Chapter 2

2

T he silence is suffocating as I hoist myself into a seat at the empty bar. I closed the pub yesterday in honor of James, but we're open as usual tonight, and I need to be on my A-game. I know that's what he'd want. I fiddle with my phone, trying to drum up the courage to call James' son. I never let guys intimidate me, but this is different. I thought I would spend my entire life in this pub. It's my home. Now that everything hangs in the balance, I can't stop thinking about what'll happen if he doesn’t accept my offer.

I slam my fist on the bar. Fuck this. I punch in his number and hold the phone to my ear. Taking a deep breath, I count to ten before releasing it.

"Thank you for calling Andersen Law Firm. How may I direct your call?" a sweet voice asks on the other end of the connection.

"Mr. Andersen, please."

"May I tell him who's calling?"

"Isla MacLeod."

"Please hold, Ms. MacLeod."

My heart ratchets up a notch as the hold music nearly ruptures my eardrum. Fucking breathe, Isla.

"Andersen. "

I jump at his curt voice but quickly recover, pulling myself together. "Mr. Andersen, this is Isla MacLeod. Before I begin, I want to offer my condolences for your father's death. He was a great man."

He grunts.

I clear my throat, plowing ahead with my spiel. "I've been working for your father for years. We had a verbal agreement that I would take over the pub. I'm not sure if he talked to you about it. Or me." I know full well he didn't. He never picked up when James called him.

"He didn't."

"I'd like to make an offer."

"How much?"

Fuck, this guy didn't mess around. "I looked at similar businesses in surrounding towns, and seventy-five thousand pounds seems more than fair."

He grunts again. "I'll have a real estate lawyer look into it and get back to you."

"I'm open to negotiation," I say, unwilling to risk him selling it to someone else. He ignores me.

"Is the pub closed down now?"

"I was planning on opening it today and keeping it open through the sale–if that’s amenable to you."

"As long as you’re aware that you can't keep the money just because you're running the pub in the interim. All proceeds will be transferred into my father’s estate.”

"That's perfectly fine as long as we agree that you'll get back to me on my offer."

"Good. Anything else?"

"When are you planning on having your father's funeral? There are a lot of us here that would like to attend and pay our respects."

"I'm flying his body to London. His burial will be here."

"Oh." My heart breaks. James would hate that.

"If there's nothing else, I need to end our call."

"That's all, thank you." He hangs up before I can give him my information, so I call back and give it to his secretary.

Goddammit. I should have flown to London to talk to him face to face, where I could see his body language and get him to agree to the sale in person. I sigh, jerking my hands through the knots in my hair. There's no time for a pity party when I have so much work to do. With James gone, I'm the only one here besides the kitchen staff–who are now getting paid out of my pocket. Which means I'm the only one working front of house. It’s a bloody nightmare.

Days pass by in a blur. I collapse into my bed at 1 a.m. every morning and head back to work at 10 a.m. to prepare the pub for lunch. As soon as I get word on the sale, I'll hire help, but until I have the signed contract in my hands, I'm not spending a single cent more than I need to. So, for now, it's just little old me. And little old me is fucking exhausted.

I still haven't heard from James' son two weeks into this hell. I've called and left messages with his secretary three times, but beyond going to London myself, I'm not sure what more I can do. If I haven't heard from him in two more days, I'm going to close the pub and make the drive down. I'm getting desperate.

A notification startles me awake at four the following morning, telling me the house has just rented for the next three months. It's a fucking headache, but there's no way I can resist the influx of much-needed cash. I receive a monthly stipend from a trust fund my parents set up before their deaths, but I'm stretching that thin by paying the kitchen staff. Now I have to spend my entire Sunday–my only day off–cleaning a gigantic house for a stranger. Far from the day of rest I had been dreaming about all week.

The Manor House is technically the groundskeeper's house for Amhuinnsuidh Castle. Jack took over the maintenance of the castle when our parents died. I lived with him until I turned eighteen, when I realized I didn’t want him breathing down my neck every time I brought a guy home. Lachlan joined me in the manor house a year later when he returned to help Jack with the estate. It was nice having him around—especially his cooking.

I'm seriously regretting my decision to rent out the house by the time I finish scrubbing the fifth and final bathroom. It's nearing nine o'clock when I wheel out the last of my odds and ends in an old, beaten-up suitcase. I pick my way down the treacherous path to the cottage with only the light of the moon to guide me. By the time I reach the door, it feels like my shoulder has been ripped from its socket. I jerk up on the door handle and jam my hip into the wooden planks, huffing in frustration. No matter how many times I've tried to fix it, the door insists on being a stubborn asshole. I have to throw my entire body against it before it finally opens. I leave my suitcase in the entry, set my alarm on the way to the bedroom, and throw myself onto the bed, passing out the second my head hits the pillow.

