Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
We took Fyfe’s Volvo SUV because even though I’d fitted a car seat into my G-Wagon, Millie preferred the one in Fyfe’s. I had it on order for my vehicle because she fussed a lot whenever we tried to buckle her into the one I had now. The boot was full of supplies for Millie and a large picnic basket with sandwiches and snacks from Morag’s Deli and a treat or two from Callie’s Wee Cakery.
I eagerly strapped myself into the passenger seat and felt like a wee girl again going on a family trip.
Fyfe sensed my excitement as he got comfortable in the driver’s seat. He wore his black framed glasses today, along with a Kings of Leon T-shirt and jeans. He looked so sexy I could lick him. All over. “We ready?”
I resisted the urge to jump him and nodded. “Let’s hit the road, Jack.”
We’d decided to take a road trip through the county and just go with the flow, see where the day took us.
It was the perfect summer’s day. A few puffy white clouds in a startlingly blue sky above. Not too hot. Not too cold. I rolled down the window a fraction to let the breeze move through the car, and I talked to Millie, explaining the scenery as we passed. It was mostly so she heard my voice. Her car seat legally had to be rear-facing until she was fifteen months old, so we attached a mirror to the rear seat so we could see her expression.
I chatted to her about the vibrant, varying shades of greens in the grass and the trees, and how they contrasted beautifully against the water on our left. First, we drove past the Dornoch Firth, and then we followed the denim-blue water of the Kyle of Sutherland. Fyfe interjected to share that he and Lewis once jumped into the Kyle butt-naked on a dare from friends when they were sixteen.
I laughed, shaking my head at their nonsense. “Never tell my mother that story.” The Kyle of Sutherland was deep, the bottom was treacherous, and the current could be extremely strong. “What else did you two get up to that I don’t know about?”
Fyfe chuckled boyishly. “A few things.”
“Dada,” Millie grumbled from the back seat. “Dada!”
“Just a while longer, wee yin,” Fyfe assured her. “Then we’ll stop for some food.”
Once we’d crossed the River Shin, the roads changed to a single carriageway. It wasn’t a particularly busy road during the rest of the year, but there were more tourists around this part of the country in the summer. We got stuck behind a motorhome with a foreign number plate. They were clearly very nervous on the single carriageway, and Millie grew fussier by the second. I attempted to quiet her with more descriptions of our surroundings, but the words alone were not soothing her.
Between Fyfe having to drive at a ridiculously slow pace, the traffic building up behind us, and Millie’s ever-increasing volume of protest, I started singing.
I’d only ever sung to Millie when I was on my own. It was the one thing guaranteed to soothe her.
Her favorite was Taylor Swift, which pleased me to no end but did not bode well for my alternative rock–loving boyfriend.
Millie’s absolute favorite track was “Bigger Than the Whole Sky.” Of course she loved the melody and didn’t understand the melancholy lyrics. At least I hoped not.
Just as the motorhome pulled into a stopping place to allow us all to pass, Millie’s loud complaints slowly faded to silence. I sang a wee bit longer, just in case, and then let the lyrics trail off.
It was only then I sensed something emanating from Fyfe.
I glanced at him.
Awe saturated his expression, making my next question breathy with wonder. “What is it?”
“How the hell did I not know you can sing like that? You sing like an angel.”
Pleasure suffused me. “I guess you never heard me sing in the few musicals I did as a teen. Other than that, I haven’t had much cause to sing. But Millie likes it. She’s a bit of a Taylor Swift fan, just so you know.”
“That was Taylor Swift?”
“Yup.”
“It was beautiful,” Fyfe opined gruffly. “You’re beautiful.”
I reached over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, his beard scratching deliciously on my chin before I pulled back. “You’re beautiful.”
He gave a sexy huff of laughter like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
Not long later, Fyfe indicated left and took a very short track down toward the River Oykel. A footpath through grass-covered dunes led to a small patch of golden sand on the riverbank. It was perfect for a picnic.
Fyfe gathered Millie and the blanket while I grabbed the basket, and we made the very short trek to the riverside. It was a calm, slow flow of sparkling blue water. The hills slowed upward on the other side in patches of forests and spring greens, moss, amber, and copper. It was beautifully secluded, and the landscape created a natural windbreak against the gentle breeze.