Page 58 of The Highland Game

And yet . . . Jamie keeps looking at me like he actually means it, with those intense eyes searching mine before flicking back down as though he can’t help but take in my appearance a second time.

“Oi! My eyes are up here, McIntyre.” It’s not that I hate the way Jamie’s looking at me—if anything, it’s unsettling how much I don’t—but he’s the enemy. I can’t let him stand there giving me the once-over.

“Aye . . . sorry.” A crooked, almost bashful smile tugs at Jamie’s lips before his expression shifts into something more thoughtful. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you. Planned to seek you out tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh, aye? And what exactly did you want to chat about?”

“Er . . .” He rubs the back of his neck. “Remember what happened on the drive back from the distillery?”

“Of course I bloody remember.” My voice is sharp enough to turn more than a few heads. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing you forget. You tossed me out of your car in the middle of a downpour and left me to traipse home in the lashing rain!”

A few more heads turn. Jamie’s cheeks flush and he runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up.

“You know what,” he says in a low voice, “at your pub quiz, you asked me to step outside for a chat—and I think you had the right idea. Maybe we should go somewhere quieter to talk rather than doing it here.”

I shrug. “Whatever.”

So I follow Jamie through a back gate in a tall hedge, which leads to a tidy gravel driveway in which a couple of cars are parked outside a double garage.

Jamie stops in the middle of the driveway, glancing back at me as I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. “Right,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck again. “If you do start shouting at me, how loud are you likely to get? I’m just wondering if the hedge is enough soundproofing, or if we should add a wall to be safe.”

“I’ve been cooped up in an empty pub all day watching customers flock to your beer garden,” I say. “How do you think my mood is holding up? Once I get going, no hedge in Scotland will be able to muffle me.”

He chuckles under his breath and nods toward the garage. “Well then, better safe than sorry.”

He leads us into the garage. There are no cars in here, but there is a lot of outdoor-activity equipment, including paddleboards, climbing harnesses, helmets, and more. Jamie’s brother, Ally, must use this as a storage spot for Bannock Adventures, the business he runs with Aidan Stewart. Still, there’s room for us both to stand.

“So.” I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin. “Decided to apologise, have you? Did you consider that maybe it’s a bit late for that? And now I’ve got more things to be angry about than just the rainy walk home.”

Jamie exhales heavily, his fingers raking through that unruly hair of his, and for half a second I wonder if it feels as soft as it looks.

“Er . . . aye. Well. This isn’t exactly easy for me, but the thing is⁠—”

“Do you even care that the Pheasant was so quiet we had to shut it today?” I cut him off, stepping closer before I can think better of it. “You’ve stolen everyone away . . . you’ve even poached the bloody band!”

“To be fair,” Jamie replies with maddening calmness, “Thistle and Reel are hardly your band. They’ve done a few ceilidhs in our function room.”

“Argh!” I curl my hands into fists just to stop myself from grabbing his stupidly crisp shirt. “You’re infuriating!”

“I’m infuriating?” Jamie’s eyes flash as he takes a step closer. “You’re the one who went around town bad-mouthing my beer garden before it was even open!”

“I was simply doing my civic duty by giving people a heads-up.”

“Civic duty?” Jamie scoffs. “You’ve seen the beer garden. You’ve seen how much folk are enjoying it—how it’s brought everyone together. You think that’s not good for the community?”

I let out a sharp laugh. “Oh aye, Jamie, because what this town really needs to thrive is fairy lights and giant Jenga.”

Rather than respond immediately, Jamie and crosses his arms over his chest. The movement pulls the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders and chest, accentuating a physique I swear he didn’t have a few months ago.

“People have been loving the garden games. You may want to give them a go—you might actually have fun. The chess might be a bit above your head, but I’m sure you could manage Connect Four.”

I narrow my eyes.

“It’s nice and straightforward. It even comes in bright colours to help keep your attention.”

I step in closer still, tilting my head with a sugary-sweet smile. “You reckon you’re hilarious, don’t you? Newsflash, Jamie, you’re not. Actually, your jokes are pretty terrible.”

There’s the tiniest flicker in his jaw—a pulse that tells me I’m striking a nerve. “Oh, aye? Well, you seem to think dyeing your hair a bright colour makes you interesting. Newsflash”—he does a high-pitched mockery of my voice—“it really doesn’t.”