Page 82 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

Gathering his composure, he turned to Lucy apologetically. ‘Allora,you know we Italians, we love to eat, and we eat many, many different and…unusualthings, but…’ He cleared his throat and waggled his wrist in that typically Italian way Lucy loved. ‘But… thishaggeesa,this hairyleeeetlecreature from the mountains with one side of the body shorter than the other, this I cannot eat.’

Shoulders shaking, Valentina tried unsuccessfully to smother her giggles.

‘Oh, Franco,’ Lucy snorted, her body shaking in a fit of uncontrolled laughter.

‘Che cosa?’ Franco demanded. ‘Why you laugh?’

‘Forgive me,’ Lucy spluttered, ‘but I can assure you, Franco, that haggis is not a hairy little creature that lives in the wilds of Scotland. It’s made of sheep’s liver, kidney, oatmeal and—’

Franco’s frown deepened. ‘But Stefano, he tell me—’

Valentina caught Lucy’s eye and winked. ‘Stefano!’ they chorused, trying to sound cross.

Elena felt someone tug her tartan sash.

She spun around to find Stefano sporting a white shirt, tartan bow tie and… the Anderson clan kilt.

‘Wow! Stefano! You look like… a Highland superhero,’ she gushed, high-fiving him.

He waved his imaginary sword over his head and gave a Jamie-Fraser war whoop.

Yes, thanks to the swashbuckling, rugged, kilt-wearing hero ofOutlander,Stefano now considered guys in kilts to be cool; so much so that it took a valiant effort for Elena to dissuade him from wearing his to school.

Dario took a tentative bite of his first-ever Scottish oatcake and surveyed the scene.

The ceilidh was now in full swing. The crowd was going wild, clapping, whooping and stamping to the sound of the bagpipes, the accordion and the fiddle. Even the bunting was dancing.

Watching his godson whirling around, so grown-up and handsome in his kilt, filled Dario with pride and sadness. A chip off the old block. Giancarlo would have been proud.

Grabbing a shot glass, Dario broke the golden rule of never drinking alcohol on duty, to raise a toast in memory of his friend, his brother-in-arms.

He swirled the dark amber liquid around, breathing in the sharp aroma. ‘Salute, mio fratello. Cheers, my brother,’he said, raising his eyes heavenwards as he tipped the glass to his lips. The whisky scorched the roof of his mouth then hit the back of his throat like a red-hot poker. Spluttering and gasping, he could almost hear Giancarlo’s mocking laugh ringing in his ears.‘Imbecille!’

Pouring himself a glass of cool water, he leaned against the reception desk.

His burning eyes roamed the room, landing on Lucy, her cheeks aflame, the silky strands of her auburn hair flying as she twirled and spun around the floor with Giuseppe, the usually grumpy postman, looking decidedly ungrumpy at that moment in time. How he wished he could swap places with him. Dammit.

Aware that he was watching them with too much interest, he slammed down his glass and weaved his way through the revellers, nodding and smiling, swaying in time to the catchy music, despite himself.

Dance over, Lucy curtsied to Giuseppe and glanced at her watch. Work to be done. Passing by the reception desk, she downed a shot of whisky to steady her nerves. She grimaced. Her eyes watered, but she closed them tight and swallowed. What was she doing? She detested whisky. The liquid scalded her throat, all the way down to her stomach. Coughing and choking to the point of gagging, she ran outside into the car park and doubled over, gasping for air.

She could hear the music blaring. There were only four moredances to go before the Burns Supper. She should be in the kitchen now, putting the trays of food in the oven.

‘Are you okay?’

Through her cloudy eyes she could just make out a pair of brown leather combat boots.

‘Here.’ A long-fingered hand holding a bottle of water appeared under her nose. ‘Lentamente.Slowly, slowly.’

Flicking back her hair, she straightened up and came face to face with Dario. She took several gulps, ran the back of her hand across her lips and gave him a thumbs-up, unable to locate her voice.

‘The whisky?’ he asked with an empathetic smile.

She nodded.

‘Me too.’

She handed him back the water bottle, body trembling with the cold. He carefully placed his jacket around her shoulders.