That flash of jealousy when she thought Lily was my girlfriend.
She tried to hide it—gods, did she try—but I saw it. The flicker in her eyes. The way her mouth twisted, just slightly, like she’d bitten into a lemon while trying to act unbothered.
And when she called me “your boyfriend”to Lily with that tight little voice like she was trying not to choke on it?
Yeah. That pleased me, way more than it should’ve.
I nearly chuckle out loud when I’m brought back to the present with Mia standing in my guest room setting down her bag on the large king-size bed and clearing her throat.
“So, is that everything?” I ask, setting down the small suitcase I took from Lily as they walked in.
She nods, not quite meeting my eyes. “That's it.”
Glancing around the room, I’m struck by how little she has. One suitcase, a laptop, and a tote bag. That's her entire life in Portree. Something about it makes my chest tighten.
“You travel light,” I comment.
“Occupational hazard,” she says with a small shrug. “I'm used to packing only what I need.”
“And what do you need?” The question comes out more loaded than I intended.
Her eyes finally meet mine, sharp and wary. “Less than most people.”
I lean against the doorframe, studying her for a moment. There's something fascinating about the way she holds herself—guarded, but with a quiet confidence that I can't help but admire.
I clear my throat. “Right, well, the bathroom's through there,” I say, nodding toward a door across the hall. “It has everything you should need, but let me know if there's anything else.”
“This is…more than enough,” she says, running her hand along the edge of the bed. “Thank you for letting me stay.” she says awkwardly. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly since they came back from the cottage.
“It's the least I could do after Christian's plumbing disaster.” I pause, watching as she starts unpacking her laptop charger.
“What are you working on? Your article?”
She nods, a noticeable calm coming over her as she shifts to talking about work. “I have a deadline in three days. Not that my editor expects much, given the circumstances.”
“The whole wrong-Portree situation?” I say.
A small smile plays on her lips. “Exactly. Not what I planned, but sometimes the unexpected makes for a better story.”
Something in her tone catches my attention. “Is that why you became a travel writer? For the unexpected?”
“Partly,” she admits. “I like seeing new places. Different skies. She hesitates, then adds “Not being stuck”.
A pause, like she’s deciding just how honest to be.
“I’m not really a ‘new people’ person. But I like motion. And I'm good at adapting most of the time.”
“At running,” I correct her gently before I can stop myself.
Her spine stiffens. “I prefer to call it exploring.”
“Semantics.”
“Perspective,” she counters, and I can't help but smile at her quick retort.
The way she says it—likesettlingis a four-letter word—makes something in my chest tighten.
“You mentioned swim training,” I say, changing the subject and her eyes light up with the mere mention of it.