I jerk awake to my alarm blaring under my ear, my cheek sliding over a cold puddle of drool as I slide my hand around the bed, trying to find my phone.

"I'm bloody awake," I mumble, stabbing the off button. The cold morning air sends a shiver down my back as I throw my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. I haven't woken up this early on a Monday in ages. The only saving grace is that I'm headed to the café to pick out some pastries for the new tenant. I'll also be grabbing the largest coffee they offer. Maybe two. I stumble to the bathroom and step into a scalding shower. After scrubbing myself from head to toe, I dry off and pad into the bedroom, grimacing at the state of the clothes overflowing the drawers of the tiny dresser. I pull out the least wrinkled tank top and a pair of jeans. A leather jacket over the top hides most of the creases, and my boots complete the whole 'leave me alone, I'm a bad bitch' vibe I have going on. I stop by the bathroom once more to brush some mascara over my lashes and attempt to wrangle my hair into a braid. I snag my keys from the table by the door and walk up the path toward the garage. My fingertips are freezing as I key in the code to the garage door and watch my pride and joy come into view.

Years ago, Jack had imported a motorcycle. I jumped on the opportunity and upped it to a shipping container, importing the twin of Jack's bike and the car I've wanted since middle school. Her sleek lines give me goosebumps every single time. Nothing compares to the '67 GT500, my very own Eleanor. I sink into the seat and start her up, the sound of the engine roaring through my veins. I open the throttle as wide as I can for the two miles to the café. I pull into the parking lot slowly, trying my best not to disturb any of the customers. I love how the car sounds, but that doesn't mean everyone wants to hear it at seven o'clock in the morning.

This café is my favorite place in the entire world. It sits on the edge of a cliff, a gorgeous beach with turquoise blue water off in the distance. Besides the scenery, their food is fantastic. I come here almost daily, primarily because I can barely cook an egg, let alone an entire meal.

"You're up early, Isla," Jan says, greeting me with rosy cheeks and a huge smile.

"Right? It's a miracle," I laugh. "Someone’s renting the Manor House, and I wanted some pastries to give them. Do you care to make me up a box?"

"Of course! Would you like anything to eat for yourself?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Your usual, then? Morning bun and extra-large iced coffee to go?"

"Yes, please." I run my card through and thank her as she hands me a box, a bag, and my coffee.

"Give me the scoop as soon as you can, okay?" she whispers conspiratorially.

"You got it!" I whisper back, winking at her before I shoulder through the door and walk out into the brisk air. Jan is single, too. But unlike me, her biological clock is ticking. Loudly. It's been sad watching her wait for the right man to walk through the door year in and year out. I wouldn't be surprised if she takes matters into her own hands soon. Lord knows she has enough people in the community willing to help her care for a baby.

I place the box carefully in the car and sit at one a picnic table with a gorgeous view of the sea while devouring my morning bun and sipping on my coffee. I save the middle for last, licking the cinnamon sugar from my fingers before tossing my trash in the bin and heading home. I open the throttle, the wind whipping my hair free from its braid, enjoying my last moments of freedom before I have to worry about a tenant.

I notice three things as the house comes into view. The first is that the renter must be early because there's a car in the driveway. The second is the group of burly men standing on the front stoop, all staring at my car, their mouths hanging open. The third thing has my tires squealing to a stop in the driveway. I know them.

Glasses Guy, Henry, and Grumpy McGrumperson are standing in front of my house. The same three guys I almost considered entertaining last summer before I decided it would be way, way too much trouble. I fling open my car door, boots crunching in the gravel as I step out. I stare at them, hardly able to believe my eyes.

"Isla?" Henry asks, his voice cracking, eyes wide.

"The three of you rented my house? If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have spent the entire day yesterday spit-shining the fucking floors." I grab the box of pastries from the car and stalk toward them.

"This is your house?" Grumpy asks, incredulous.

"Yes, this is my house." I smirk. "But don't worry, you three will have it all to yourself. You can walk around naked and flex your muscles at each other all you want. I'll be staying in the cottage back there." I point with my chin.

"I got these for you." I shove the pastries into Grumpy's arms since he's the closest. "What are you guys doing here anyway?" I eye Henry. "Coming back to your favorite place for another holiday?"

Henry clears his throat. "Not quite a holiday. We bought the pub. The one where you work."

