Chapter 5

5

I shoo Henry out of the cottage the second he’s dressed, not trusting myself with him for a moment longer. My body is in overdrive. These are three men I shouldn’t be able to stand to be around. I should hate them, just like Henry said. But now I have a total infatuation with Henry. And I was disappointed when I thought Dylan was upset over Henry being naked in the cottage. Why should I even care what Dylan thinks? I barely know the man! And then there was last night. Planting the sunflowers with Theo was—well, it wasn’t awful. I still don't like him, but I can’t stop thinking about him. I give myself a pep talk in the mirror as I’m getting ready, reminding myself that these men stole the pub right out from under me and then refused to sell it back to me. Theo’s explanation niggles at the back of my brain, but I ignore it. I need to stay emotionally detached. I need to become the Ice Bitch of Harris.

Smirking, I pull my hair into a ridiculously messy bun—I should be embarrassed, honestly. I wiggle into ripped black jeans, an old ripped band tee, and my jacket, running back to the bathroom at the last second to fasten my biggest pair of gold hoops to my ears. I sit on the couch and lace up my trusty boots. This pair has been with me for three years, but I’ve been wearing the same style for ages. They’re my safety blanket. All I need to do is look down at them to feel like a bad bitch. Although anyone who knows me knows that if my shoes matched my personality, I’d be wearing Dorothy’s red sparkly slippers. I snort at the thought. I debate between my car or the motorcycle on the way up to the house, but I don’t think I have the guts to make Dylan sit behind me on the bike. Arms around my middle. Chin on my shoulder. Thighs–I pull myself out of my daydream when I see Dylan waiting for me by the garage.

I thought he was kind of dorky that first night in the pub, but that first impression was horribly wrong. He’s dressed in all black, slim jeans and bomber jacket, making him look like he just stepped out of a cologne commercial. He’s wearing his glasses, but whatever the opposite of nerdy is, they’re that.

“Hey,” he greets me softly, a huge smile on his face.

“We’re twinsies,” I laugh.

“I like it.” His gaze sweeps down my body and back up, catching on my lips.

Sweet baby Jesus. I’m in so much trouble.

“Everything okay?” he asks, studying my face.

“Yeah, just having an existential crisis.”

“Do you do that often?”

“Pretty much daily,” I chuckle.

“We should start a club. The Existential Islanders.”

I snort. “I’ll have jackets made.”

He grins. “I like you.” There is no ulterior motive behind the words—just honesty.

“I think I like you, too.” I key in the garage code. “Don’t tell anyone. I have to keep up my bad girl image.”

He pretends to lock his lips and then throws me the imaginary key. I motion for him to get in the car as I sink into the driver’s seat. I turn her on, and Dylan’s eyes roll back, his head dropping against the headrest. I shift in my seat, my visceral reaction to him burning through my body, turning my cheeks scarlet.

He looks at me, his glasses slightly askew, those big brown eyes wide open. “Holy shit, Isla. ”

“Right?” I grin and pull out of the garage, taking a left out of the driveway. I hold back on the gas, not sure if I can handle finding out if he likes a wild ride. If he does–Lord help me.

“You’re not going to open her up?” he asks, confusion on his face. “Theo told me he thought he was going to die last night.”

I laugh. “Do you have a death wish?”

He shrugs. “I think I’d be okay dying in this car.”

“Yeah?” Fuck me . I don’t dare look over at him. If I see the look that I know is on his face, I’m done for. Instead, I turn on the radio and stomp on the gas pedal, shifting through gears seconds apart. Dylan rolls his window down and sticks his arm out, riding the air current. The wind roars through the car, pulling my hair from its elastic. I blow past the pub, feeling too free to deal with what’s waiting for me there. I sneak a look at Dylan and find him staring at me with a look I can’t place. He blushes, throws his head back, and croons along with the song, using the dashboard as makeshift drums. I join in, singing at the top of my lungs. When we come to the roundabout, I do the responsible thing and head back toward the pub. I wish I could keep driving like this forever. Music up, good company, the sound of the engine drowning out the noise in my head. I pull into the parking lot and turn off the car. We both stare out the windshield in dead silence before bursting into laughter.

“God, I haven’t had fun like that in so long,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes.

“That’s kinda lame,” I joke. “It was just a car ride.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was a ride in this car with you .”

The grin slips from his face, and suddenly, the high-fashion model version of Dylan is looking back at me, oozing sex appeal. Heat roars through my veins, my fingers itching to slide off his glasses and pull his face to mine. I push the urge down and hop out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I look at Dylan before going inside. He’s still sitting in the car with a slightly dazed look on his face. I raise my eyebrow at him when his gaze meets mine. He gives me a shit-eating grin and unfolds himself from his seat, pausing with a hand on the door, looking at me looking at him. He’s fucking gorgeous. He closes the door gently, his eyes locked with mine.

