Page 17 of Forty, Flirty & Framed

She nods.“Much better.You should change it back.Authenticity is undervalued these days."

Clearing his throat, Callum gently extracts the wine from my hands, brushing my fingers in the process, and a stupid spark jumps from my skin to my brain.

I tamp it down as Callum handles the bottle.

“Let me open this.Dinner’s almost ready.”

“You’re cooking?”I ask, distracted by the way his forearms flex as he uncorks the bottle.

“Aye.Learned from my grandfather.”

“The only Abernathy man who knew that feeding yourself was a basic skill,” Fiona adds.“I don’t believe women should cook for men unless they’re legally obligated or drunk.”

“There’s a difference between insisting and expecting,” Callum deadpans, pouring wine.

“Semantics.Karina, sit.”She gestures me toward the living room.“Let’s talk strategy.Callum refuses to embrace the power of his internet infamy.”

“Because I’m not trying to become Scotland’s Next Top Bachelor,” he mutters from the kitchen.

“You could do both,” she replies, serene."Do you think the MacTavish clan rose to prominence by hiding from attention?Duncan's great-grandfather once wrestled a bear at the Highland Games.Bare-chested.In January."

"Did he win?"I can't help asking.

"The bear later died of embarrassment," she says with perfect seriousness."My point is—publicity is currency.And my grandson is trending.I've received seventeen marriage proposals on his behalf since arriving.One woman sent me this."She tugs at her sweater—which I now realize is hand-knitted."Excellent craftsmanship.Addressed to 'Grandmother of the Kilted One.'"

"You're...wearing it," I point out.

"Of course I am.It's cashmere and the woman clearly has talent.Why waste good knitwear over prudishness?"

"Dinner," Callum announces, appearing with a bottle of opened wine and three glasses."Before this conversation deteriorates further."

We move to the dining area, where a rectangular table with a spectacular view of the Space Needle awaits.

I take a seat, careful to keep my back to the wall, a habit so automatic I don't register doing it.

My eyes silently catalog details of the space—the precise arrangement of furniture, the polished surfaces that reveal nothing personal, the strategic lighting that creates atmosphere without warmth.

A home designed like a fortress.

I feel an unexpected jolt of recognition.

To my surprise, dinner is salmon, roasted vegetables, and potatoes that taste like they were made by a Celtic god.

Fiona was right about Abernathy men cooking after all.

“Did Richard ever cook for you?”Fiona asks mid-bite.

My fork freezes.Callum nearly chokes.

“Gran—”

“What?The boy couldn’t toast bread.All shortcuts and instant gratification, that one.”She studies me.“You’re well rid of him, though I’m sorry for the fallout.Abernathy men are loyal.Usually.”

“Some of them,” I say before I can stop myself.

A beat of silence.

Fiona nods.“Indeed.But loyalty wears many disguises.Callum, for instance, is loyal to duty.Which makes him a brilliant CEO and, I imagine, a frustrating date.”