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“Are you saying I’ve got fat?”
His eyes widen in horror. “No!” When he realises I’m just messing with him, he breaks into a grin and flexes his muscles. “It’s because I’m bulking up so much. Becoming a man, you know?”
He has broadened out—he’s no longer the skinny little boy he used to be—and he’s finally shot past me in height. His voice has deepened too, and I’ve got to admit, I like how he sounds.
“I suppose those biceps do need space to breathe,” I agree. “The next time we go to the cinema, you’ll need to book an extra seat for them.”
“Are you kidding? I’ll need a whole row for these.” Lewis strikes a classic bodybuilder pose and plants a kiss on his arm. “I’m becoming a total beast.”
He’s no longer as scrawny as he once was, but “beast” is a ridiculous exaggeration, and for some reason this sends me into stitches. It’s not even that funny—I think this is just all the bottled-up tension I’ve been carrying around finally bursting out.
“Aye, laugh it up. I get it—I’m still a bit of a beanpole.” Lewis pretends to sulk, sticking out his lower lip, before joining in with the laughter. He isn’t offended in the slightest about being the butt of the joke. I think he’s just happy to see me in good spirits.
“Okay, enough talk about muscles,” I say once I’ve caught my breath. “I’m far more interested in unhealthy things, like cake.” I polish off my slice then hop down from the swing and hold out my hand for him to shake. “You definitely deserve this.”
Lewis was inspired to get into baking by The Great British Bake-off, which we watch together religiously. In the show, judge Paul Hollywood rewards bakers who impress him with a coveted “Hollywood handshake”. As Lewis’s chief taste tester, I’ve adopted this tradition, and I give him my own version—the “Stewart handshake”—whenever he bakes something that wows me.
Lewis glances at my fingers, observes the cream and crumbs on them, and arches an eyebrow. “Your hand is pretty minging, so I’ll pass, but . . . thanks?”
“Hey, you can’t turn down a Stewart handshake!” I move closer to him, reach out, and boop his nose, leaving a blob of cream there.
He doesn’t immediately wipe it away but instead frowns and tries to look at it, going cross-eyed in the process. I don’t know why, but . . . his expression is adorably cute.
“Iona, there’s something I need to whisper into your ear,” he says. “Come here a moment.”
“Nope!” Laughing, I retreat a few steps.
He narrows his eyes then lunges forward. Squealing, I dodge him then try to flee, but he catches me easily and lifts me off the ground. Wow, clearly he is getting stronger. He carries me over to a patch of grass, lays me down, then leans over me and rubs his nose against my cheek.
“Ew, that’s gross!” I protest, half cringing, half laughing.
When he pulls back, he’s grinning mischievously, but then our gazes lock, our faces only inches apart. A moment passes. Then another. Lewis’s playful demeanour shifts, his expression growing more serious. There’s an intensity in his deep-brown eyes I’ve never seen before. Then . . .
He rolls off me and sprawls beside me on the grass, bursting into laughter and shattering the awkward tension.
But my heart is racing. What just happened between us?
Get a grip, Iona. It was just Lewis being silly.
“Really? Rubbing your nose on me?” I say. “How old are you?”
“Aye, well, putting cream on my nose—how old are you?”
Our familiar rapport helps restore our usual vibe. I stare up at the sky, cool blades of grass tickling the back of my neck. Overhead, clouds drift lazily, and for a while I allow myself to get lost in their shapes.
“When we finish school, I’m out of here,” I announce abruptly, cutting through the tranquil silence. “Bannock is too . . . suffocating.”
I hadn’t felt that way about my hometown a week ago, but I do now.
“Of course you’ll leave,” Lewis agrees. “I’ve always known you would.”
The certainty in his voice takes me by surprise, and I prop myself up on one elbow to get a better view of him. “You have?”
“Just look at your grades! Bannock is too small for you. You’ll go off to university somewhere fancy then fly high in the world.”
“Well, you’ll have to come too. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
He smirks up at me, the sun highlighting reddish strands in his chestnut hair. “My grades aren’t anything to brag about. Besides, I really like the hotel.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll run it someday, when Maw and Da are old and grey. First, though, I’ve been thinking about helping out in the kitchen. Perhaps your maw could take me under her wing? I already pester her with questions while she cooks.”
