Page 33 of Scotch & Dreams

Violet jumped as if her whimsical fantasy was visible to the naked eye. As she turned toward him, she got an eyeful of his freshly shaved, sharpened jaw. His dark brown hair was styled as if he just stepped off a photo shoot, and a crisp white button-up shirt with sleeves rolled exposed strong veined forearms that would make an ER nurse weep. His dress shirt was a perfect fit over his sculpted broad shoulders. She could just make out the thick curve of his pecs through it. Her eyes continued their descent as the shirt whispered over his torso, tapered down his trim waist, and tucked neatly into his belted dark, slim-fit pants.Holy shit.She almost felt intimidated by the gorgeous specimen of masculinity standing before her, peering into the frying pan with approval.

He looked so suave, cool, calm, and collected. Bond-esque, like he might request a dry martini with breakfast, "shaken, not stirred." Her jean-clad knees knocked together, utterly weak, and she almost groaned at how good he smelled. The perfect combination of fresh, intoxicating, and expensive.

Finally catching herself gaping, she quickly moved to the toaster, buttering the popped-up slices, suddenly far too aware of their uneven fashion playing field, andshewas the personal stylist! What she needed was a sexy black dress with an ultra-low cut back paired with Louboutin stilettos and her hair in an Audrey Hepburn-style French role. Yes, that was the aesthetic that she could imagine suiting his. Not her current state: oversized hoody, messy haphazard bun—if you could even call it a bun— and without a stitch of makeup. And for the first time in her life, she felt small. No, that wasn't it. She feltpetitenext to Lachlan.

Violet was used to being a member of the tall crowd. This felt quite different. “My stomach made me raid your kitchen. I hope that's okay.” She found her voice as she dished up the food she'd made them.

"I'm sorry. I should huv offered ye something more last night."

Their eyes caught, and the double entendre silently whispered between them.

“I didn't realize how ravenous I was until I woke up," she said, unintentionally descending further down the rabbit hole of double entendres.

"Aye, me too." His voice grew husky.

The memory of his hardened member in her hand first thing this morning flashed through her mind, making her flush. He winked at her as if he had read her thoughts, but then he sat down at the small kitchen table like the air hadn’t suddenly become thick with sexual tension.

The wink was so quick she could have imagined it, but it was accompanied by that crooked grin of his—somehow even more sexy on his clean-shaven face, assuring her that it wasn't her imagination. She placed one plate in front of him and sat down across from him with her own, her hunger pangs taking a backseat to the butterflies that now flitted low in her belly.

“I couldn’t find any coffee, so I assumed you were the tea type,” she said, nodding to the steamy mugs and the fussy-looking cream and sugar china set she'd filled and placed in the centre of the table.

“I have gotten into the habit of picking up a brew on the drive. I didnae notice I was out of coffee. Tea is great. Thank ye," he said, pouring a drop of milk into his mug. "Where did ye find this?" he asked with a raised brow, gesturing to the over-the-top floral china set as if he'd never laid eyes on it before.

"It was in front of the mugs in your cabinet. You don't know it?" She wondered when she spied the garishly embellished set displayed in front of the hygge vibe grey cream pottery mugs. She really liked the mugs. She’d even checked the bottom to see where they were made: Cromarty, in the Highlands. She made a mental note to add it to her places-to-visit-in-Scotland list.

Violet saw recognition cross over Lachlan's features, and then he stared at the set like it was going to grow legs and march across the table.

“Lachlan?"

"What? Oh." He shook his head and fiddled with the rolled sleeve of his dress shirt. “I suppose, um, my mam must huv brought them here at some point.”

Violet didn't know how or why, but she instinctively knew that was a lie. Mr. GQ looked tense and uncomfortable, like if he had a tie on, he'd be loosening it. Not a terrible image in her mind's eye.Good lord, what was with her? The man just lied to her about a china set—of all things—but why?

"I dinnae like them," he said as if the realization surprised him.

She wondered if he was actually talking about the china set or something else. But he was being truthful again.

"I dinnae remember seeing them before, though."

Lie.It became apparent that Lachlan was a terrible liar. He would get an uncomfortable look on his face like he had an itch that he couldn't reach to scratch, and he'd avoid looking at her before, during, and after stating the falsehood. Part of her wanted to laugh at how horribly he lied. Part of her wanted to call him out on it. But she chose to let it be.

"I saw them and assumed it would be okay to use them,” she said, feeling like she owed him an apology.

"Aye, of course," he said reassuringly as he cut into his omelet and took a hearty mouthful, moving on from the awkward creamer set conversation. "Mm, mm, this is delicious,” he crooned between mouthfuls.

Truth.

They ate in companionable silence as the spring sun lit Lachlan's kitchen in gold.

"Mm," Violet broke the silence, remembering she wanted to ask him something. "I found your eggs in the cabinet with the oil. Did you mean to put them there?" Her fork dangled from her finger and thumb as she eyed him curiously.

“You were expecting them elsewhere?" He leaned back in his chair, still holding a half-eaten piece of toast to which he'd added raspberry jam.

"You don't keep them in the fridge?" she hedged.

"Thefridge? Ye keep yer eggs in the fridge?" His gaze fixed on her.

"Yes, of course. Everyone does."

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