Page 7

Chapter Seven

Hamish

I lounge back in my chair, casually nursing my whisky and pretending I didn’t just survive the hangover from hell. Declan’s pacing nervously nearby, sipping coffee like it holds all the secrets to the universe.

“Pure mental last night, aye, Dec?” I grin, waggling my eyebrows like a teenager who just discovered a Victoria's Secret catalog. “Ye mind the blonde wi' legs ta Sunday? Swear she could crack walnuts wi’ those thighs.”

Declan pauses mid-pace and gives me a look that would freeze lava. “Hamish, you're an endless parade of clichés.”

“Maybe so, but I’m yer favorite cliché,” I tease, flashing him my most charming, devil-may-care grin.

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “Debatable.”

Despite myself, my thoughts drift—not to Miss Walnut Cracker, whose thighs would be very nice earmuffs—but to Amy, the red-haired firebrand who could slice my ego in half with one sharp glance. Those eyes haunt me more than my last missed penalty shot.

Declan notices my distracted smile. “Oh, no. I know that look. Who’s in your crosshairs now?”

“No one special,” I say lightly, waving off his question. But Declan isn’t buying it.

“Hamish…” he warns.

“Fine. It's yer bride’s bonnie wee sister, Amy.”

Declan's jaw tightens. Talk about cracking nuts.

He turns pale, then red, then some frightening shade between beetroot and nuclear reactor meltdown. “No. Absolutely not." His green eyes turn dark. Here comes the famous McCormick temper. "Amy is off-limits, Hamish.” His voice drops lower, suddenly sounding like Liam Neeson in one of those movies where everyone regrets kidnapping his family members. “If you even think about it?—”

“Settle, cousin! Ye ken I’d nae cross ye,” I joke quickly, palms up defensively. “She’s just fun ta rile up, is all. Only jokin'.”

Before Declan can further question my questionable morals, a blood-curdling scream pierces the walls. We share an alarmed look.

“Think that was yer bride?” I ask, forcing casualness into my tone.

Declan’s out the door faster than I can down my whisky shot, and I follow closely behind, because there's no way I’m missing whatever spectacle this promises to be.

We burst into the bridal suite just as Shannon brandishes her bouquet like a Highland warrior about to storm the gates of Edinburgh. She’s locked onto Marie like a guided missile.

“You wouldn’t!” Marie shrieks.

“TRY ME!” Shannon bellows back.

Declan dashes across the room and swiftly grabs Shannon’s elbow. Marie squawks at him, “You can’t see the bride before the wedding!”

Declan, voice like thunder: “Watch me!”

Marie drops two octaves into a demonic growl: “You can't!” The mutt erupts into frantic yapping. It’s like 101 Dalmatians meets Braveheart , and frankly, I’m enjoying the mashup.

Jason quickly ushers Marie out with some lie about problems with the centerpieces, and I lean casually against the doorframe, surveying the cacophony with genuine appreciation. Amy sidles up beside me, arms crossed defensively, scowling fiercely at everything and nothing.

Mostly me .

“Aye, pet, yer family dinnae do things halfway, eh?”

Amy shoots me a glare sharper than a ref's whistle. “And your idea of helping is whisky shots before the wedding?”

“Och, whisky solves everythin’. Even weddin’ meltdoons.”

She snorts derisively. “Or creates them.”

Across the room, Shannon’s voice breaks as she turns to Declan. “What are you doing here?”

Declan kneels softly. “I heard you screaming. What did Marie do now?”

“She invited Jessica Coffin to the wedding.”

I whistle softly, shaking my head. “Yer maw’s nae ta be underestimated, eh?”

Amy mutters, “She's so stubborn.”

I just stare at her. Apple, tree, all that.

Declan mutters fiercely to Shannon, “Why doesn’t she just drop a ring in your coffee for you to swallow while she’s at it?”

“I know!” Shannon cries. “She invited the woman who almost ruined our getting together, and who is my biggest online bully, to the most important day of my life!”

Declan holds her face tenderly. “Honey, this isn’t the most important day of your life. It’s the first of many. Right up until the day we die together, well into our nineties, after I give you the best orgasm ever.”

