Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Alexander

“ T he American is here? The one who will run the bookshop?”

I hadn’t meant to stop at The Royal Unicorn for a pint. Truly. My focus had been on stopping at Two Sisters before they closed to grab a toasty, and then I’d be on my way home. Instead, running into the random woman on the street, the one with luminous green eyes and a mouth made for kissing, had rattled me so much that I’d ended up veering off into the pub instead of trekking back home in the damp night. It was dark already, though it was now just past five in the afternoon, but we’d entered winter hours in Scotland, and we were lucky to have daylight up to mid-afternoon these days. When I’d wanted to sip a pint by the warmth of the fire at the pub and ruminate on why this woman had kissed my shoulder, instead I’d been confronted with some of the Book Bitches. Maybe all of them. I had a hard time keeping track of who was in the club and who was out, but I was told that Sheila was back on the outs for poking fun at one of the trashy books they read.

Esther told me this, an elderly woman with sharp eyes, a short bob of gray hair, and a jumper that read Smart Bitches Read Smut. What does one even say to that? I wasn’t much for romance novels either, but I also knew when to keep my mouth shut. The last thing I needed was to be eviscerated by this woman who still terrified me from our encounter a year prior. I’d mostly been successful in avoiding conversation with her since, but it seemed like today was not my lucky day. In more ways than one.

“Aye, that’s what the lass said.”

“What did she look like?” This from another one of the club, Shannon, I believed, with a jumper that proclaimed she was a Book Dragon.

“Um…” Mouthwatering. Heart-stopping. A goddess in a tracksuit. Curvy and flustered and dirty, and I’d wanted to dive my hands into her messy hair and pull those lips against mine. I’d never reacted so viscerally to a woman before. Even my ex-wife.

“A woman.” The perfect height for kissing.

“American.” With the sweetest accent.

“Darkish hair.” That I’d love to have my fist wrapped around while she was on her knees before me.

The hell, mate?

Esther snorted.

Had she read my mind?

“Men are the worst at observation.”

A point I’d dearly love to argue, what with my position as a software engineer at the university largely relying on my powers of observation, but that would mean more conversation with these women whom I sincerely hoped would leave me alone before they brought up my prowess, or lack thereof, in the bedroom again.

“What’s her name?” Meredith asked.

“Didn’t ask.” I sipped my Guinness, waiting for the inevitable next question.

“Young? Old?” Esther asked.

“Um, medium, maybe? Younger than me probably.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Hmm, that is young. I hope she doesn’t ruin the shop. Make it like…trendy or something.” Another woman, Cherise, plopped down at the table with a fresh glass of wine. Cherise’s jumper said she was a Bookaholic. It seemed the Book Bitches preferred pun-based clothing.

“What’s wrong with being trendy? We’re on TikTok. And wee Wallace has an Instagram account.” Esther nodded toward a cat that was currently sleeping on a stool at the end of the bar. Above him a picture frame sat with a wee dram of whisky poured at the ready. A way to honor the former owner, I was told, and I admired the sentiment. It would be nice to be remembered when you were gone.

“Was she pretty?”

I blinked at Esther, realizing she’d asked me the question twice now, and lifted my pint again.

“Isn’t that subjective?”

“Fine. Did you find her to be attractive, Dr. MacTavish?” Esther’s eyes sharpened and I groaned inwardly.

If I said no, somehow it might get back to the lass from Highland Hearts that I thought she was ugly or something. This town was full of gossips and news traveled fast. If I said yes, then I suspected these women would try to set me up. They were developing a bit of a reputation for enjoying matchmaking, likely due to all the romance novels they read.

“Of course,” I said, and Esther’s eyes lit. “But I find all women to be beautiful. Don’t you agree?”

Esther narrowed her eyes at me and muttered something that sounded dangerously close to “cheeky bastard.” I grinned into my pint.

“You’re quite sweet, aren’t you?” Shannon leaned closer. “Why aren’t you married yet?”

“Tried it out. Didn’t take.”

“Och, you just picked the wrong woman then.”

Didn’t I know that?

Instead, I just shrugged a shoulder, refusing to be drawn into a conversation about my past that I wasn’t interested in revisiting. Tara had been a poor choice as a partner, but for a moment, she’d made me feel fun and exciting when she’d drag me on adventures until I grew too boring for her when I’d needed to finish my PhD studies. Soon her adventures had included other men, and while I could tolerate a lot in a relationship, infidelity had been a dealbreaker. Which she’d well known. I just wished she’d broken it off instead of lying to me, but Tara had loved a dopamine hit, and seeing me get mad had lit her up inside.

I enjoyed my quiet life now, and I didn’t intend for that hard fought peace to be disrupted.

“So I rescued a puffin today.” It was time to steer the conversation elsewhere, otherwise the women would continue prying at me, and I really didn’t want to have to skull my beer just to get away from their nosiness. Gasps went up, and I took a sigh of relief. Crisis averted, even though it meant the whole pub had turned at my words—there was no way to avoid conversation tonight now.

