Page 17 of Scotch & Dreams

“Ah, that’s top secret, lass.”

Violet hadn’t realized how famished she was until she’d plowed through her meal in record time. She put down her knife and fork, feeling satiated.

“Can I get you some more?” Lachlan offered, standing up.

“Oh no, thank you. I don’t think I could eat another bite. It was delicious." She couldn't recall the last time she'd managed to eat everything on her plate. Violet was more of a snack type than a full meal type.

“Can I offer ye a whisky? I know ye like it.” He eyed her, throwing her his irresistable crooked grin.

“Are you going to have one too?” she asked tentatively.

“Och, aye,” he said, his Scots burr rolling thickly, sending a warm tingle down her spine. He stepped over to a nearby side cabinet. Opening the door below, he picked out a dark bottle, pulled the cork and sniffed it. It appeared to be a well-rehearsed ritual. He poured two glasses and then picked up a carafe of water from beside the glasses and carefully poured a drop into each glass. Swishing them both in his hands, he walked back to the table.

Handing Violet a glass, he clinked it with his, and sat down, “Slainte.”

“Slainte,” Violet smiled back at him, realizing the word, pronounced slanj-uh, must mean something like cheers. Before bringing it to her lips, she breathed in its rich, deep scent. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes. The warm amber liquid danced on her tongue. It was so flavourful, like buttery spicy fruitcake that had warmed in a campfire. She swallowed, and when she opened her eyes, her breath hitched.

Lachlan was watching her with a hunger in his intense gaze. Awareness crept through her as she licked the hint of scotch off her bottom lip. The way he eyed her made her feel like he’d like to do it for her. A heady sensation rippled through her and she shivered.

“Too strong?” His voice had a huskiness she hadn’t noticed before.

“No, it’s perfect.” A smile played on her lips as she tried to calm her kicked-up pulse. She took another sip, despite the tension that suddenly filled the space between them. The heat from the whisky only deepened the flush in her cheeks “Mmm, this is so good." The words slipped out more breathy than she intended, and she forced herself to focus. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

With her eyes closed, she sat still, half wondering if Lachlan was watching her—while marvelling at the scotch's complexity, the way the flavours mingled on her tongue like an unfolding love story.

Opening her eyes, she was disappointed to find Lachlan's gaze was downcast as he took a longer sip of his whisky.Spell broken?she wondered, suddenly unsure if she'd misread the look in his eyes when he'd watched her. Picking up her plate, she stood, intending to help clean up.

“Oh, no ye dinnae,” he scolded, stealing her plate from her hand. “Ye go sit yourself in the lounge. I’ll take care of this.” He shooed her away. “Ye need to take it easy.”

“I’m pretty sure I can help with the dishes,” she argued.

“Oot with ye, down the end of the hall is the lounge,” he nudged her out of the dining room, not allowing her to argue with him.

“Alright, alright,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

“There’s more whisky in there if ye need a refill, help yerself.”

“Mmm, it is going down awfully easy. Seriously, I think it’s the nicest I’ve ever tasted,” she added.

“Really?” Lachlan asked, “It’s one of my own.”

“As in you made it?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Aye” was all he said, with a gleam in his eyes, before taking their dishes to the kitchen.

Violet stood there, contemplating his comment, and then took another sip—as if needing to test it. Still delicious. He’d really made this? She honestly couldn't remember tasting a better Scotch. Not that she was a connoisseur—but still. Every sip seemed to get better than the last—more complex. Was that even possible? And what did he mean, anyway, when he said he made it? Like… in his house? She glanced around, half-expecting to spot a door to a secret whisky-making room. Was this some kind of Scottish pastime? Smirking to herself, she made her way down the hall to find the lounge.

It was really more of a corridor than a hall. The man’s home was grand. Like a castle. A room with an open door caught her eye. Curious, she poked her head inside. A heavy-looking wooden desk with drawers sat in front of a large picture window. A tall bookcase lined one wall, filled with books and carefully placed decor. The whole room looked beautifully styled—like something out of a magazine.

Not bad, she thought wryly as she carried on down the hall. For the first time, she wondered what Lachlan did for a living. A Lawyer? Not a chance—she ruled that out immediately, having worked with lawyers before. A doctor? That didn't fit either; he'd been just as rattled as she was by her accident.

Violet strolled through double doors at the end of the hall, and the rolling sea greeted her. “Oh my god,” she whispered in awe. Large windows lined one long wall, and through them was a pebbled beach and the sea—this was Lachlan’s backyard. The gentling rolling waves sounded so loud and clear. She’d noticed the salubrious sound earlier but had no idea how close the ocean was to Lachlan's home. The sun had set, and dusk painted the evening sky in deep blues and purples with ribbons of orange and pink.

Mesmerized, Violet stood for a moment, simply gazing out the window, reflecting on how lucky she was to be in Scotland, chasing her dreams—and the serendipitous bump in the road that led her to cross paths with Lachlan. Sally lumbered into the room, pulling Violet from her musings. “Hello, big girl,” she cooed to the dog, who easily stepped onto the couch and settled in. Flicking on a lamp, Violet took in the room—two deep forest green tufted leather sofas faced each other, flanking another large fireplace. Lachlan must have lit the fire while she slept.

The wood crackled and popped, the flames warming the room. Violet wandered slowly, taking it all in. On the low, oversized coffee table between the two sofas sat the scotch. “Don’t mind if I do,” she murmured to herself, pouring a small splash in her glass. A carafe of water sat nearby, so she followed Lachlan's lead and added a careful drop.

A cluster of well-used pillar candles sat on the table. She looked around for matches and found some near the hearth. She lit the candles appreciating how their warm glow added to the ambiance. On the wall opposite the fireplace, a gallery wall of framed photographs caught her eye. Scotch in hand, she wandered over to take a peek. The photos spanned decades—family snapshots that clearly went back to Lachlan's childhood. There were pictures of his parents and what she assumed were siblings and friends. A few formal family portraits stood out, and Violet lingered on them.

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