”
“A bit.” I point to an information pedestal behind him that says “Bodach an Stòir” with “Old Man of Storr” beneath it. He wanders over to read it, and then he’s off, making his own way along the trail, leaving me behind.
Maybe the fresh air is doing him some good.
I can only stand walking in silence for a few minutes before I test the waters. “So, catch me up.”
“Catch you up on what?” Noah asks without looking back.
I want to know everything, but I have Richard’s voice in my head telling me not to stress Noah out. So, I keep it surface-level, just to get him talking more. “Remind me what you studied at uni?”
“Business management.”
“What did you do after?”
“Worked in business management.”
Alright, he’s still being a little shit.
“You must have done something other than work the past nine years.”
“What have you been doing?” He flips the question back on me.
Wanting to lead by example, I answer him properly. “Well, I came back to Skye after graduating and started working with Luke full time …” I realise just how hard it is to sum up years of memories, because I can’t think of a single fucking thing I’ve done other than work, fuck, sleep, repeat. “Ah! I do a yearly charity boxing match in Inverness. This October will be my fourth.”
“Are you any good?” Noah finally turns around to acknowledge me, eyes trailing down my body. I find myself flexing my muscles under his scrutiny.
“I’d say I’m decent. Two out of three matches won.”
He sucks his teeth. “Not undisputed champion, then? Shame.”
“That’s not … It doesn’t work like that. It’s just a charity match,” I argue.
Two out of three is good!
“So you just fight random men off the street?” He starts walking again, and I keep up the pace as much as I can while dodging other hikers.
