Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Rosie

S cotland? You’ve never even left your hometown.

Running a bookstore? You need real business acumen for that.

Meeting new friends? That means you’ll have to actually talk to people.

Dating? Nobody will be as good as sweet John.

No, those weren’t my insecurities in my head beating me up on the long flight to Scotland. Those were actual comments John and his family made when I’d picked up my last paycheck. Why they still hadn’t figured out direct deposit, I do not know, but I was forced to do the walk of shame to the back office to pick up my check while the other employees eyed me either with envy or scorn. It was hard to tell when I refused to make actual eye contact with anyone. There, John and his family had descended on me, picking apart my plans to move to Scotland all while I’d sidled closer to my employee mailbox and tried to retrieve my check. There wasn’t a word of praise or thanks or support between all of them, not that I was surprised. But it would have been nice for the ego to think I’d be missed. I was good at my job. Their loss. However, I didn’t stoop to their baiting, though it had taken a level of control that even I wasn’t aware that I had, and somehow, I’d managed to leave the store without burning it down behind me. I hear arson charges make it hard to board an international flight.

The flight and the subsequent taxi ride to Kingsbarns seemed anticlimactic at this point. They’d both gone smoothly, and even though I’d never flown internationally before, I’d researched the process thoroughly and had made enough lists to guide me through the experience. Now, pleased that I’d navigated things fairly well thus far, even with jet lag, I let out a little sigh of relief as the sign for Kingsbarns came into view. The taxi drove about another block after the sign and pulled to the side of the road.

“This is Kingsbarns. The shop is down that wee lane.”

I blinked at the village that seemed to stretch a few blocks at most. Whirling, I looked out the back window where the rain misted down in fine sheets. This…this was the town? Surely there had to be more to it than this.

“Is this…it?” I asked, leaning forward in my seat until the seatbelt stopped me. I’d been so consumed with pa cking my apartment, travel research, and making sure my passport arrived in time that I hadn’t looked up much about Kingsbarns. A mistake on my part, it seemed, as this place was tiny. How would a bookshop even prosper in such a small town? Biting my lower lip, I tried to quell the rising panic that put me in a chokehold.

“Aye, this is the main bit. There are plenty of cottages on farmland and whatnot spread out around here as well.” The driver turned and indicated the card machine for payment before popping out of the front door and rounding to the trunk for my luggage. I slipped my card in the reader, trying to do a quick calculation on the dollars to pounds conversion, and then froze when there was no option to tip on the reader. Easing the door open, I winced at the icy wind that sliced across my face.

“Sir, there’s no spot for a tip?”

“Aye, nae bother, hen.”

I blinked up at him, my mind taking a moment to digest his words through his thick accent. Had he called me hen because I was round? Or was it because my hair fell somewhere between brown and copper? Maybe it was both. Maybe I looked like a fluffed out broody hen in my rumpled sweatsuit and likely untidy hair.

“I feel bad,” I explained, and the man gave me a quick smile.

“Americans do love to tip. It’s appreciated, but not necessary.”

“Okay.” Right, I’d read about this, it just went against my very nature not to tip. Sighing, I resigned myself to accept the situation since I hadn’t had time to break the hundred-pound note I had tucked in my wallet for emergencies. I hadn’t wanted to travel with too much cash on hand, and I’d been told ATMs were readily available in Scotland. Though, looking around this small village, I wasn’t certain I would find one easily. I made a mental note to investigate buying a car or a bicycle, some sort of transportation, and grabbed my suitcases. Following the taxi driver’s directions, I stepped into the road with my luggage.

A horn sounded.

I screamed, tripping and falling in a puddle on the sidewalk. The car continued past, and I stayed on all fours for a moment, catching my breath. My shattered reflection, broken by drops of rain, peered back at me in the puddle. Not an ideal start. And I realized that not only was I dangerously close to tears, but I was also making a fool of myself. Sniffing, I stood and wiped the dirt from my pants the best that I could, and immediately saw my mistake as another car whizzed past.

