Page 87 of Of Heather and Thistle
Chapter 25
When Heather stepped inside the pub, she realized she had vastly underestimated the energy of a ceilidh.
She hadn’t meant to come. Not really. Claire had dragged her out with promises of “just one drink,” but Heather had planned to slip in, have a quick cider, and ghost before anyone expected her to enjoy herself. The pub was alive—too alive. Music swelled. Voices crashed. Boots stomped. And for a moment, she just stood in the doorway, feeling the heat of the crowd press in on her. She wasn’t ready for this. It was too loud, too bright, too…real.
Her fingers curled around the strap of her purse, nails pressing into her palm. Maybe she could just turn around. Pretend she hadn’t seen any of it. The air was thick with the scent of whisky and warm cider, the low hum of conversation punctuated by bursts of joyful shouts and stomping feet as couples spun across the wooden floor. A lively tune pulsed through the space, fiddle and accordion, weaving together ina rhythm that was impossible to ignore.
People clapped along, their faces flushed from dancing and drinking. She slipped through the crowd, maneuvering toward the edge of the room where she could take it all in. he hadn’t been in a space this bustling—this full of life—in longer than she cared to admit. It was comforting in a way she hadn’t expected—chaotic, warm, and inviting. She was about to head to the bar for a drink, but then—
Her eyes foundhim.
Heather’s breath hitched.
Flynn leaned against the bar, laughing at something, whisky glass loose in his grip. His white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, showing the forged strength of his forearms, and his usual work-worn look had been replaced by something relaxed yet effortlessly put together. The dim glow of the pub lights cast a warm hue over his stubbled jawline, the deep blue of his eyes, and the way his hair had fallen into an unruly mess that looked entirely too good for someone who clearly hadn’t tried. Relaxed, easy, comfortable in a way that made her stomach twist.
Becauseshewasn’t.
She was coming apart at the seams, and he was here, looking like some kind of damn safe haven. And then he looked up. And saw her.
Oh, hell.
Flynn just stared. Not in surprise. Not in casual recognition. But in knowing. Like he’d been waiting. Like he’d known she’d come. The crowd dissolved. The ceilidh buzzed on, but Heather was caught in the pull of his gaze, like a thread had been tied between them and tightened. Then— The smirk. Heather braced herself.Too late. Flynn excused himself from the group, set his drink down, and walked straight toward her. Heather’s brain screamed:Go!
Her body stayed.
“Campbell.”
Heather sighed dramatically. “Oh, you again.” Flynn chuckled, tilting his head at her. “Didnae think ceilidhs were yer thing.” Heather forced a wry smirk, like she wasn’t seconds from turning into static. “They’re not. I made an exception.”
“Lucky me.”
God, the way he said that.
She rolled her eyes, desperate for something sharp, detached, easy. “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
His smirk deepened. “And yet, here we are.” Heather exhaled through her nose. The bar was too close. The music was too loud. The air was too warm. And Flynn was everywhere. He tilted his head toward the dance floor. “So?”
She frowned. “So, what?”
His eyes sparked. “Are you going to keep pretending yer just here to spectate, or are you actually going to dance?”
Heather snorted. “Oh, absolutely not.”
He leaned in, nearly whispering in her ear. “Why not?”
Her pulse jumped at how close he was to her, feeling his breath on the shell of her ear. “I… I don’t know the steps.” She hated how weak it sounded. She glanced at the dance floor where people were spinning and weaving through the lively Dashing White Sergeant.
Flynn grinned and offered his hand. “Neither do half the people out there. But that’s the fun, aye?”
Heather arched a brow. “Are you about to ask me?”
He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly. “Aye, I am.” His voice was low, smooth, and confident. Heather swallowed.
Well. Damn.
Heather blinked, startled by the question. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” he asked, tilting his head. “Go on, lass. Ye came all this way to Scotland, didn’t you? Might as well get the full experience. And what’s the worst that could happen?”