The blood drains from my face. "You what?" I whisper, needing to hear it again .

"We bought the pub," Grumpy repeats, annoyed.

" I’m buying the pub." My heart's in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I blink hard as tears start to sting the back of my eyes. I will not cry in front of them.

" You? " Grumpy laughs.

"Yes, me, you motherfucker. I talked with the owner's son. James and I had a verbal agreement for months."

Glasses Guy takes a step toward me. "He didn't tell us he had another offer. If we had known..." He trails off.

"I call bullshit." Grumpy snatches a croissant out of the box and tears into it.

"Is the fact that I've worked the front of house alone for the last two weeks bullshit? Maybe me paying the kitchen staff out of my own pocket is bullshit. OR MAYBE ME WORKING THERE SINCE I WAS SIXTEEN, POURING MY BODY AND SOUL INTO THAT PUB IS BULLSHIT!" I yell in his face. I knock the croissant out of his mouth and stomp on it.

None of the guys say anything.

"Sell it to me," I say finally, looking between them, holding their gazes until they look away.

"Never." Grumpy folds his arms over his chest.

I don't trust myself, so I throw the house keys at his head and return to my car, spraying gravel as I peel out of the driveway.

I spend the rest of the day on the tractor, readying the ground for my annual sunflower field between the Manor House and the castle. My mom used to plant one yearly, and I've kept it going in her memory. I usually would have already sown the seed, but with the chaos at the bar, I had let the rest of my life slip.

The sun is heading toward the horizon when I see Grumpy walking across my freshly plowed rows. Motherfucker. I turn the tractor off, climb down, and lean against the tire as I watch his shiny boots get swallowed up by the freshly turned dirt.

"Isla– "

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Will you just fucking listen?"

I sigh, tearing my eyes away from his full lips and picking at a rock stuck in the tire. "First, I don't even know your name. Second, why would I listen when you’ve been such an ornery asshole?"

He growls at me. "Theo. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry, okay? I know I was a jerk back there. At least let me explain."

"Explain why you're an asshole? Or why you think you can come in here with your daddy's money and buy up a piece of my town?" I die a little inside the second the words leave my lips. Why did I say that when I directly benefit from generational wealth? Fuck me.

"Stop." His countenance darkens. "You know nothing about me."

I sigh. "Fine. Tell me all about you, Theo the Asshole. Just help me while you do it."

He nods and follows me to the edge of the field. I push a bag of seeds into his arms and scoop out a handful, dropping them a few inches apart as we walk down the row.

"First of all," he says, his voice gruff, "every single penny my brothers and I have was earned by us."

"Got it," I say, grabbing another handful of seeds.

"Second, we're here because my brothers need a distraction. The last time they acted like themselves was when we were here in Harris. The day I saw the advertisement for the pub, I thought it was fate. If I had known you were planning to buy it, I wouldn't have pursued it."

"Now you know. You can sell it to me," I point out.

"I'm getting to that," he bites out, keeping a tight rein on his annoyance. "Like I said, we need a distraction–"

"From what?" I interrupt.

"Our parents were murdered a little less than a year ago."

"Oh my god." Oh my god. And here I am, acting like a total bitch.

"My brothers went downhill really quickly after it happened. The construction business we ran together started to struggle, so I decided to do something drastic to get us out of our funk. I drained our savings to buy the pub. They need this, Isla." The evening sun highlights the planes of his face, turning his dark brown eyes into caramel.

"I understand. I'm sorry I went off the deep end like that."

"Don't apologize. It must have been quite a shock."

I laugh, "You could say that." I grab another handful of seeds and turn away, but he shifts the bag to his hip and touches my wrist. I freeze.

"I have something to ask you."

I only raise an eyebrow at him, desperately trying to ignore how my skin is buzzing where his fingertips press into my flesh.

"Will you help us at the pub?" He squeezes me before dropping his hand. "We'll pay you, of course."

"I have a better idea."

"Let's hear it."

"I'll help you at the pub–for free–but you and your brothers have to help me renovate a building. Contractors are few and far between at the moment." I start on the next row.

"What building?"

"I'll show you tomorrow. I want to get this row done before the sun sets.”

"It's a deal," he says, his lips curling into the smallest of smiles.

"Really? Even without seeing the building?"

"I don't know why, but I trust you. Even if you did try to bust my face open with a set of keys and ripped a croissant out of my mouth."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not." I shrug, biting my lip to keep myself from smiling back at him.

"No worries." He's silent for a few moments as I finish the row. "What are you planting?"

I drop the last seed in and stand up, smiling. "Sunflowers."