Like a fool, I’d looked the wrong way crossing the street and had almost gotten myself killed two seconds into my adventure. Must be rush hour here. My Big Life had very much almost become My Short Life due to stupidity. Well, that and jet lag. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, and wiping the rain from my face, I crossed the road with care toward the narrow lane that the driver had indicated. Too small for a car to pass through, and lined with cobblestones, the street seemed to be from another world entirely. Pushing my emotions down, I tried to focus on the good—as though I was my very own main character in a fantasy novel. Maybe around the corner I’d find a castle and?—

I screamed again as I rounded the corner and slammed face first into a brick wall.

Well, not exactly.

More like a very muscular chest that might as well have been a brick wall. Tripping as I scrambled back, mumbling apologies, strong hands gripped my arms and caught me before I fell to the ground once more.

“Careful there, lass.”

Oh. My. God.

I swear my insides melted into one puddle of gooey liquid lust as I blinked up at this gorgeous man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Helllllo, Outlander . Hell yes, I’d binged that series with Jessica before I left, preparing myself for any and all magical encounters that I might have in Scotland. And this man…this man who might as well have walked off a movie set had just called me “lass” and was looking at me with…well, it wasn’t desire, that was for sure. More like concern that he’d run into a serial killer on his way to…wherever hot men like him went in this small town. Which, of course, I’d need to figure out where that spot was once I’d recovered my ability for speech. Just for observational purposes, of course.

“Lass? Are you bleeding?” Oh my God, he was leaning closer, was he going to kiss me? My heart rate picked up and my lips parted. I let out a breathy little laugh like I was some damsel in distress needing rescuing, which, by the way, I was not. I was meant to be the warrior, not the damsel, according to my novels. I blinked when he brushed at my cheek.

“Bleeding?” I squeaked out and then looked down at my hands. I’d scraped the palm of one of them when I’d fallen in the puddle mere seconds ago in my other already forgotten embarrassment. Had he seen that? “Oh, I scraped my palm. Oh no, I’m sorry. Did I get blood on you?” I leaned closer to peer at his jacket, and he took a step back.

Because of course he did.

The man had no idea who I was, and here I was putting my nose to his chest while dripping blood.

“Nae bother. It’s waterproof.” The man shrugged off my concern and I wanted to linger here, in this icy rain, which was beginning to penetrate my very core, and find out more about this handsome stranger on the street. Because, I mean, that’s how it was supposed to work, right? I’d run into him, we’d make a fun joke, and then before you know it, we’d be skipping across the fields and reading books together with a pot of tea between us. Caught up in the fantasy, I beamed up at him, fluttering my eyelashes a bit, the blood and dirt on my face already forgotten.

The man moved and I did too, thinking, again, that maybe he was coming in for a kiss. When my lips met his shoulder as he tried to angle around me to get past me on the sidewalk, I realized my grave error.

Seriously, how jet lagged was I? This had to be the most awkward thing I’d ever done. I was blaming Jessica for this one. She was the one who’d gotten me all wound up about finding my perfect man in Scotland, and no matter how many times I told her that I couldn’t be trusted to pick a good match for myself, let alone believed in true love, she’d somehow managed to get in my head.

To the point where I was imagining romantic kisses in the rain with random Scottish strangers.

Instead, I’d basically assaulted the poor man as he tried to get past me. He looked down at where my lips had met his shoulder, his eyes rounded in shock, and then we both did that awkward little dance when you were trying to get around someone on the path, but you both moved in the same direction at the same time.

Finally, the man gripped my shoulders.

“Stay.” It was an order. I’d sit up and beg if this man ordered me to . I swallowed, my throat thick with nerves.

He walked around me, freeing the path. When I looked over my shoulder, he was glancing back at me.

“Are you lost then?” He was still walking away from me, and I couldn’t blame him, not after that embarrassing stunt I’d just pulled.

“Nope. All good. Thanks.” I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder. “Just off to the bookstore.”

At that, he stopped walking.

“It’s closed.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. It’s just that it’s, um, mine now, I guess. Well, kind of. If I stay the year. See I inherited…” I trailed off as the man tilted his head at me. Of course he wasn’t asking me for my life story. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Have a great night. Sorry about the, you know…” I waved my hand in the air and then, because I ap parently couldn’t be trusted to speak, let alone cross a street safely, I grabbed my suitcases and all but ran down the lane. Barely noticing the charm of the narrow cobblestone path, or how it spilled out onto a large swatch of green with a single stone cottage, I almost kicked the empty flowerpot over to get to where the solicitor had told me the key would be.

