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“Fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine, but like I said, I have work tomorrow. I’ve already stayed longer than I should. Good night, Lewis.” And with that, she leaves.
Bollocks. Tonight was the closest I’ve felt to her in years. Why did I have to blurt out something stupid and drive her away?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LEWIS
I stick my head back into the office. “Oi, Jamie, I asked you ten minutes ago to set up the restaurant for dinner, and you’ve still not done it. Move your arse!”
He doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “I’m going to do it. Just give me one more minute.” He continues to tap away.
The joys of working with family. Aye, he’s my wee brother, but when a manager tells an employee to do something, shouldn’t they get straight onto it without fuss?
I walk in and glance at his screen. As I expected, he’s playing that Highland Legacy game he’s obsessed with. I close over the laptop lid.
“Bloody hell, Lewis!” Jamie scowls at me and flings his arms out in frustration. “I was in the middle of chatting with someone.”
“Oh, were you typing messages to a wee gamer friend? I’m so sorry, I hadn’t realised. My mistake—take all the time you need.” I open the laptop back up—then immediately shut it again. “On second thoughts, I couldn’t give a fuck. Get your arse in the restaurant. Now!”
He leans back in his chair and folds his arms, smirking. “Wow, someone’s tetchy. This is what happens when you stay up late drinking—oh, and singing duets with the lass you’ve had the hots for your whole life.”
I flick his ear with my finger and am rewarded with a satisfying yelp. “With my friend,” I correct.
“Aye, right.” He rubs his ear. “Remember the time Ally and Emily danced together in the Pheasant? Remind me, how long was it after that before they started going at it like rabbits on speed?”
A loud groan escapes my lips. “You really are the absolute worst. Iona has a boyfriend.”
“I know that”—he gestures to himself—“but do you?” He points to my face—then lowers his finger. “And what about your dick?”
With that, I’ve had enough. I wrestle him out of his chair, and we tumble to the floor, grappling with each other as he laughs and tries to fend me off.
“You wee shite,” I growl, planting my forearm firmly across his chest and pinning him down. “Do you ever shut up?”
“Not when winding you up is this easy. I know it’s Iona you really want to be rolling around with, but I’m flattered I’m your second choice.”
God, he never gets any better, and he always has a wisecrack ready. In a moment of clarity, I realise the absurdity of this situation. We’re both well into our twenties, and guests will soon be arriving for dinner, yet here we are, in a tangle of arms and legs, like we’re still teenagers. Normally, I’m more professional than this, but Iona’s return has stirred up some old emotions, and I seem to be reverting to immature ways of coping with such feelings.
I stand and straighten my shirt then hold out a hand to Jamie and hoist him back to his feet.
“Sorry, but could you please just set the tables and stuff? I need to help Elspeth in the kitchen.”
“Fine.” Grinning, he dusts himself down.
We head out of the office, go around the reception desk, and manage a couple of steps towards the restaurant when the front door opens and Richard enters. Oh, shit. Why is he here?
I nod at him and even offer a small smile, acting more relaxed than I feel. “Hi, Richard. How are you doing?”
He doesn’t return the smile. “Can we talk?”
Jamie rubs his hands together. “Are you two going to fight? This is going to be so good! Lewis has actually just had a warm-up—he was practising WWE moves on me in the office.”
Abandoning my earlier resolve to remain professional, I give Jamie a shove. “Sure, we can talk,” I say to Richard. “Let’s head out to the garden—we should get a bit of peace there. Jamie, you get the restaurant set up.”
I lead Richard into the function room, out through the French windows, and into the garden. On the far side of the grass are a couple of benches. I approach them and gesture to one, indicating for Richard to sit. He makes no attempt to do so but does inspect the plaque on the bench. It reads in memory of angus and mairi mcintyre, sorely missed but fondly remembered.
“Your parents?”
