Some Like It Scot (Crescent Cove Book 1)

by Marlie May

  I was more than ready to believe, but there was no reason I couldn’t tease him before confessing I felt the same way. “You actually went looking for the monster?”

  “When school let out for the summer, a bunch of us drove up to Loch Ness.” He paused, and a sly glint appeared in his eyes. “Monster hunting is tiring work.”

  I snorted. “Sitting on the shore staring toward the water can wear a guy out.” I had to stop grinning like a fool and ignore how much I enjoyed just being around him.

  Humor shone in his eyes. “It was pure torture staying for a month in a place shrouded in myths and legends.”

  Envy sighed through me.

  “We stayed in a little B&B and spent our days hiking around the area.”

  “Did you go out in a boat to look for her, too?”

  “Every. Single. Day.”

  I laughed, imagining how fun that must’ve been.

  “I also climbed all over Urquhart Castle, which is a crumbling medieval ruin perched above the shore.”

  I bounced from one foot to the other. “I’ve seen pictures online. Was it gorgeous?”

  “Awe-inspiring. Like…” He shook his head. “Even though the outer walls are overgrown with vegetation, and the stones and mortar have collapsed, the castle still shines like the beacon it was in the thirteenth century. Among the ruins, there’s a tower you can still climb today.”

  In a flash, I became Lenore, standing at the top of the tower, gazing toward the Loch. Or toward the hills, praying I’d see Duncan cresting the ridge, driving his horse toward me.

  Imagine if he was…

  “Scotland sounds wonderful,” I said. “Thanks for sharing some of your memories.”

  He took my hand and squeezed. “Let’s run some more, okay?”

  We started jogging again and soon approached his house. There, my steps slowed, because raw emotion churned through me. Going inside meant watching him strip off his shirt again. It meant sitting in his kitchen and pretending that what was building between us meant nothing.

  It also meant picturing Dag on a horse, cresting a distant Scottish ridge, dressed in full, kilted regalia.

  In my dream, he grinned and urged the animal toward me.

  * * *

  I was a wreck. Today could be the first day of my new future.

  I showed up early at the Book Emporium for my interview. While purchasing a battery for Petunia earlier that morning, I’d splurged and bought myself a new outfit that made me feel like a million bucks.

  Standing outside the store, I smoothed my hair and straightened my top. This was it. The moment I’d waited for. With a belly rub for luck, I opened the door.

  Everything I’d seen before applying for the job was reinforced as I stood inside the entrance. The small tables and booths were filled to overflowing. Customers lined up in front of a register, buying food and drinks. If this place hadn’t turned a profit the first week it opened, I’d be astonished.

  I greeted a woman at the counter who appeared about seven months pregnant. Her long dark hair swung on her back, and a bright smile filled her face.

  “I’m Lark Harpswell,” I said. “I have an interview with the owner?”

  “And I’m Charity Marks.” She extended her flour-dusted hand over the glass countertop. “I’m the owner. Nice to meet you.” With a nod toward the back, she indicated I should join her. “Let’s go upstairs to my office.”

  I followed through the kitchen, where Charity hung her apron on a peg. Cooks darted around, and the scent of cinnamon and berries filled the air. We walked through a door at the back of the room and started up the stairs to the second floor.

  “When I purchased the building,” Charity puffed out ahead of me, “I sectioned out a small office to get away from the hustle. Up here, people forget I exist.” Her chuckle echoed off the stairwell. “I hope they do, anyway.”

  Entering a small room, she settled in an office chair behind the desk. “Please. Sit.” She gestured to the chair across from her.

  I perched on the edge and rubbed my damp palms along my thighs. The only thing about this job I hadn’t been able to assess was how Charity might be as a boss. So far, she’d been friendly enough to score an eleven on a scale of one to ten.

  Please, let me get this job.

  Charity explained that she employed three cooks, plus people to stock shelves, set up eye-catching displays, and others to run the registers. She laid out the expectations for her managerial staff and explained the alternating schedule for the new position.