The Royal Unicorn was a small pub, recently and lovingly restored by the owner Reed, and his girlfriend Harper. With thick stone walls, some pretty black and white photography of Kingsbarns through the ages, and a cheerful fireplace in the corner, it was the perfect place to cozy in on a cold winter’s night. It was also another hub for village gossip, aside from the Two Sisters coffee shop, and a stop at both during the day would catch most people up to speed on any major goings-on in the surrounding areas. If you were interested in who had taken ill recently, who was shagging whom, or whose son was off to university, well, then this was your place.

That being said, living as close to nature as we all did, and with very little else going on in Kingsbarns, there was more than one person who enjoyed birding like I did. A puffin rescue would be the talk of the town, that was for sure.

“What happened? Did he survive?”

“Wrong time of year for them to be this close to shore.”

“Where did you take him?”

“Will he be okay?”

“How did you catch him?”

The questions lit up the pub and I tried to answer them the best I could, smug in the knowledge that I’d outwitted the Book Bitches.

“He’s had his wing clipped, and I am working on building an enclosure for him. But I’m keeping him in a smaller pen while his wing heals, and then will gradually introduce him to the outdoors more to see if he can fly again. If not, well, I guess I’ll keep him if I can’t find a sanctuary that takes them in for life.”

“How old is he?” This from a man named Gregory who worked in the local government office.

“Young. Maybe four or five? I need to name him.”

“I always thought they looked like potatoes.”

We all stopped talking and looked at Cherise who seemed to be a wee bit tipsy. Esther reached out and pulled the wine glass away from Cherise.

“You think the bird—a puffin —looks like a potato?” Esther demanded, derision in her voice.

“Not the grown one.” Cherise hiccupped and waved a hand in the air. “You know. The young ones. The pufflings. They look like a fluffy potato.”

The pub was silent as everyone looked at each other.

“She’s not wrong.” Meredith held up a picture of a fluffy puffling on her phone. “Also, I forgot the babies are named pufflings and now I’m in love all over again.”

“You should name it Tattie,” Esther declared, and the pub cheered.

“I…wait, what? I can’t name it Tattie.” I was not going to name this distinguished bird, Tattie, after potatoes. Surely I would offend the poor thing.

“And why not? Tattie is a damn cute name.” Cherise hiccupped again, and Harper poured a glass of water at the bar.

“I mean, it is a cute name. But I was thinking something more prestigious.”

“Like what?” Gregory asked.

“Mm, maybe like the pirate? Since he came in off the seas? Captain Kidd?”

“Not bad, not bad.” The pub collectively thought it over and I took another sip of my pint, pleased with myself. Captain Kidd was a great name for an esteemed puffin.

“No. Tattie.” Cherise sniffed, her voice a touch wobbly, and I realized she was close to tears. Shite, I was horrible with women’s tears. They just completely undid me, and I had no idea how to handle that level of emotion. Which usually meant I froze and agreed to whatever the woman wanted, so long as they put the water streaming from their eyes back inside their bodies.

“But he isn’t a puffling anymore,” I said, my tone gentle, a last-ditch effort. “He no longer looks like a potato. You’ll have to come meet him.”

“It’s Tattie.” Esther’s voice was dangerously low, and she tapped the back of my hand, so I met her eyes. Seeing she was dead serious, I sighed.

“Right. Tattie it is then.”

Cherise grinned, a radiant beam of sunshine, and the pub cheered once again.

Bloody hell .

Why had I decided to stop in here again? Making my escape, with the promise that I would update everyone on my puffin, who I couldn’t quite bring myself to call Tattie, I ducked into the rain. Maybe I’d just tell others that was his name but call him Captain Kidd in private.

Resolved, I bent my head to the rain and walked toward home. The light in the window of Highland Hearts gave me pause. It was nice to see it there, even if I was entirely unsure of the new owner. She’d seemed a touch odd, skittish even, and out of sorts. Not that I was one to talk about other people and their awkwardness. I spent my days coding and building software. My people weren’t renowned for our social skills.

I wanted to see if she was okay. Was she lonely? Scared? Nervous?

Shocked at my thoughts, I forced myself to keep walking. That was entirely unlike me. I made a point of not diving into other people’s business, and wondering if the newcomer to Kingsbarns was scared in her bookshop was not a normal thought for me to be having. Of course she wouldn’t be scared. Kingsbarns was a safe town, we looked out for each other here, and Highland Hearts was a lovely, albeit eclectic, place to call home. She’d be just fine. Whatever her name was.

Speaking of names, I needed to test out this Tattie business on the puffin. By the time I got home, my wool cap was soaked, and I’d lost any warmth I’d taken from the fire at the pub. I’d put the puffin in the back mudroom attached to my house, as they were well used to the cold, yet it didn’t feel right to leave him outside on his own. When I spied him sleeping in his pen, I made to tiptoe back out, but his eyes sprung open. The wee lad hopped to his feet and moved closer to the door, clacking his beak at me.

“Tattie?” I asked.

The puffin regarded me and then bobbed his head backward and gave out a low call that sounded like a deep belly laugh. It was the first I’d heard it from him, and it sounded like an old man laughing at a funny joke.

“Captain Kidd?” I tried, hopeful. The puffin just tilted its head, then gnashed its beak at me.

“Tattie?” I asked. Again, the chuckle call.

Sighing, I went to get him some herring.

A puffin named Tattie. Could this day get any weirder?