Heat shot to my cheeks. “We’re not keeping that nickname.”
“Aye, we are.” He looked at my face and then grabbed a mug and poured a cup of coffee from the pot. “You sleep all right?”
“Like the dead.” I took a blessed sip. “Eight beautiful hours of unconsciousness. Highly recommend.”
He studied me, eyes warm. “You look good. Rested. Not as stressed as when you first arrived.”
“I guess that’s progress,” I said dryly.
“It is.”
I leaned back against the counter, making myself focus. “Right, so. Today I’ve just got the lunch shift at The Tipsy Thistle. I’ll be done and back by three or so.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I’ll pick you up, then.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s all right. It’s broad daylight. Please. You can’t follow me around all over Loren Brae. What about when you’re at work and I go out? This isn’t sustainable, Torin.”
His brows lowered. “Liora.”
I held up a hand. “I know, I know. Kelpies. Danger. Blah, blah, blah. But I’ll be driving on main roads in the middle of the day, not taking a scenic midnight detour along the loch. I promise I won’t go monster hunting on my break.”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re sure?”
I softened, pushing off the counter and stepping into his space. “I’m sure. I appreciate your concern, truly. But I’ll be back mid-afternoon, and I need you not to hover. Go… I don’t know. Chop some wood. Talk to the trees. Whatever it is you do when I’m not here.”
His eyes darkened, flicking to my mouth, then back up. “You’re cheeky this morning.”
“Rested,” I corrected. “And I promise to text you when I get there and when I leave, all right? That way you can track my movements like a paranoid boyfriend and everything.”
He huffed out a laugh. “I’m not paranoid.” I noted he didn’t say anything about the boyfriend idea though.
“You absolutely are,” I said, but gently, because I couldn’t be annoyed at him for caring.
I finished my coffee, grabbed my bag, and tried not to think about how much I already liked that he worried about me. That was weird, right? I shouldn’t like that so much. It felt like the lines were blurring between us already.
The Tipsy Thistle was buzzing for a Sunday. Locals in for roast lunches, a couple of tourists, and the usual mix of regulars at the bar discussing football like the fate of the world hinged on it.
But for the first time since I’d started there, everything felt… easy.
I breezed through my tables, scribbling orders, topping up drinks, smiling and chatting. My brain, instead of spinning in eight different anxious directions, hummed along. Maybe being a chartweaver had cracked something open in me, but whatever it was, I felt more… anchored, like I’d found a groove that actually fit.
During a lull, I ducked behind the bar to check my phone. A new message pinged through from Sophie.
Hi friend! Girls’ dinner at the castle tonight – just the Order. 7p.m. You free?
My heart dida delighted little flip. Friends. I had dinner plans with actual new friends at an actual castle.
Omg yes. Wouldn’t miss it. What should I bring?
Her reply came back almost instantly.
Just yourself and your appetite.
I grinned at my phone.
“Someone’s happy,” Graham observed, sliding past me with a tray of empty pint glasses.
“Girls’ night,” I said. “Apparently I’m going to the castle for dinner.”