“Say it.”

“Say what?” I ask.

“What you’re thinking. Life would be much easier if everyone were honest with each other.”

He’s right, it would be. But that’s also terrifying. I clear my throat. “I was just thinking about how good you look in my car.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth tilts up.

“Yeah.” My breath stutters as he stops in front of me, the toes of his shoes touching the toes of my boots. I crane my neck to look up at him, my heart in my throat. He dips his face closer, his thumb brushing my cheek.

“You have freckles in your eyes,” he whispers in wonder.

“Are you two going to stand there forever, or are we going to get to work?” Theo asks roughly, poking his head outside, grumpy as ever.

Dylan blows out a loud sigh, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I guess we better get started.” He holds the door open for me to pass.

The second my foot crosses the threshold, I’m struck by how different it feels inside. The hope I always carried with me, knowing that it would one day be mine, has disappeared. It’s not a good feeling. Dylan sets his bag on the bar and pulls out his laptop. I round the bar and pour two glasses of water, making sure there’s lots of ice. I watch as he pulls up the spreadsheets I sent him last night. We spend the next hour in accounting hell. Once we hash out all the numbers and I walk him through payroll, he closes his laptop and pulls out a notebook.

“What about marketing?”

I laugh. “What marketing?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really? So that’s a completely untapped market. I know you must have some ideas–anything you’re willing to share?”

I think for a second. “I’ve been wanting to go check out some of the pubs in Edinburgh. Not to copy,” I clarify, “but to get inspiration. ”

“Great idea. Maybe you and I can go next weekend? I’m sure Henry and Theo could keep it running for one night.”

“Can they, though?” I wince, thinking of everything that could go wrong.

“I’m sure it won’t be as seamless as when you’re here, but they’re capable. We all took a bartending class before we came out, and lord knows we all know how to pour beer. Surely the two of them can keep up with you.”

The dirtiest thoughts come to mind the second his sentence registers. My cheeks flame, and I gulp down my water, immediately choking on it. Dylan hits my back, trying to help. I look at him to tell him I’m okay, but there must be something in my expression. He sucks in a strangled breath. “I did not mean it like that.”

Coughing turns to laughter. I wipe at the tears leaking from my eyes. I shrug an apology.

“You have a fucking filthy mind, don’t you?”

“Guilty as charged,” I admit. Why am I like this?

“Ready to talk about how this whole thing is going to work?”

I nod, shucking off my jacket and draping it over the barstool to my left. “I’ve been mulling it over, and I think we need to have two people here and two at the job site. Obviously, I’ll be here every day, so maybe the three of you can rotate? That way, each of you learns how to run the pub from open to close, inside and out. Then the other two can work with my brother on the renovations. What do you think?”

“That seems fair. I’ll tell the guys tonight and let you know if they have any issues with the arrangement.” He pulls an envelope out of his bag and slides it over the bar to me.

“What’s this?” There’s a check inside for almost ten thousand dollars.

“The wages you’re owed plus paying you back for the kitchen staff.”

My heart softens the tiniest bit. “You don’t need to do this. That was my decision.”

He scoffs. “It was your decision when you thought the pub was yours. We owe you that money, Isla. It’s only fair.” He squares his body, facing me head-on. His teeth press into his bottom lip, making my heart jump. “I don’t want us starting off with bad blood.” He reaches out with one finger, brushing it over my knee in the lightest of touches. “You’re sure we’re good?”

“I can’t promise I won’t miss the dream I had for this place, but yes, you and I are good.”

“And Henry? Theo?”

“Henry and I are good. Theo? That’s to be determined.”

“Understandable.” He glances at his watch. “Ready to teach me some stuff?”

Before I can answer, Theo pushes through the door from the back, three plates in his arms, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. “Thought I’d experiment a little,” he mumbles, setting the plates in front of Dylan and me. He puts his plate on my left, moving my jacket out of the way before sitting down. I wonder if he’s met Greer yet or if she knows he’s using her kitchen. I can’t wait to see how that goes down.

“What’s this?” I ask, breathing deep, my mouth watering.

“I found a recipe online for cottage pie. I tweaked it the tiniest bit to elevate the flavor.” He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, “I’m not trying to change things. Just improve on what’s already here. I want you to understand that.”

I’m stunned. Is it possible this man is empathetic? “Thank you,” I whisper. He nods, stretching his mouth into what I think is supposed to be a smile but looks more like a grimace.