My hands trembled, from cold or nerves I couldn’t be sure, and the key slipped a few times before I got the door open and dragged my two large suitcases in behind me. Slamming the door, I stood with my back to it and took a few shaky breaths.

I was scared to open my eyes.

I’d been so fixated on this one goal, this one new huge thing, this Big Life that I was going to live, that I wasn’t ready to see if I’d royally screwed up by accepting this inheritance. My great-aunt Moira, apparently from my mother’s side, had wanted me to have this. It appeared she’d been trying to get in touch with me over the past few years, but my mother, fickle and harebrained that she was, had never bothered to open her mail.

Who didn’t open their mail?

The same woman who had met my father at the wedding she’d crashed with her best friend, had a one-night stand, and had never bothered to get his name. The same woman who picked up and followed a band, or a new hobby, for an entire summer at a time, largely forgetting her teenage daughter left to fend for herself. The same woman who was currently somewhere in South America on an ayahuasca retreat to rid herself of all her traumas.

I hadn’t even known she’d left until I’d received a postcard two weeks later. It was always like that with her, and she’d flit in and out of my life like a hummingbird, and I’d come to regard her as more of an absentminded sister than a mother who offered any real guidance in life. So, no, it wasn’t a far reach that Moira hadn’t been able to find me. But it was sad that I’d never been given a chance to meet any of my kin. It wasn’t like my mother had been much for family, and I’d never met my grandparents either. Nevertheless, it had all checked out, once I’d had a lengthy call with a very kind solicitor who I’d wanted to ask if he’d be willing to adopt me as his granddaughter, and now here I was.

In Highland Hearts, dripping rain, dirt, and blood likely everywhere, my eyes screwed so tightly shut that my cheeks hurt from the tension.

This is not what the main character would do in your fantasy novel.

At that, I steeled myself and opened my eyes.

Oh, ohhhhh. Tears did spring to my eyes this time.

It was, quite simply, perfectly imperfect.

I wasn’t sure I would have been able to handle it if the shop had been all glossy and sophisticated. But no. No, this was a shop that a heart could warm to. Give me curious corners cluttered with odds and ends and nooks piled high with pillows and stacks of books over sleek and pristine any day. A bookshop should be a discovery, an adventure of sorts, and Moira, it seemed, had understood that. A single lamp had been placed on a mahogany table with a red leather high-back chair tucked behind a vintage cash register. The lamp, with a fringed shade and holes cut in the fabric to resemble stars, beamed warmth into the shop. A beacon of welcome. I crossed slowly over to the table Moira must have used as her check-out counter. A note, along with a small bottle of whisky and a tin of shortbread cookies, sat beneath the lamp.

Welcome to Kingsbarns, Rosie. I’ve turned the heat on, and you’ll find your wee flat at the back of the shop. The village is looking forward to having the shop open once more. We hope you’ll make a happy home here. Regards, William Stuart.

The solicitor had been kind enough to leave a welcome gift for me. I smiled gently, trailing a finger over the table, noting that I’d still need to give the place a solid clean. Next to the note was a stack of leather-bound notebooks, which I assumed would be Moira’s ledgers, and I would make sure to dive into those first thing tomorrow. But first, I needed to get my bearings. Things needed to be done in order, of course, and I couldn’t just jump into running the business when I hadn’t even unpacked, could I? Reminding myself that I’d made a list of tasks to accomplish on my arrival, I pulled out my phone and scanned my next task.

Unpack, shower, make sure all the doors were locked .

I hadn’t exactly budgeted time in my list of to-dos to wander around the shop in awe, dreaming over all the curiosities I was sure to uncover.

But I was the boss now. Surely, I could just give myself a moment to explore. The shop was just too charming to breeze right past it and put my clothes away.

“Just a few moments. Then I’ll get back on schedule.” Jessica would be kicking me right now, likely dragging me back out in the rain to try and find more hot Scotsmen, and as if on cue my phone rang. Answering, I beamed as Jessica gaped at me.

