Page 86 of Scotlander

He cursed himself for even thinking about turning everyone away that first day. And not with a charming, Och, away, we’ve had a wee bit of a Gaelic drama down the farm and I’m afraid you’re no’ welcome here, lads and lassies. Away you go. Back to yer fantasy lands and tellies.

He regretted how dismissive he’d been of them. They weren’t dreamers. They were realists. People who’d literally got down in the muck and worked hard with no fancy soaps or spa treatments or fluffy bathrobes in sight. Especially Willa. She’d come on this trip not having a solitary clue why she was here apart from the fact her best friend had asked her to go. That had taken courage. And he wanted her to know just how much he admired her for it.

But first, they had to get these ruddy tatties out of the ground.

‘Right,’ Willa was saying, pointing her pen at Orla. ‘If we don’t hit the mark for the wholesalers, we’re going to go local. Do you have farm shops round here?’

‘Aye, there are a few, but they’ve already got suppli—’

Willa tutted. ‘Remember . . .’ She lowered her voice so that it was sultry, alluring. ‘These aren’t just any potatoes.’ She kicked into American cheerleader mode. ‘These are specially hand-harvested potatoes that reunite older generations with new ones. These are Balcraigie Heirloom Tatties.’

There was a collective frown and then, just as quickly, a group cheer. Then everyone followed instructions on how to plug identical messages into their phones – Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, and anything else they had loaded.

‘Right, people.’ Willa threw a bright grin at Finn. Her eyes were shining and her face glowed with excitement. She hovered her thumb above her phone and everyone followed suit. ‘Who’s ready to potato harvest the shit out of this place?’

‘We are!’ they roared, thumbs descending to press ‘Send’.

After they’d all done it and agreed pressing your phone with your thumb wasn’t as satisfying as, say, setting off the bells at the New York Stock Exchange, Jennifer asked, ‘Now what?’

Everyone turned to Willa.

She shrugged and grinned. ‘We wait.’

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Although Willa had spent half the night sorting things out for TiTs, she was awake before dawn, already buzzing for the day to come. There’d been a fair amount of activity on the socials and the Kilts&Tatties hashtag that Jennifer had suggested was trending.

She just might have used her work email to reach out to local television stations and the production company who filmed Outlander here in Scotland. It was rare for her to get this excited, or to use her job as a means of getting her foot in the door, but this was a project she believed in. It wasn’t about box-office figures or raising someone’s status from Netflix Romcommer to Silver Screen Powerhouse. This was about real life. Orla and Duncan’s and Dougie’s. The lads who worked here. People who would have to find jobs and places to live if they failed. And, of course, it was about Finn.

She heard a soft knock on the door that could only be his because her corset was undone and who else showed up when there was a huge chance she’d flash someone.

Time, not modesty, was of the essence. Pressing the corset to her chest, she opened the door with a hurried twirl and said, ‘Lace me and up and talk to me,’ as if she said that sort of thing all the time.

‘Errr . . .’ He was silent for a couple of throat-pounding heartbeats, then, after shifting her hair from her back across and over her shoulder, he did as he was told, his fingers occasionally brushing against her bare skin as he tugged the ribbons into place.

Each delicate touch was a featherlight flint stone against her skin, unleashing hot sparks into her blood stream. She felt, rather than heard, him breathe her in, the same way she inhaled his warm-hay-and-fresh-cut-wood scent whenever she thought he wasn’t noticing.

Her thoughts swept back to that perfect kiss they’d shared when they’d promised to be true to one another. To honour and respect each other’s wishes. And how, when he’d pulled back, his eyes had been dark with something she hadn’t allowed herself to fully acknowledge. Desire. She’d felt it then and she felt it now.

When a low moan threatened to roll up and out of her throat, she knew it was her responsibility to stop this before it went any further.

Falling for Finn at this juncture wouldn’t be any different to the countless film stars who succumbed to a film-set romance. Passion born of a fiction and really good catering. A hunger for one another that would only prove soluble when they re-entered the real world. Feelings – so intense when it had just been the two of them trying to create something magical together, something beautiful – unable to withstand the rigors of real life. That’s where they were now. Fighting the big fight. Together. But he knew it was temporary. And he wasn’t the kind of guy to hook up with the American tourist just because he could. He’d do it because he cared for her. And the truth was she didn’t trust her feelings when it came to him. Being with Finn tugged at a part of her she actively hid from people in LA. The side that knew and liked hanging out with cows. The part that loved family-style meals where everyone ate what they were given without giving a diatribe on their latest holistic-eating routine. The side she regularly told her family she didn’t have in the way they did. They were wired differently, she’d said. Wanted different things from life. So she liked going through a day knowing her white jeans would stay white. Was that so bad?

But when she was with Finn, all the things she’d convinced herself she wanted in life got muddled. And today, of all days, she didn’t have time for cloudy thinking.

‘Finn?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Why are you here?’

‘I . . . ehmm – I—’

His fingertips brushed over that tender, vulnerable spot at the base of her neck. A hot shiver of approval swept down her spine.

‘Sorry.’

‘No.’ She pulled back and away from him. ‘It’s just, you know, busy day ahead.’