by Emma Baird
Katya laughed. Her best friend had dropped plenty of clues, but Katya didn’t notice. Too busy feeling sorry for herself. Still, who cared now?
Dexter picked up another slice of the toast and fed it to her. Katya would have mocked all this cutesy stuff normally. Now, she lapped it up. At this rate it was only a matter of time before she and Dexter fixed on icky nicknames for each other.
Oh, but... what was he doing back in this country, anyway? The South Korean launch was scheduled for spring next year.
“I’m thinking of moving to Norwich or even London,” she said, “I know it’s still a long-distance relationship, but not quite as long distance as Lochalshie.”
He slid the robe off her shoulders and pushed her back gently onto the bed, clambering over the plate of toast and lying on top of her, propping himself up on his forearms so he could look at her How, how, how had she been able to forget this and how powerful it was? Tomorrow—or whenever—she would tell Psychic Josie her lousy website had no idea how to figure out a couple’s NSFW status. Turned out Pisces and Leo far out-sizzled Pisces and Scorpio no matter what her astrology software said.
“That’s a pity,” he said lightly. “Seeing as I’ve negotiated a super-cool new working arrangement with Blissful Beauty where I get to work remotely—wherever the hell I want. Leaves a lot more time for a relationship, I guess.”
“What?”
He bent his head to her and kissed her. “Yup. Turns out I’m indispensable. So I call the shots. If you can do the digital nomad thing, so can I. And if I say I’m not gonna work all the hours God sends, they agree.”
There was another thing she’d forgotten—that silky smooth voice. And one hundred times nicer when it said words she’d always longed to hear.
“But the money,” Katya said. She’d never asked how much Dexter made, but she guessed it was substantial, a six-figure kind of deal. Not that he ever did anything with it. When you worked 70-hour weeks and took no vacations, it left no time for spending sprees.
“I’ve got a lot of savings,” he said, confirming the suspicion. “Wanna to try living in London? Or we could live in a tiny Scottish village where the weather is atrocious, it’s criminally cold ten months of the year and the locals poke their noses into your business all the time.”
“When you put it like that... But it does have the best vegan pizza in Scotland. There’s a Pilates class too, where stressed marketing managers can chillax.”
“And admire what the teacher can do with her legs and fantasise where they might end up later. It’s also the place where I met the most super-awesome, amazing, beyond brilliantly beautiful woman.”
Hyperbole? You could learn to live with it. Love it, even. This time, she brought her head up to kiss him.
“I phoned you,” she said, remembering the call and how it had screwed with her head. “After I listened to Caitlin’s not-so-subtle hints.”
He propped himself up on his elbow and smiled. “That was Flower—my niece. Also an intern at Blissful Beauty.”
“Niece?” she said, struck by the things she didn’t know about Dexter. All this was to come, then. Dexter and his family, Katya and hers—the details you didn’t bother with in those heady early days. And now they had the time to find out, to question and explore.
“Yeah. My older sister Courtney started young. Flower’s her eldest and kinda protective of me. I was getting loads of calls from magazines about the so-called relationship with Caitlin. Flower thought you were a journalist from one of the British trashies when you rang. She happened to be alone in my office. I didn’t make the connection until days later.”
He rolled onto his side, resting his hand on Katya’s torso where it moved up and down and they watched it circle her belly button, and edge downwards.
“I’ve supported Courtney for years, but it’s time for her to stand on her own two feet.”
Katya had assumed Dexter’s piles of wealth sat in a savings account somewhere gathering interest and dust. But it turned out he gave it to his family instead. “What a prince!” as Gaby would say. Katya murmured a half-hearted protest. Was he sure? She didn’t want him to feel guilty.
“I’m not going to. When she found out about you, Flower turned into another person, telling me I had to go after you. She also told me I was an enabler—allowing her mother to drift and not take responsibility.”
“I’d like to meet Flower.”
“She’d love to meet you too. But if we’ve finished all the explanations...?” The hand had found its way between her thighs and his fingers did magical, sparks-flying things.
One last thing.
“Zac.”
“Shush.” Lips landed on hers once more. He pulled his head back. “You don’t need to explain.”
Just as they were about to explore the far-most reaches of human pleasure, the flat’s front door opened and a shout came up the stairs.
“Katya? Dexter? Are ye decent? We decided we might hae a wee party in the flat to celebrate the new year.” Footsteps—a few of them—clattered up the stairs, accompanied by chat and laughter.
Katya groaned. The ceilidh was supposed to finish just after midnight. For the sake of decency, they might have waited.
“Dexter,” she stood up. He grinned at her. “Welcome to village life.”
When they emerged from the room, clothes hastily pulled on, Mhari, Gaby, Jack, Jolene and Stewart by now ensconced in the living room and dispersing drinks, cheered. Ribald comments followed, along the lines of good things came to those who waited and a marvelling at the powers of the village to kick-start romances.
“Aye, aye,” Stewart said, Scottie wagging his tail furiously by his side. “Look at me and ma Jolene. Five years together and a bairn on its way. Mebbe that’ll be you next, Gaby.”
