Page 42 of Come Fly With Me

“Auch, just let him have his fun,” Agnes said. “I’ll make sure he isn’t abducted or forced to sign anything that shouldn’t see the light of day in public.” She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Now, about that date of yours…”

“I’ll have you know that I’m meeting up with Margaret Campbell at the spa restaurant. We have town business to discuss. Not to mention, we need to talk about Knit or Die’s yarn bombing. What kind of example are they setting for the young ones when they keep covering public facilities in knitting?”

“Um, the kind where they show them there are healthy ways to protest?”

Dougal rolled his eyes. “Protest what? Half the time, we’ve no idea why they’re yarn bombing something. I’m no’ even sure they know!”

“There is that. Last week, they put knitted coats on all of the town’s bins. Were they protesting that we need more trash cans? Or were they making a comment about us having too much rubbish altogether? Or were the bins just cold? It was a bit confusing.” Agnes shrugged. “But cute.”

“Aye, well, I’ll be having a wee word with Margaret about that episode too. Now,”—he looked around the quiet room—“if there’s any problems, make sure and call me.”

“I think we’ll manage fine without you for a few hours. Anyway, the drunken riot isn’t scheduled until Friday.”

“Nobody likes a smart-arse.” He tugged down his waistcoat, resisting the urge to ask her how he looked. “Mind and phone if you need me.”

She saluted him. “Make sure you enjoy your meeting.”

With a frown in her direction, he headed for the door—just as one of Josh’s groupies whipped off her shirt for Josh to sign his name on her breast.

“I’ve got it,” Agnes called to him, coming out from behind the bar. “I promise only to use violence if there’s no other option.”

Fighting the instinct to cancel his evening and deal with matters himself, Dougal pushed through the door and out into the street facing the loch. The warm glow of the late evening sun bounced off the water, turning everything golden. Gulls swooped and glided beside the shore. And there was nary a cloud in the sky.

It was the perfect evening for wooing Widow Campbell.

* * *

“I don’t seewhy we had to meet here when we could easily have met at the pub like we usually do.” Margaret Campbell glanced around the beautiful dining room of the converted church that now housed the spa and restaurant. All polished wood, soft lighting, and elegance—it was more the venue for a romantic dinner than a telling-off from the town’s mayor.

“I told you already,”—Dougal smiled at her warmly—“it’s just easier for me to concentrate away from my business. Less interruptions.”

His smile made her stomach flutter like a schoolgirl’s. Over Dougal? A man she’d known, and clashed with, for years. A man who’d had a fling with one of her best friends. Okay, that was also years ago, but still…it gave her pause. Her cheeks flushed. What was she thinking? That there might be some attraction between them? Surely not. She was well past her use-by date. Although, if her daughter, Kirsty, heard her talking about herself like that, she’d get the lecture of the millennium. But the truth was, she hadn’t felt attractive in years. And she certainly hadn’t even looked at another man since her husband’s death…decades ago.

No, this strange reaction to Dougal was purely one last attempt by Mother Nature to use her waning hormones against her. Hormones. The bane of her life. But at least she could do something about them. She took out her phone and tapped a reminder: Ask doctor if there’s a hormone replacement therapy that counteracts delusional thinking.

Reaching for her water glass, she forced herself to focus on the matter at hand instead of her wayward imagination. “What’s so important that you need to talk to me without the rest of the group?”

“We’ve got all evening to get to that.” Dougal picked up his menu. “Why don’t we order first? I hear the steak is delicious.” He leaned in to whisper, “Even better than at the pub, but don’t tell the owner.”

Margaret couldn’t help but chuckle. It was well known that Dougal’s hotel and pub was his baby, and he obsessed over them. But it was also well known that he wanted what was best for Invertary. Which was why he made an effort to support every business in town, both personally and in his role on the council.

“Steak sounds good,” she mused. “Although the pork sounds wonderful too.”

“We could get both and share. No sense in missing out, is there?” His eyes sparkled at her, and she felt her cheeks warm.

Did he realize that sharing food was an intimacy? Although, her female friends sometimes pilfered chips off her plate. Was he just being friendly? They’d never really had that sort of relationship. Maybe she was reading too much into the situation. Argh! She was going to have an aneurism if she couldn’t stop overthinking everything.

“Whatever we order,” he said with forced seriousness, “we’ll need to make sure we leave room for dessert. Best part of the meal.”

“True,” she agreed.

After a pause, Dougal said, “Next time, we could just double up on dessert.” His tone was so casual that it took a moment for his words to sink in.

Margaret stilled, her eyes glued to the menu in her hand. Did he mean their next meeting? Or something else? Something more private.

Before she could ask, someone cleared their throat, and she looked up to find the restaurant’s chef grinning down at them.

“Slumming it?” Deke asked Dougal. Even in his chef’s whites, he still looked like he belonged in the military rather than the kitchen. He folded his muscular arms over his chest. “So, what did we do to deserve this honor?”