“What happened? You’re all dirty.”

I’d already forgotten my fall in the puddle with the distraction of my new shop.

“It’s nothing. I fell in a puddle. And then ran face first into the finest man I’ve ever seen in my life. Covered in blood and dirt. But never mind that. Look, Jess, just look!” I turned the camera around on my already blabbering best friend, stopping her questions with a view of the shop as I walked around. The bookshop was essentially one big room, but bookshelves created a maze of sorts so every time you turned a corner there was a new little nook to be discovered. Vintage chairs upholstered in turquoise and mustard flower fabric were tucked into one corner beneath a window piled high with books, a lamp, and vases of dried flowers. In another corner, a disco unicorn head was mounted on the wall, and velvet floor poufs to curl up and read on were scattered on a faded jade oriental rug.

“Oh my God,” Jess breathed. “You’re never coming back, are you?”

“It’s incredible, Jess. Just like…look.” I held the phone up to show the stone walls and thick beams that crossed the ceiling. “The building itself has to be from the 1800s.”

“I wonder if it is haunted.”

“I could only be so lucky.” I loved ghost stories, which in turn fueled my love for fantasy and paranormal romance, and I’d always secretly wanted to experience a ghostly encounter in real life.

“Only you would wish that. Seriously though, I need you to back up and tell me about that man. And why you aren’t currently having a drink with him somewhere. Did he meet any of the criteria on our list?”

“You mean the man I bled on and then accidentally kissed on the shoulder? The one who practically ran away from me? That one?” I was going to ignore her comment about the list we’d made for the type of man I was looking for in my life. As noted before, I couldn’t be trusted to pick a man for myself.

“I mean, yes, I suppose that doesn’t make for a great start. But hey, at least you know there are hot men in town.”

“One. There is one hot man in town. And based on the size of this place, likely the only one.” I sighed and pointed out the window. “There are like, twelve buildings total here.”

“Ohhh, even better. Small towns give you a great opportunity to meet new friends. Like sexy men to accidentally shoulder kiss.” Jessica’s laugh sounded through the shop.

A book fell at my feet.

I jumped back, looking up at the shelf above my head. All the books were neatly shelved, even though they didn’t look to be in any discernible order. But the books on the shelves? Neatly tucked away. None hanging haphazardly or wildly askew. I looked from the shelf to the book on the floor and back, Jessica’s ramblings just a murmur in the background.

Hmm. That was odd.

“Hey, Jess. I’m absolutely dead on my feet and want to get out of these wet clothes. Can I call you once I’m all unpacked and tucked in?”

“Absolutely. Gah! I’m just so excited for you. Keep me posted on everything, including sexy strangers on the street.”

“On it.” With a quick goodbye, I pocketed my phone and bent to pick up the book.

It was a green, weathered leather book with an intricate Celtic heart etched on the cover, and there was no title to be seen. I turned the book over, searching for any words on the binding, but there was nothing. Flipping it over, I gasped.

For one second, a glow—almost a shimmer or a sparkle of sorts—danced in the air. Like when sunlight speared through a dusty window, catching flecks of dust in the beam, so too did these sparkles drift around the book. But there was no sun, and frankly, there was barely any light in this corner of the shop. Confused, I lifted the book and tucked it on the windowsill underneath the disco unicorn. I could shelve it tomorrow when I gave the shop a proper clean.

Turning, I headed for my luggage only to have the slam of a book hitting the floor stop me in my tracks.

My heart rate picked up and I turned, eyeing the Celtic heart book that was once more on the floor.

“Right, I must have just put it down wrong. It’s dark in here and I’m very tired.” I explained it to myself like there was any logical reason that a book was throwing itself off the shelf at me. Scooping it off the floor, I waited for any shimmers in the air. When none came, I nodded to myself.

“See, Rosie? You’re just imagining things. Come on now, you’re off schedule. Get back to it.”

With that, I took the book with me and put it next to the bed in the bedroom I found through an arched doorway at the back of the shop. Making sure I’d locked the front door, I bent my head to unpack before I finally allowed myself the luxury of a long shower. By the time I was done, I was ready for bed, and I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.