Jack shook his head. “Can you imagine Gaby having to cope with pregnancy and my mother? It would be the highlight of her medical career. She’d never leave your side, Gaby.”
Another knock at the flat front door. Seconds later, the doctor, whose ears must have been burning, came in with Ranald. “How’re, how’re,” she said, nodding at everyone in turn. “The ceilidh’s going full pelt, so Ranald and I thought we’d spend the bells wi’ the ones we love.”
She turned gimlet eyes on Katya. “Did I no’ promise you amazing things, Katya?”
Katya stifled a smile. And then let it out anyway. Gaby, Mhari and Dr McLatchie all had permission to take responsibility for tonight’s overwhelming bliss.
The doctor sat down next to Gaby, Ranald taking up his usual position near the door so he could hide in a corridor the minute someone tried to talk to him. The doorbell sounded again and Katya shot Mhari a filthy look at the same time as she gave Dexter an apologetic one. He didn’t seem to mind the non-stop troop of folks. Stewart had button-holed him, determined to discuss the porridge-making championships that had taken place earlier the day. Dexter seemed happy enough to talk about it, even if the super-food vegan version he might have favoured had ended up in last place.
Downstairs, a man bounced on his toes nervously.
“Ah... Katya, isn’t it? Um, is there a party here tonight?”
Lachlan Forrester. Rescuer of people stranded when their mini-bus was nicked. Also mad crush of Mhari’s. He wore smart clothes—pristine clean jeans, a dark green roll-neck jumper and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. A man who’d put in effort. He shivered with nerves—someone on the verge of bolting. He carried stuff too—a rucksack that clinked glass together and a basket that wobbled from side to side and meowed.
Lachlan looked at the basket. “Wee pressie for Gaby.”
“Mhari!” Katya yelled up the stairs. “Someone to see you!”
“She’s a gigantic pain in the butt,” she said, watching the corners of his mouth edge upwards in response. “But special too. You won’t regret it.”
Ah, love. As Caitlin said, didn’t it make you want to yell to the rooftops? Or at least make sure those around you felt it
s blissful warm blanket too?
Upstairs, Dexter winked at her. Lachlan set his basket on the floor, and the cat, a ninety percent ginger ten percent white, nosed her way out. Scottie tried to say ‘hello’. The cat immediately hit him on the nose with her front paw, forcing him to retreat, cowering, under one of the armchairs. Satisfied the space was now safe, the cat wandered over first to Dexter, who tickled her under the chin, and next to Gaby. Obligingly, she leapt onto her lap. Someone started up the music—a Spotify playlist aimed at encompassing all tastes. Tricky, given the party attendees, but a cheer went up when the Proclaimers started up, determined to walk their 500 miles and back again.
Privacy tonight, of all nights, might have been nice but time, the luxury that had eluded Katya and Dexter in their first few months together, now bolted itself to their side. Oh, the endless days, evenings, lunches, dinners (breakfasts) together that stretched out in front of them... Pilates classes, walks by the loch, pub-quiz evenings in the Lochside Welcome... They could even climb Maggie Broon’s Boobs and take photos of each other in front of the nipple cairns.
With all that alone-together time ahead of them, who could begrudge a dark winter’s evening gathered in a flat far too small for that many people as they talked about Stewart’s porridge judging, Dexter’s helicopter descent, the money Psychic Josie had taken, the sales of shortbread, the numbers of people who had signed up for next year’s Highland Tours and the overwhelming success of the Lochalshie Hogmanay Ceilidh?
“Better put the word out, Mhari,” Katya said, crossing her fingers every single member of the Lochalshie WhatsApp group didn’t turn up. “Ceilidh post-mortem at our house. Can we get Ashley to send us take-out vegan pizza and chips?”
Muttering “Aye, he’d better” and adding in “vegan pizzas with bacon and cheese” (Katya told herself she could pick the offending bits off), Mhari’s thumbs moved up and down over her phone screen.
Sat next to her, Lachlan retrieved his rucksack. “I also liberated these,” he said, fishing in the bag and pulling out a plastic bag that clinked—the telltale rattle of glass hitting glass. “Zac forgot he’d left them out the back of the car park at the Royal George so I took them.”
He made his way into the kitchen, saying he was on a mission to find crisps, shortbread and anything he could turn into a sandwich.
Dexter retrieved one of the bottles from the plastic bag and whistled. “Um, Dom Perignon Vintage 2004... should we be drinking this?”
Katya took the bottle from him, opening it with that soft pfft bottles of fizz were meant to give when opened by those who knew what they were doing (or who had plenty of experience). She swigged from it. “Yes. If fools want to pay hundreds of pounds for this stuff and think that’s impressive, we should drink it in an ordinary house, in an ordinary place and at an ordinary time.”
“Except,” Dexter accepted the proffered bottle from her and knocked back a decent amount himself. “You’re extra-ordinary, and I’m beyond excited, super-thrilled that we’re embarking on this fantastic adventure together and jeez, if that ain’t worth celebrating with overpriced, stolen champagne, I don’t know what is.”
Quite.
