Page 12 of Knots About You
‘Deal.’ I passed her some cash—wholly missing the ease of tapping my phone—when she rang it up, and took a seat by the window on a cosy-looking floral armchair. Pulling up my screen, I went straight for my phone out of habit, only to remember that the borrowed one I had was a brick. Ah. Yes. No hiding in my phone then.
‘You’re staying at Rose Cottage?’ Eilidh asked when she came over with my foamy coffee and a supremely stuffed croissant.
I blinked. ‘Yes. How did you?—’
She tipped her chin toward the window. ‘MacKay’s nephew saw Owen’s truck out your way this morning. And Owen bought a muffin this morning. That man is usually allergic to stopping in here unless dragged in by someone else. Not much happens in Otterleigh that goes unnoticed. Don’t worry, we might gossip a bit, but we’re a friendly bunch.’
A newspaper rustled at a table in the corner where an older man sat reading with the concentration of someone marking an exam. Beside him, a woman in a cardigan the colour of pea soup stirred her tea and hit me with a thousand-watt smile.
‘You must be Claire,’ she said. ‘I’m Morag Campbell. This is my Alastair.’
She patted his sleeve, which encouraged him to give me a brief nod.
‘We’re just along from Rose Cottage, at number five. If you run out of sugar or need a natter, you know where to come.’
‘Hi,’ I said, the ease with which people struck up conversation making me squirm. In London, I could probably go the whole day without someone talking to me without trying too hard. Thank you. That’s a kind offer.’
One I absolutely had no intention of taking her up on.
‘Och, it’s no bother,’ Morag said cheerfully.
The coffee hit me with a mouthful of heat. I would have moaned if I weren’t worried about what people might say about the strange woman making sex noises over her cup.
Morag leaned closer. ‘Now. Owen Harris. I hear you stumbled into his house like a lost waif. He’s a good lad. Lost, that one, in a man sort of way. He’s a good boy.’
Owen had to be close to forty. And I kind of hoped he wasn’ttoogood.
My cheeks did that warm thing again. ‘He was a perfect gentleman. Helpful. And he rolls the r in my name, and it’s very—’ I mimed fireworks with my fingers. I was joking. Kind of.
Morag hooted while Alastair turned a page without looking over in the slightest. ‘Pretty easy on the eyes, too. Wait until you see him in his kilt on.’ Her eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘Lord help us all. He’s got good hams, that one.’
I choked on my coffee. ‘Oh my god.’
‘Morag,’ Eilidh warned. ‘Let the poor woman settle before you go matchmaking. She might not even be single.’
‘I’m just stating facts,’ Morag said with a grin. ‘So what brings you to our sleepy wee corner, Claire?’
‘My friend’s uncle owns Rose Cottage. I’m just here to give it a lick of paint.’
‘Mmm.’ Morag narrowed her eyes. ‘He could have got a painter in for that. I know you’re here to decorate. But what are youreallyhere for?’
The urge to tell her it was none of her business simmered. I was so accustomed to suppressing my feelings to appease work. Or Marty. Or my colleagues. Letting my shoulders fall half an inch, I gave in. Morag seemed friendly. It couldn’t hurt to open up a bit.
‘I guess I needed some quiet. My life is so loud sometimes.’
‘You’ll get no quiet in Otterleigh,’ Alastair mumbled behind his paper. ‘You’ll get peace, maybe. But not quiet.’
Morag rolled her eyes at him. ‘You’ll be all right, Claire. Folks will poke their noses in and bring you soup you didn’t ask for. You’ll get used to it. You might even like it.’
‘Being noticed feels odd,’ I admitted. ‘It’s rare I actually ever sit in a coffee shop and have nowhere to be rushing off to.’
‘Well, there’s plenty to be filling your time with, even if it’s not climbing that kilted wonder. There’s karaoke and the quiz at the pub, and walks across the beach. You can even borrow our Scruff if you need a companion.’ Morag indicated a small pile of fur beneath the table that I hadn’t noticed. The tawny little dog gave a slow thump of his tail before settling back to sleep. ‘And if you like books, Eilidh does a Wednesday night book club. They pretend it’s about reading, but it’s mostly cake and wine.’
‘Slander,’ Eilidh laughed. ‘It isequallyabout cake, reading, and wine. Don’t listen to Morag.
I sipped my coffee and let the village bubble on around me. Eilidh flirted with a man in a high-vis jacket. Another elderly man sat at a distant table and worked on a crossword puzzle out loud, with everyone else providing him with answers.
It should have felt claustrophobic, but it didn’t. There was a cosiness to the chaos.
