Page 16
“You want anything, Lizzie?” Ruairidh asked.
“Oh no, I’m good, thanks,” came Lizzie’s muffled reply, mid-bite.
Jenn feigned intense interest in the coffee grinder, surreptitiously fixing her curls and pretending not to notice Ruairidh heading her way. Which was ridiculous, because how could anyone not notice him? He looked far too appealing in jeans and a fitted blue tee. Too fitted. Far too fitted.
Honestly, she wasn’t usually into the gym-built, quiet-and-broody sort, but apparently her type was now ‘grumpy man with biceps’.
Her gaze caught on the chrome reflection of the coffee machine—Metallica crop top, bandana, flour dust on her cheek. Rock-chick chic, courtesy of Abigail’s panicked call for help. She hadn’t expected to be working this morning, but here she was—elbow-deep in sponge crumbs, trying not to look like she was internally combusting.
“Morning, Ruairidh!” Mairead called from the back.
“Hi Mairead,” he said easily. His eyes shifted to Jenn. “Morning, Jenn.” Low. Warm. Like he’d said it just for her.
“Hello. What can I get you?” she said, praying her voice didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.
“Could we get a cappuccino, a tea, and a flat white, please? And a slice of Victoria sponge. What other cakes have you got today?”
“So… carrot cake, plain and treacle scones, and red velvet cupcakes.”
“Red velvet cupcakes!” he said loudly, practically lighting up.
Jenn grinned, unable to stop herself. “Sweet tooth, eh?”
“That obvious?” His returning smile hit her like a sucker punch—warm, genuine, a flash of something that made her pulse stumble. “And I’ll get Cairistìona the carrot cake, please.”
A small beat, then he surprised her.
“Listen, I’m… sorry. If I came across a bit off… that night. Sisters, you know?”
She blinked. Was he… apologising?
She smiled, softer this time. “It’s fine. Honestly. Màiri just seems... tenacious.”
“Ach, just tell her to shut up.”
She laughed, the sound bubbling up before she could stop it.
“Tell who to shut up?”
The voice came from beside Ruairidh—a woman who looked exactly like Cairistìona might in twenty years, and who wore an expression of delighted mischief.
“Màiri,” Ruairidh muttered, a slightly pained expression on his face.
“Màiri? Why? What’s she done now?” the woman asked brightly.
Jenn opened her mouth to answer, then wisely thought better of it. It felt like walking into someone else’s family Christmas—equal parts entertaining and mildly terrifying. She started portioning out the cakes.
“Hello—Jennifer, isn’t it?” the woman said, cutting in again.
“Yes. Well, you can call me Jenn. Pleased to meet you…?”
“I’m a Màiri too—his mum.” She nodded to Ruairidh, then beamed as she shook Jenn’s hand and gave her an obvious once-over. “And you’re Peigi Morrison’s niece, is that right?”
“Great-niece, technically.”
“Haha, I thought so. But you’ve definitely got Peigi’s spark—and your granny’s looks. I remember them back in the day—stunning, both of them!”
“Oh, thank you. A few people have said they see the resemblance.”
