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Unease stabs at me. Growing up in London, I’ve been educated on the dangers of carrying a knife. But he doesn’t notice my fear: he’s too busy carving something into the beam above our heads. To a country boy, a knife probably means something different to what it means to a city kid.

It takes him a while, but once he’s finished, he proudly reveals what he’s done. The letters a + e have been carved into the beam and are surrounded by a heart.

My chest flutters. It’s silly, just like jumping from the raft was. I’ve barely interacted with this boy all holiday, I’m going back to London tomorrow, and yet he carves our initials into wood? Those letters are going to remain there for as long as this house stays standing.

Stupid though it is, I’m giddy that he’s done it. He’s watching me to see how I’ll react, so I take his hand, squeeze it, then plant a kiss on his cheek.

It’s his turn to blush, but the grin never leaves his playful, charming face.

CHAPTER FIVE

EMILY

When I come to, it’s just gone nine o’clock. I must have slept like a log—I don’t remember waking up once.

I sit up, kick off the covers, and stretch. Getting to my feet, I tug open the curtains and am immediately dazzled by blinding light. I shield my eyes and blink fiercely. It takes me a while to get used to the brightness, but when I do, I’m treated to a lovely view of Bannock.

Gorgeous stone houses line the main street. A church spire peeks up over rooftops. Majestic hills loom up behind the town, and over those, the sun shines in a bright-blue sky.

It’s just as pretty as I remember.

After taking a minute to enjoy the view, I survey my room again, assessing it by daylight this time. It’s still tired-looking, but with the curtains open, it’s hard to be as critical as I was last night. That view forgives a lot of sins.

Besides, most people who come here probably think of their room as nothing more than a place to sleep at night. That would have been Dad’s attitude. He’d have spent his waking hours out and about exploring, escaping into nature, seeing the sights. He’d then have enjoyed coffee and cake in a café or a pint in the pub. Only at the end of an exhausting day would he have returned to his room to collapse and sleep. The next day, he’d have woken up and done it all again.

He wouldn’t have cared about the wallpaper or the carpets.

A laminated sheet of paper on the bedside table tells me breakfast is only served until nine thirty. Not wanting to miss it, I take a very quick shower. As the water pressure isn’t great, and it’s more of a lukewarm dribble, there’s no danger of lingering anyway. I pull on a cashmere jumper and jeans—navy this time, more appropriate for the countryside—then run a straightener through my hair and head down to the restaurant.

At the door, I’m greeted by the moody Scotsman from last night.

Ugh, why does he look even more handsome this morning? And why does the smile he flashes my way seem more like a smirk, like it’s impossible for him to be nice, even for a moment? I woke up feeling refreshed, but seeing this guy again, I swear my blood pressure rises.

“Morning. Did you sleep well?”

I did—very well—but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Not really.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe you’ll sleep better tonight. Many of our guests find the country air soothing. Perhaps a long walk would help you . . . relax a little.”

The implication is that I’m highly strung.

I sigh. “Maybe.”

He shows me to my seat. The restaurant isn’t big—I count nine tables—and only two others are occupied. At one, an older man and woman peer at a map and discuss their plans for the day. At another, two even older women sip coffees and read newspapers.

“Can I take your hot drink order?” the Scot asks.

“Coffee, please.”

A brisk nod. “I’ll get my wee brother to bring that out for you. Toast too? Brown, white, mixed?”

“Brown, as long as it’s wholemeal.”

“Very good. It’ll be a few minutes. In the meantime, help yourself to the continental breakfast.” He gestures to a table on which cereals, juices, yogurts, fresh fruit, and pastries have been laid out. “Take a look at the hot menu too. When my brother brings out your coffee and toast, you can give him your order.”

I nod, and he leaves. I watch him as he walks off, my gaze drifting down to his slim-fit jeans, which hug his behind.

I avert my eyes, guilt stabbing at me. What’s wrong with me? And why do I feel like I’ve betrayed Harry? He and I aren’t together anymore.