  “This sounds perfect,” I said.

  Lifting my application from the desk, Charity traced her finger along the lines. “Couldn’t ask for a better degree than business. Stellar GPA. And phenomenal work experience at the diner. Anyone who can stick out waitressing for nine years has my vote.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Let’s keep the rest of the interview informal, okay?” she said. “I know everyone asks an applicant to name their strengths and weaknesses, but I’d rather have a general conversation—if that’s okay. It’ll give me a chance to get to know you as a person.” Her eyes penetrated me, making me hope she saw something worthy. “I need to know how we’d work together. That can’t be teased out from a piece of paper.”

  “What can I say?” My voice croaked. The PB&J I’d eaten earlier had solidified in my belly.

  Leaning back, Charity rested her hands on her abdomen. “Tell her about the real Lark Harpswell. What can you bring personally to this job? I’ve got a great crew here, and I don’t want to mess that up with the wrong candidate.” She coughed. “Let me back up here. I don’t want you sharing anything if it makes you uncomfortable, of course. But if we chat, rather than me slinging questions like I’m determined to keep you on edge, we can see if we’d get along.”

  This was nothing like when Dag and I prepped for my interview at the bar. In many ways, it was better. Charity needed to know if I was a good fit, and I needed to assure myself of the same. “I’m originally from Massachusetts. My mom, sister, and I moved to Crescent Cove after I graduated from high school. I started at the diner and took classes.”

  “Any hobbies?”

  “I’ve loved books ever since my mom read me Goodnight Moon when I was three.”

  Charity studied my face. “Your resume says you took nine years to get your degree?”

  “I went part-time. My sister had leukemia, and I wanted to help her through her treatments. She couldn’t work, but I could.” I shrugged. “And as much as I wanted to go to college full-time, we couldn’t afford it.”

  Charity’s face softened. “Your sister had cancer? That must’ve been a difficult time for you and your family.”

  I’d been a wreck all through it. Worried every second the treatment wouldn’t work. That I’d lose Paisley.

  “I’m also a runner,” I said. “I compete in half marathons to raise money for a cancer foundation. Will it be hard to get time off for an occasional event?”

  “I’m sure I can accommodate that. We work together here, helping each other as needed.”

  I liked the idea of working in a place I could consider a second home. “Other than that, I’m busy keeping my trailer in shape and helping my neighbors. Many of them are elderly and can’t do yard work or shovel in the winter. We all pitch in.”

  “Sounds like you’re active in the community. I like that,” Charity said. “We donate to a homeless shelter, and I’m providing food for an upcoming charitable event. One of the most important attributes I could ask from a potential employee is the willingness to help others.”

  “Outside that.” I flipped my hand toward myself. “What you see is what you get.”

  Charity made a few notes on my resume.

  We discussed Charity’s supervisory style and other expectations for the position. And the benefits—which were generous.

  “Anything else you’d like to ask me?” Charity asked.

  Biting my lip, I shook my head.

  A
nd there it was. I would either be offered the job or I wouldn’t. But it was wonderful to realize I’d given it my best shot.

  Charity stood and extended her hand for a shake. “Thank you for coming in. I have a few more candidates to speak with. One is out of town until the end of the month, so don’t be concerned if this takes time. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. I realize you may be interviewing for other positions. If you get an offer, would you let me know?”

  “Sure.”

  Tilting her arm, Charity checked her watch. “Perfect timing. I’m meeting my husband downstairs. We’re taking cookies and iced tea to the park.” Her cheeks pinkened, and she patted her belly. “We have a three-year-old son in addition to this one. Lately, it’s hard for us to find alone time, so we’ve started taking a blanket to the park in the afternoon. We lay back, watch the clouds drift by, and enjoy being together before life creeps back in.”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  Charity seemed to have an ideal life. She was married, she had a son and another child on the way. Her business boomed. What would it be like to have a secure future, like her? Even more, what would it be like to have someone I loved to share that future with? Envy weakened my bones.

