Page 47 of A Little Bit More

“I still love my Colin,” Margaret confessed quietly. Even after so many years, the ache of losing her husband was a dull throb within her. One that never relented.

“And you always will.” Heather sounded choked, the understanding making her words heavy. She’d lost her husband only a few years earlier, and the wound was still very raw. “But this could be another chance at loving somebody. Somebody just for you. Do you want to miss out on that just because you’re scared?”

Heather had cut to the heart of the matter. She was terrified of making a terrible mistake, of being hurt, of being vulnerable again—of losing someone else.

“I don’t remember how to do this,” she whispered, knowing if her friends had been there, they would have wrapped her in hugs.

“It’s easy,” Jean said, missing the point entirely, as usual. “You let him pay, you don’t offer it up on the first date, and you laugh at his jokes. Oh, and you get access to the hotel store cupboards, which means mini shampoos all around again!”

Everyone burst out laughing, and the tension inside Margaret evaporated, only to be replaced with an effervescent anticipation that she hadn’t felt since her youth.

“What if we’re reading this all wrong, and this isn’t a date?” She pressed her palm to her roiling stomach as she spoke.

“There’s only one way to find out the truth,” Shona said. “You need to ask the man.”

“Aye, that’s what I was worried about.” Margaret was either about to step onto a path she hadn’t anticipated taking, or she was going to end up with egg on her face.

“Can I watch my show now? It’s the salsa. That’s my favorite dance.”

“Aye,” Margaret said. “I can’t stay in the toilet all night anyway. It will just make Dougal wonder what I’m doing in here.”

“And no good can come of that line of thinking,” Shona said.

“No.” Margaret shared goodbyes with her friends, who wished her luck, then she tidied her hair, took a deep breath, and headed back into the restaurant. Her stomach danced around inside of her, and fear made her palms sweat. But she straightened her spine and strode confidently toward the man waiting for her. It was time to find out what was really going on.

* * *

For a minute there,Dougal thought Margaret must have cottoned on to his attempt to woo her and had run for the back door. Relief swept through him when he saw her swaying back through the tables. The way she walked was so sensual that it made it look like she was slowly dancing toward him. He swallowed hard and tried to look like his thoughts were purely innocent. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. No, instead, he hoped to gently herd her into a relationship. His hope was that she’d be knee-deep in it before she realized what was happening and, therefore, less likely to reject him.

As she sat back down, he poured her some wine without commenting on how long she’d been gone. “I’ve been toying with the idea of getting this wine for the pub, so tell me what you think.” He smiled at her, stunned again by just how pretty she was.

Her green eyes always seemed to sparkle, and the laugh lines at their edges made him want to grin at her to see if she’d grin back. He loved her curves, and the way she was letting her red hair turn white in streaks made her look exotic. Aye, Margaret Campbell had always been a looker. He should never have waited so long to court her, but then, she’d always seemed focused inward on her memories of her husband. It was only in the past couple of years that he’d sensed her looking outward again and hoped she might be ready to accept someone else into her heart.

Margaret reached for her wine glass and downed its contents, making him raise his eyebrows.

“I guess you like it then,” he said.

“What?” She looked at her glass as though only just registering that it’d had wine in it. “Um, I might need a second taste.” She put it down on the table in front of her.

As he reached for the bottle, she put a hand on his arm to halt him. For a second, it seemed like the world stopped moving, and there was only the two of them in it.

“Dougal,” she said softly before visibly swallowing, “is this a date?”

A sound like rushing water filled his ears as fear made his heart stop beating. He wet his suddenly dry lips. “And if it is?”

“Then, I would like to be asked if I want to be on one.”

Damn. Dougal could feel his face heat and knew he definitely looked like a ruddy-cheeked Santa Claus now. He cleared his throat, but no words came out.

Her eyes softened. “Dougal,” she whispered, “ask me.”

He ran a hand down his beard, smoothing it before reaching for his glass of water, aware of Margaret’s touch still burning through his shirt, where she gently held his forearm.

The water did nothing to soothe his dry throat; the words just didn’t want to come out. Because if they did, and she said no, his dream would be over. There would be no stealthy wooing of the woman who owned his heart.

She squeezed his arm. “Dougal?”

It was the small, reassuring smile she gave him—the one that seemed just as nervous and unsure as he felt—that freed his tongue. “Margaret Campbell, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?” He glanced around at the restaurant before losing himself in her emerald green eyes. “I thought we might have dinner at the spa.”

Slowly, heart-meltingly so, her smile widened. “I’d love that,” she told him. “But I have to know first, will there be wine?”

Her dancing eyes sent a wave of heartening warmth coursing through his body, and he slid his arm out from under her hold to entwine his fingers with hers. “Aye,” he said. “Wine so good, you won’t even notice you’re drinking it.”

And then they shared their first private, just for them, smile as a newly formed couple.