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I recognise that voice: it belongs to my best mate, Aidan. When the hell did he get here? Apparently, I only had eyes for Emily over dinner—I didn’t notice him arriving. I look his way, hoping he may take pity on me and save me from this situation. Instead, from his position at the bar, he gives me a big thumbs-up, takes out his phone, and starts filming. What a bawbag.

I turn back to Emily. She’s doing it all wrong, of course. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of now, and it was the subject of much teasing from Aidan at the time, but I did learn the dance as a lad, before puberty and self-consciousness got in the way. Nowadays, it’s mainly lassies you see doing it, but originally the Highland fling was a man’s dance, performed after victory in battle.

It’s been years since I’ve tried it, and I’m not in the right shoes for it—you need soft ghillies, almost like ballet shoes, to do it properly. And it looks best when you’re in a kilt, of course. But as Emily is proving, what’s having the proper outfit when you’ve got enthusiasm?

Oh, bloody hell. I raise a hand, place the other by my hip, and dance.

Emily beams at me, and there are whoops from the crowd. People clap and stamp their feet. After thirty seconds or so, the embarrassment fades, and I get into it.

We meet eyes, Emily and I, dancing away, a pair of fools, as everyone in the pub cheers us on.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ALLY

Fuck, that was a fun night.

I’m walking, and occasionally stumbling, back down the road with Emily, who’s walking slower than anyone I’ve ever seen and also twirling around each lamppost we pass. At a brisk walk, you can get from the Pheasant to the hotel in a minute—they’re that close—but we’ve already been out here for five minutes, and we’re not even halfway. That’s fine with me, though. I’m in no rush to part ways with this woman.

We’ve got the street to ourselves: it’s empty of both cars and other people. The Pheasant doesn’t close for another half hour, but as amused as the other patrons were by Emily, I thought it’d be a kindness to let them finish up their drinks in peace. Emily’s swan song was getting the whole pub to sing “Auld Lang Syne”, even though it’s more traditionally sung at Hogmanay and her knowledge of the lyrics was sketchy at best. She also insisted on singing it at the top of her lungs in her awful mockery of a Scottish accent.

Still, it’s not just Emily who’s had a few more than she maybe should have. I can’t remember the last time I drank so much. When you work seven days a week, there’s no time to get pissed. The one exception, apparently, is if a beautiful Englishwoman you kissed when you were twelve comes along. In that scenario, all rules go out the window, and you make time. I’ll suffer tomorrow, but my inevitable hangover is a problem for the morning. Right now, I’m with Emily, and I’m happy.

She stops suddenly and gazes up, like she’s only just noticed the existence of the sky. “Whoa . . .” She tugs my arm and points. “Ally, look! Look!”

“Aye, the night sky is pretty, isn’t it?”

“The stars! Ally, I’ve never seen so many!”

“A few more than you see in London, eh?”

“It’s amazing.” Her eyes are filled with wonder. “It makes me feel so . . . so . . . insignificant.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting her to say.

“You’re not insignificant, Emily. Far from it.”

She gives me the briefest of smiles then turns her attention back to the sky. “How many billion stars are out there? And how many billion people are on this planet? Of course I’m insignificant. Thirty years of life, and what have I achieved? I’m single, I’ve no family, and I’ve built up a business I don’t think I can even do anymore.

“Harry had a mum and a dad, plus a brother and a sister-in-law and a little niece. They were going to be my family too. People like to moan about their in-laws, but I was excited about changing my name and becoming a Cooper. Except . . . it didn’t happen, and now I’m alone again. Completely alone.”

The change in her mood is sudden, but it doesn’t surprise me. When she told me about how she was jilted, I realised there was a sadness lurking there. It’s only been twenty-four hours since this woman came back into my life, but even so, it breaks my heart to see her like this.

I want to reach out to her, to place a supportive hand on her shoulder, but instead I say, “I know it’s a cliché, but there are plenty more fish in the sea.”

“I know!” She turns to me, a happy—if rather drunk—smile returning to her lips. Prodding my chest with her finger as she emphasises each word, she says, “Fish . . . like . . . you!”

I chuckle. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having when we’re tipsy. Let’s get you to your bed.”

“Yes, to my bed. Let’s go!”

After walking at a snail’s pace for the last five minutes, Emily suddenly picks up speed, but she immediately loses her footing and stumbles. My body may be relaxed by drink, but my reflexes still kick in, and I grab her before she falls. As I pull her to me, she turns around, and the next thing I know, she’s standing a hair’s breadth from me, looking up at me, and me down at her.

We hold each other’s gaze for what seems like minutes but can only be seconds. Emily then closes her eyes, shuffles even closer to me, and snuggles into my chest.

“You’re so warm.”

My heart races, which Emily can no doubt feel. I wasn’t expecting this, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t react at all.