  “Do you have a bathroom I could use before I leave?” I asked as Charity opened the door.

  “Two downstairs, but there’s no competition for the one up here. I’ll show you where it is.”

  After finishing, I returned to the kitchen and greeted the people hard at work there. Everyone smiled, and a few whistled while making bakery goods and sandwiches. Teasing flew through the air, and even during my brief observation, I was impressed. There was no better gauge of Charity’s managerial style than happy employees.

  Entering the main room, I paused and peered through the crowd, trying to locate Charity. She stood near the front door, smiling up at a man who stood with his back to me. Dark hair. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

  Must be her husband.

  Spotting me, Charity waved. “Lark! Come on over. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  The man turned, an easy grin on his face.

  Dag.

  Dag

  I couldn’t wait to congratulate Lark on what Charity called a stellar interview.

  The woman I couldn’t stop thinking about walked my way and halted close enough, her light, flowery scent of honeysuckle and vanilla filled my sinuses. Did they bottle it, or was I savoring pure Lark? I closed my eyes and took in more.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice filled with strain. “You two…know each other, I see.”

  Her crushed tone yanked me out of my daydream, redirecting my attention to her face. Why was she upset? Did she think the interview went badly?

  Charity slid her arm behind my waist. “This is Dag. My cousin.”

  Lark blinked. “Cousin.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced down at Charity and rubbed the back of her waist. “I come in here all the time for a good book, coffee, cookies. Whatever crumb this woman’ll give me.”

  “Where you been, anyway?” Charity reached up and messed with the hair on my neck. What was it with women and my stupid curls? “Since you’re my favorite cousin, you’d think I’d see you more often.”

  “Favorite? Last I heard, that was Gunner.”

  “That daredevil? Nah. Always been you.”

  “Oh, umm, shit,” Lark said. “Cousin. That’s perfect.” From the color riding her cheekbones, something was going on. I needed to get her alone and quiz the details out of her.

  From the varying expressions flitting across Charity’s face, I got the feeling she wasn’t sure if she should speak or dissolve into laughter. She must’ve seen something here that hadn’t hit me yet. But then, Roan had told me I needed a social skills intervention. Scratching my head, I descended into the pit of beyond-perplexed.

  Charity glanced back and forth between us. “I assume you know each other.”

  Tears spiked Lark’s lashes, snuffing out my lighthearted mood faster than a flame in a hurricane. Confusion took over. Why was she crying?

  Lark wiped the moisture away with her fingertips and sniffed. “I’m sorry, Charity. That was a stupid mistake. I’m mortified that I—”

  “Not a problem.” She patted Lark’s arm. “I understand completely. Would’ve drawn the same conclusion myself.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

  Lark’s give-her-whatever-she-wants tears hauled me into her embrace. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk right now.” She moved toward the door, flapping a wave Charity’s way. “Thank you for taking time to speak with me.” Her horrified gaze encompassed me as she shoved open the door.

  Charity called out, “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Lark.” I lifted my hand toward her, but her reply was the door slamming shut.

  “Poor thing,” Charity said. “She’s upset. With good reason, I guess. Imagine, assuming you and I were married.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t catch that? My mistake, really. Are you two…”

  I shrugged because I was the last to know the answer to that question.

  “I told her I was meeting my husband downstairs.”

  That explained the odd behavior and Lark’s tears. Embarrassment?

  “You are meeting up with your husband.” Kevin wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck. “How’s my favorite person in the world?”

  She spun and pretty much jumped all over him.

  After their make-out session, Charity turned to me. “You hanging around much longer?”

  “He’s not,” Kevin said. From the sharp glance at the picnic basket by his feet, I was confident he’d impale me for interrupting their plans.

  Far be it for me to mess with my cousin and her husband’s free time. “Nope. I’m off.”

