Page 89 of The Highland Game

I laugh—until she goes over to Jamie’s stall. Damn it!

Not that it really matters, or so I keep telling myself. Da and I are doing well: business is steady and money is rolling in. But it still smarts every time someone heads for Mr Beer Garden instead of us. Especially since, let’s be honest, Morag didn’t go over there for a whisky but for a close-up view of Jamie in a kilt. And who can blame her? Those calves could probably crush a watermelon. Not that I’ve been imagining things like that. Obviously.

Nope, I’ve absolutely not let my mind wander into fantasy land when it comes to Jamie and that bloody kilt. I’ve barely even mulled over the question of his underwear situation—or, hopefully, his lack-of-underwear situation. Which is ridiculous because I’ve already seen what’s under there. It’s not like it’s a mystery to me. But . . . that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind refreshing my memory.

Have I debated staging some sort of “accident” that might require me to crawl around nearby him? Look, I’m only human. But no, I have not spent the past five minutes calculating the exact speed and trajectory required to fling an empty cup over there so I’d have an excuse to retrieve it. That would be ridiculous. And pathetic.

Would it work, though?

“Earth to Maisie!” Cat’s voice breaks through my thoughts like a bucket of ice-cold water. She strolls over, grinning, with Iona and Elspeth in tow.

Cat is back in Bannock, not just for the summer holidays but for good. She landed a job at the high school.

I hug her first and then Iona, then Elspeth too. All three of them look gorgeous in sundresses, making me wish I’d worn something breezier than my denim shorts and button-up blouse.

Elspeth goes over to natter away with Da, so I pour Cat and Iona a white wine each. I don’t bother asking if they want one—I’ve never known either of them to say no.

Cat gratefully accepts the wine and places her sunglasses on her forehead. “So, this is a bit awkward but . . . I couldn’t help noticing you eyeing up my brother like he’s your next meal.” Her eyes sparkle mischievously.

“I wasn’t eyeing him up!” I splutter. “I was just trying to . . . stay on top of the competition.”

“Oh, right,” Iona says with a teasing smile. “Staying on top of Jamie—that sounds completely innocent.”

Good God! If this is what we’re going to be talking about, I don’t want Da overhearing, so I glance his way and say, “While it’s a bit quieter, why don’t you head into the tent for five minutes and have a seat? You and Elspeth can catch up. I’ll chat to the girls out here while handling any orders.”

To my surprise, for once he doesn’t put up a fight but instead nods, pours a couple of glasses of wine for himself and Elspeth, and disappears into the tent with her. Wow, he must be tired. He willingly took a break without muttering some sarcastic comment about not being ready for a care home yet. That’s not like him at all.

“Where were we?” Cat says once it’s just the three of us. “Oh aye, you were⁠—”

“Don’t say on top of your brother!” I interrupt before she can. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

Iona raises an eyebrow. “Right, but that’s not exactly true, is it? Remind us, how many times is it you’ve had sex now? Was it four times? Five?”

“Twice,” I say dryly. “You know it was twice. And it won’t be happening again—I can guarantee that.”

Note to self: no more oversharing on the Scottish Sirens group chat.

“Hmm,” Cat says. “I hate to quote Shakespeare at you, but the lady doth protest too much, methinks. Anyway, I know he’s my brother, so I can hardly evaluate the situation objectively, but . . . Jamie? Really? Isn’t he, like, the most annoying person in all of Bannock? Iona is with Lewis, and I can kind of see that. I can also see why Emily might find Ally appealing. But Jamie? Really?” Cat glances at Iona. “Am I missing something?”

“Honestly?” Iona says. “I’m with you. Aidan and I pretty much grew up in the Bannock Hotel—it was like a second home for us—so Jamie is like a wee brother to me.” Iona pauses then adds, “An incredibly annoying wee brother.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m with you two, all right? It was a mistake—one I won’t be repeating.”

“Except you already did,” Cat points out. “Seeing as you’ve already done the deed with him twice. Plus, nowadays Jamie is almost as obsessed with the gym as Lewis is. Could it be that he’s seeking out a six pack and bulging biceps to impress a certain barmaid?”

“Oh look, here come some customers. Drat! Oh well, bye bye, you two!” I say this jokingly, but actually, just then a couple from Newcastle do come over, and they want to chat to me about my videos, so it ends up being a natural time to say goodbye to Cat and Iona

After the Geordie couple leave, the stall goes back to being nonstop busy for a while, and I’m run off my feet for the next ten minutes or so, trying to take all the orders by myself, until Da emerges from the tent. And I don’t know what’s got into him, or what Elspeth has been saying to him, but suddenly he wants to talk to me about Jamie too.

As we pour drinks, take money, and hand out change, Da says in a low voice that Morag’s World War Three comment wasn’t far off the mark. Da reckons the situation between me and Jamie has gone on long enough and that the two of us just have to jolly well learn to get along—because it’s a small town and that’s what people do.

I’m willing to half listen and let his words wash over me. Until, that is, he accuses me of being stubborn—the very epitome of the pot calling the kettle black! Then he really takes the biscuit by saying I need to show a bit of maturity.

That’s when I snap. Maybe the relentless heat of the sun has fried my patience today, or maybe it’s simply that the sheer, jaw-dropping unfairness of what he’s saying pushes me to breaking point.

Whatever the reason, I hiss, “Has it occurred to you, Da, that maybe Jamie and I are fighting because I’m stressed—and that maybe you have something to do with that?”

I never talk like this with Da, but now that I’ve started, the words keep tumbling out. I keep my voice low but there’s a sharp edge to it, every word cutting through the air like a blade. “You won’t admit it, but you can’t do everything anymore. And since you refuse to hire someone else to help us out, I’m left to pick up all the slack. Longer hours, more stress, uncertainty about the future . . .