Katya squeezed Dexter’s hand. He squeezed hers back. “Village life,” she whispered. “You urban metrosexual you. Are you sure you want this?”
She was ninety-nine point five percent sure of the answer, but it thrilled her anyway. “God, yeah, Katya. Bring it on!”
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six...
And with that, he kissed her—mouths meeting, lips bumping and tongues dancing together, the two of them oblivious to the cheers that started behind them.
Happy New Year.
THE END
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT...
Next in the Highland Books series is Highland Wedding, which continues the story of Gaby and Jack from Highland Fling. Read on for a short extract from the book...
THE PROPOSAL
“Jack, will you marry me?”
Plenty of people are traditionalists. They believe, even though we are well into the 21st century, that it is still the man’s job to propose marriage. When I said to Katya I was thinking of proposing to Jack, she told me to go for it. The modern woman blah blah... before shuddering.
My best friend has a dim view of marriage, given her mother’s track record. And she hates the idea of being the centre of attention. As do I. Just not as much.
Jack and I live together and we share a cat—an ancient, grumpy moggie called Mildred. Not my idea, the name but her previous owner was an old guy who needed to go into residential care. The home didn’t allow pets (backwards of them) so we inherited her. I love Mildred. She thinks I’m okay and Jack she tolerates—just. This is the norm with cats. If dogs think they are human, a cat thinks it is God.
My point is there’s no need for Jack and I to get married—I just think we should. And I know our friends and neighbours in the small village where we live would be delighted. It’s a long time since there’s been a wedding in Lochalshie. Funerals are standard, but nuptials are few and far between. The only other candidates are our friends Stewart and Jolene, and Jolene point blank refuses. Katya says she reckons Jolene doesn’t want to tie the knot just in case someone better comes along. And with Stewart, that bar isn't high.
Back to my proposal... I’ve discussed it with Mildred, sworn her to secrecy and chosen a date. A year—give or take a day or two—to the day we first got together, although we’ve known each other much longer than that.
The venue for where I pop the question? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the annual Lochalshie Highland Games and a rare sunny day in a remote village in the north-west of Scotland...
Highland Wedding is due out in December 2019.
Other books by this author (click on the links to view them):
Highland Fling—a boy, a girl, a dating guru. What can possibly go wrong?!
Artists Town—friendship, first love and the secrets we keep
The Girl Who Swapped—a fun, flirty chick lit adventure
Ten Little Stars—a short story collection.
I’m in my 40s, married and ‘mum’ to a very spoiled cat. I live in Dumbarton near the bonny, bonny banks of Loch Lomond, and by day I’m a communications officer/freelance writer, by night an author. My biggest dream come true would be to be able to write full-time. If you’d like to stay in touch, you can email me at [email protected] and sign up for my (infrequent) newsletter at that address. If you do sign up for my newsletter, I’ll send you a short story—when Katya and Dexter first met. It’s, er, a bit on the blue side but when I write erotica I concentrate on what goes on in people’s heads, rather than dwelling on the physical side of it. I’m on all the socials, but I’d rather stay in touch with you via email as that is much more personal. If you do email me just to say ‘hello’ I will reply as I love email.
Finally, if you liked this book, I would be very grateful if you could review it... Reviews help sell books and persuade Amazon it is worth making your book more visible in that sea of titles (millions of them!). You can review Highland Heart here. Thank ye kindly if you do.
THE GRATEFUL THANKS BIT!
Thanks to Caron Allan and Kimberly Lynn who were very encouraging on Wattpad, particularly grateful thanks to Caron for her last-minute double-checking. (Really last minute...) Kristien Potgieter made an excellent job of beta reading and then proof-reading my manuscript—she’s a cat lover too so we bonded quickly—and Enni Tuomisalo designed the book’s beautiful cover for free. (Is it weird to admit I have a mad crush on the Dexter vector?!)
Thanks to you for reading. We all lead busy lives these days so it means a great deal to me that you decided to take the time to work your way through my book. I hope you feel your efforts were rewarded.
Lochalshie is loosely based on Arrochar in Argyll & Bute. It is a beautiful place so if you find yourself in the west coast of Scotland, please visit. And I have a wee plea to make... if poor little Mena has inspired
you to get your own cat, please adopt, don’t shop. There are hundreds of cats in shelters desperate for a forever home. I also have a soft spot for Cretan Cat a List, and the work they do on the island to trap, neuter and release/re-home cats.
Apologies to Jill, Fiona and Lorraine for allowing an unqualified Pilates teacher to star in my book. I know from lessons I’ve had from these ladies that thorough and extensive training is a must.
The biggest bit of thanks go to Sandy, who supports me as a writer, putting up with the so-far poor remuneration and his lady wife disappearing for hours at a time to tap away on her keyboard. Some day, my sweet, we will be able to afford to shop at Marks and Spencer’s for our food instead of Aldi...
Don't miss out!
Click the button below and you can sign up to receive emails whenever Emma Baird publishes a new book. There's no charge and no obligation.
https://books2read.com/r/B-A-YJNF-KWNBB
Connecting independent readers to independent writers.