  “Wait.” Charity raced around the counter and filled a white paper bag with goodies from inside the display case. She handed it to me. “In case you get hungry later.”

  I was always hungry. “Thanks.”

  Leaving them, I strode out onto the sidewalk, hoping I’d find Lark still around, but she was gone. Maybe it was for the best. I couldn’t wrap my brain around what had just happened. How could she think I’d ask her out—let alone kiss her—if I was married? She really didn’t have much faith in men, did she?

  I walked down the street, but her truck no longer sat in the parking space.

  Grumbling, I climbed into my car. Should I drive out to her place or let this ride? Choosing the latter, mostly because I wasn’t sure what I’d say to her, I drove to the big box store in the next town over, where I made a sizeable dent in the garden section. After loading everything into my trunk, I drove home.

  My mower squealed when I hauled it from the garage. After a quick check of the oil, I filled it with gas. Crappy thing wouldn’t start until I’d hauled on the cord at least thirty times. I liked a work-out as much as the next guy, but my arm would kill me tomorrow.

  After mowing the front yard, I planted some pink flowery things next to some purple things along the walk. Beautifying, the security guard, Declan, who’d helped me load everything into my trunk, had called it. Seemed like more junk to maintain to me, and there was nothing beautiful about that.

  The big question was why I bothered.

  Do not think about Lark.

  My mother would’ve named it immediately. An insatiable urge to please Lark had risen inside me and wouldn’t let go.

  Unable to stop myself, I planted yellow and orange flowers across the front of the house, between the shrubs. The shrubs gouged my shoulders when I worked around them. Multiple snips later, the hedges didn’t come close to the animals I’d aimed for, but I’d shown them who was boss. Even if they now resembled lightning bolts.

  I vacuumed. Then I made up my bed with fresh sheets. A quick swipe with a wet cloth made everything else look tidy. Strolling through the rooms, I took in my place. Not too shabby. Not
too shabby, at all.

  After showering and then eating, I parked myself in front of my computer, determined to work on my book.

  I wrote the epilogue. Chattering kids and kisses wrapped things up nicely. But when I returned to my infamous love-declaration scene, I stalled.

  I tipped back in my chair and crossed my arms on my chest.

  I still couldn’t wrap my brain around Lark thinking I was married. Did she really believe I was that kind of guy?

  An hour later, I shut my computer down. My deadline waited, but it would have to keep on waiting.

  Scruff blinked up at me from his pillow as if to say, you’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?

  Like everyone else in my life, my cat knew me too well.

  I’d promised Dad I’d help on the job tomorrow, but there was no reason I couldn’t get it over with today. Climbing into my car, I drove across town.

  “Hey, buddy,” Dad said when I walked up the gravel driveway of his latest residential construction project. “How you doin’?”

  As usual, my father wrapped me up in a giant hug, which I disengaged from as soon as possible. “Great, Dad. Great.” The last place I wanted to be was here. I needed to finish my book. And I had an insatiable urge to paint the exterior of my rental house. Which was plain wrong.

  “Thought I’d see you tomorrow, but today works fine.” Dad nodded to a big pile of 2x4s nearby. “Grab a few of those, would you? I need to get them inside.” His gaze was drawn to the cloud-covered sky. “Supposed to rain tonight, and I don’t want them getting wet.”

  I’d come at the right time. Backbreaking work would cure whatever was bugging me, and hauling wood would keep my father out of my hair. A couple hundred 2x4s lay in a pile, begging for my attention. I lifted four. “Where to?”

  Dad dipped his head toward the house while he hefted his own load. “Half on the first floor, the other half on the upstairs landing.”

  Nothing like mindless grunt work to get my creative juices humming again. I trudged inside and started up the staircase. Dad followed. We dropped the boards on the landing and started downstairs for more. I expected my father to leave me to it, go find something else that needed his attention, but he lingered while I reloaded my arms.