Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“Where to first?” he asks, leaning against the side of the buggy with the keys in his hand. He watches me intently. The corners of his eyes crinkled up in enjoyment.
“Aren’t you the tour guide here?” I ask teasingly. “Shouldn’t you already have a plan?”
He grins and then nods. “Alright. With me, then.”
With him? Anywhere.
I take his arm when he offers it as we walk the short distance to the village’s main street, taking in stores, bakeries, and all kinds of other exciting sights.
Best of all are the people.
I can’t say I understand all of them with their thick accents, especially the older residents, who seemed particularly unintelligible. Those I do understand, however, greet Finlay with warmth and enthusiasm.
He seems to know them all, talking about daughters away at college (a thought that fills me with a momentary spike of jealousy until I remember his earlier words) and the husbands who are at home with carers. Even pets who have recently been taken to the vet.
The people love him, and he loves them.
It’s clear that being Laird is far more than being like a CEO to him.
He sells himself short.
These people, this estate, this land – it’s his life.
A thought creeps up on me that fills my mind with horror because it means only one thing at the end of the week. When I return home, any hope I have of a vacation romance will be left just that – a vacation and nothing more.
When I fly home, it will all be over.
That is why it’s so hard to watch him with the people, to see him hunting with enthusiasm for a specific type of highland cow figurine that will please my aunt, and to feel the warmth of his hand in mine – because it’s all going to be over, no matter what I feel for him.
It’s early evening by the time they are done with our day in the village. I’m laden with new souvenirs, enough to fill half my suitcase, and I’m starting to wonder how I’m going to bring it all back.
There are also some small trinkets Finlay insisted on buying for me – a pair of earrings that I’m not sure I will be able to wear when I get home because they will make me sad that it’s all in the past.
“What’s next?” I ask as I nestle back into the buggy’s passenger seat, resting my feet and my back. I had a lot of fun, and there were plenty of breaks, so I don’t even feel that tired out.
The day is getting late, though, and I think I recognize our route as one that will lead us back to the estate.
“Dinner,” Finlay says and flashes me a grin. “Remember I said we have a chef on staff for special events?”
“Yes?” I say and then get what he’s implying, and my eyes widen. “You didn’t hire him for the night just for me?”
Finlay reaches over without taking his eyes off the road, finds my hand with his, and brings it to his lip for a kiss before letting go. “I can’t think of a more special occasion than this.”
I can barely think of anything to say.
What can I say to something like that?
I have never been treated this way before.
The house looms up in the near distance, I eye it with anticipation, wondering how the night is going to get better from here.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Finlay
I smile at the look on Alana’s face as the plates are brought in.
She enjoyed everything I showed her today. It was like seeing everything for the first time, both through her eyes and by proxy through mine.
Every cobbled stone in the village that I’ve taken for granted since I was a little boy is something exciting to be cherished by her. And seeing it that way, I, too, find myself cherishing it that little bit more.
But the dinner is shaping up to be the best surprise yet.
“Thanks, Tom,” I tell the chef as he places my meal in front of me. He does the same for Alana and then nods his head before heading back to the kitchen – a man of few words but great skills. “Alright. Dig in.”
“This looks incredible!” Alana exclaims. She is hesitant with a knife and fork over the starter, poised but still. “How am I supposed to destroy it?”
I chuckle. Tom is known for his exceptional skill at plating up as well as his flavors. The perfectly poached egg balanced right in the middle of the dish is one of the highlights.
All the more so because of its small size, having been laid by a quail.
“Take a picture if you like,” I tell her. “That way, you can both enjoy the art of it later and its flavor now.”
“Yes!” Alana says excitedly, grabbing up her cell phone and then flushing across the top of her cheekbones in a way that I find utterly irresistible. “To be honest, I wanted to take some shots, but I thought it might be rude.”