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“Aye.”

He nods. “I’m sorry you lost them. I’m going to stand, though.”

Shrugging, I sit. I’ve no wish to fight this guy, and standing feels more confrontational.

“So, how can I help?” I’m pretty sure this is about last night, but I act like I’ve got no idea why he’s here.

Richard doesn’t answer straight away, as if he’s considering his words. Eventually he says, “Yesterday Iona went to the pub for a girls’ night, but I hear she spent a fair chunk of it with you. To be honest, it would have been hard not to have heard, the way word gets around this town. The duet you and Iona did is all anyone is talking about today. It’s pretty humiliating to hear people chatter about the two of you when she’s my girlfriend.”

I hold up my hands in a gesture of peace. “Mate, it was only a song. You’ve got this all wrong. Iona and I are just friends.”

“Yeah, but you’ve not always just been friends, have you?”

And there it is. So he does know about my history with Iona.

“Ah.” I can’t think what else to say.

Arms crossed over his chest, he stares at me like he’s searching for something in my expression. “I don’t know how she still talks to you—no, how she still looks at you—after what you did to her.”

His words cut deep because I’ve had the same thought myself.

“I don’t get the dynamic between you,” Richard adds, “but it makes me uncomfortable. Can you just tell me what the fuck is going on? Do you have feelings for her?”

I rap my fingers on my thigh. “Nothing is going on between us. We sang a song—that’s it. But . . . I do have feelings for her.”

He bristles, the corners of his lips pulling down as though he’s trying hard to steady his emotions. “I’m not just talking about friendship feelings here. I’m talking about the other kind.”

“So am I.”

For the longest time, he says nothing. Then, “Well, this is shit. I’ve come to this town with Iona. We literally live opposite you. And . . . what, you’re going to try to win her off me? How can you even think you deserve her? The way you treated her . . .”

In a quiet but assured voice, I say, “She’s not a prize to be won. And all I said was I’ve got feelings for her—I’ve no idea how she feels about me. As you may know, our history is . . . complicated.”

He stares at me a while longer then blows out. “Fuck!” He opens his mouth as if to say something more then thinks better of it and shakes his head. Without another word, he turns and walks off.

Alone in the garden, I contemplate this new development. If Iona were my lass and I found out another guy was sniffing around her, how would I have reacted? Despite all my weight training, I’ve never been one to pick fights, and yet I don’t know that I could have kept my cool as well as Richard did.

He’s clearly not a bad guy, and he has every right to be pissed off. In truth, though, I don’t think I’ve overstepped any boundaries. Hanging out together at the gym? Having a chat in the pub and singing a quick song? Those are the kinds of things friends do, aren’t they?

Then again, I did ask her if she still reads smutty books, and when she spilled that water over her chest, I was pretty distracted. So . . . aye, maybe my interest hasn’t been entirely innocent.

But fuck, I know a lot of people don’t believe in “the one”, but I do, and for me it’s Iona—it always has been. She’s not just some lass, she’s the only lass I’ve ever wanted to be with, the only one I can imagine ever wanting to be with. So if there’s even a chance I can win her back, then I’m going to take that chance. And if that means I have to go through Richard, then I don’t care how nice he is—I’ll go through him.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IONA

“I’m back!” I close the front door behind me. “Sorry I’m late.”

For several seconds there’s no response, then Richard says, “Through here.” He sounds weary.

I plonk down my gym bag then head through to the dining room. He’s by himself at the table, an empty plate in front of him, a few crumbs the only remainder of his dinner. At my usual spot is a plate of food that has long since gone cold.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were going to serve dinner. Sorry. My quick after-work gym session ended up being a much longer session—I thought it might undo some of the damage the wine did last night.” It’s a joke, and to be fair, the corners of Richard’s mouth twitch, only the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s fine.” The despondency in his tone suggests it isn’t.

Attempting to stay upbeat, I walk over to my seat and inspect the grub: chicken breasts stuffed with haggis and served with whisky sauce, mashed potatoes, and veg. “Oh, wow, Balmoral chicken—nice. Did Maw make this earlier?”