Page 7 of Highlands Summer Wedding

“One weekend,” I hissed. “Name your price.”

“Not. Happening.”

I slammed my palm on the desk. “Your supervisor. NOW.”

The guy jabbed his thumb toward the far corner. A tall man in a charcoal Patagonia stood with his back to us, one hand gesturing as he spoke, the other gripping a walkie-talkie.

That voice. It couldn’t be.

Max MacLeod.

He turned, and his blue eyes fixed on me. One beat. Two. The room seemed to contract around us, the noise fading to a distant hum as I zeroed in on the silver threads in his beard that hadn’t been there five years ago.

“Abby?!” Max crossed the room in four strides, arms opening. He pulled me into a hug.

Cedar cologne. Same as always.

And for one unguarded second, I was back in the parking lot of the Gristmill, watching our deposit go up in smoke. Our date. June 18. We’d missed the cancellation window by four days because Max had taken a film gig. And by the time the film fell through, there was nothing left to reschedule. We were just done.

I cleared my throat, the words sticking. “This is my sister, Caitlin,” I said. “Uh, and her fiancé, Angus.”

My hand trembled as I gestured between them. “They’re planning their wedding here. Where they met.”

His eyes softened. “Wonderful location.” His gaze lingered on me a beat too long before he looked back at the venue. “So authentically Scottish, you know?”

“What can we do to make that happen?” I asked.

“I hear the loch is lovely in the fall. I can get you the contact information for the owner,” Max began.

Angus stepped forward, shoulders squared. “Drew MacAlister’s been my best mate since primary school. Our wedding’s next month—her birthday weekend.”

Max sighed. “Well, we’re knee deep in production and won’t be done with the shoot until the end of July. And then there’s always pickups.”

I stepped closer to Max than was probably smart. “With a production this size, you must have other locations. We only need a few days.”

“You know I’d help if I could, Abby.” His fingers brushed mine as he gestured. “But legal’s locked everything down with insurance. One drunk wedding guest falls into the loch, and we’re finished.”

“You’re looking well,” he added softly.

I bit back a compliment. “There must be something we can do.”

“I wish there was.”

I looked at Caitlin and saw all the hope draining out of her face. Then five years of resentment made me erupt.

“Don’t tell me you’re making some stupid Loch Ness monster movie that nobody wants when my sister?—”

“It’s the Culloden movie,” he said quietly.

Oh. Wow. Shit.

I looked away, buying myself a second. The Culloden movie. The one he’d pitched to anyone who would listen back when we were still sharing a one-bedroom in Silver Lake. The one nobody would touch.

“How did you get the financing?” It came out more clipped than I intended.

“Took a while.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

“Well.” I gave a small nod. “Good. That’s really good, Max.”