I chuckle, nudging Amy playfully. “Aye, tha’s some proper romance, is it no’, Amy?”

Amy elbows me hard, blushing furiously. “Shut it, Hamish.”

Shannon giggles weakly. “That’s one hell of a bucket list you have, Declan.”

“I never back down from a challenge,” Declan replies, helping her stand.

Shannon whispers tearfully, “I don’t want this.”

Declan frowns. “Don’t want to marry me?”

Amy and I share a glance that says we're both sad to see them in pain. It's a tender catch of the eye and all my breath stands still in my chest. Amy's worry and love shine through her face. Her loveliness is compounded by her caring. I feel a tug in my chest.

“God, yes I want to marry you! But this? The pompous pageantry of it? No! Mom’s completely taken over, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t win.”

Amy takes this moment to step out of the room. I don't follow. This is too juicy to miss, and I love watching other people's drama.

Declan embraces her tightly. “Sometimes the only way to win is not to play.”

“What?”

“Bow out. Fold.”

“Our wedding isn’t a game of poker, Dec!”

“It sort of is, Shannon,” Declan insists. “Is this how you imagined it?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Do you want this?”

“Do you?”

“No. But I’ll go along with it because I love you.”

“I don’t want any of this! I would have been happy getting married on one of the Harbor Islands or even eloping to Vegas!”

Declan quickly pulls out his phone. “I can arrange either one. You pick. We can be gone in twenty minutes.”

I notice Shannon’s ex-boyfriend Steve chatting with Jessica outside, making my eyebrow shoot upward.

My cousin beats me to it before I can say a word.

“Is that Steve? ” Declan roars, aghast. “Your mother invited STEVE?”

Shannon desperately turns to Amanda. “What do I do, Amanda?”

Amanda pauses. “Hon, you’re on your own. I love you, and I’ll lie for you. I’ll block a door for you. I’ll hold Jessica down while you rip out her hair extensions, but I can’t decide for you.”

Shannon steels herself and declares firmly to Declan, “Do it. Let’s escape. Now.”

Just then, Amy reappears. She hasn't heard the bit about the bride and groom running off, and I realize I have a chance for some fun.

Fun fun.

Declan makes rapid phone calls, and I watch appreciatively, leaning toward Amy again. “Ten quid says they scarper, pet."

"Scarper?"

"Reckon this weddin’s going to end in a proper Scottish leg-it.”

"I am loath to ask, but: What's a 'Scottish leg-it'?"

"It's where ye run off."

"Elope?"

"Aye."

Amy sighs, then cracks a reluctant smile. “I’d actually pay to see that.”

Declan finishes his calls, his eyes flashing a silent warning at me as he escorts Shannon out. Message received, loud and clear:

Don't touch his almost sister-in-law or I'll lose my kneecaps.

And I'm rather fond of them.

Unfortunately, all his warning does is make me want her more.

Amy’s eyes narrow as she watches Steve through the window. “Guys like him should come with a hazard sign.”

I feign offense, hand over heart. “Careful, pet. I've been told I'm hazardous tae women’s hearts.”

She scoffs. “You're hazardous, all right—but mostly to my sanity.”

"And yer libido."

"You literally can't go thirty seconds without talking about sex, can you?"

"What would be the fun in that?"

Amy and I stand side by side, watching Declan effortlessly spin Marie around with the kind of smooth maneuvering you'd expect from someone escaping Alcatraz.

“What do ye reckon yer new brother-in-law is up to?” I ask, leaning closer to Amy, keeping my voice conspiratorial.

She eyes me suspiciously. “With Declan, it's anyone's guess. But if he’s smiling like that, it's probably going to end in disaster.”

I chuckle softly. “Fancy a wee wager on it, pet?”

Amy narrows her eyes. “What are the terms?”

I grin wickedly, leaning down so my mouth hovers just near her ear. “If I’m right an’ they ditch this weddin', ye sleep wi’ me.”

She jerks back, cheeks flaming scarlet, eyes wide in outrage. “Excuse me?”

I shrug innocently. “Come on, Amy, ye canna deny the chemistry. Besides, ye’re the one who made the booty call last night.”

Her face turns an impressive shade of red. “I did NOT! You called me!”

I raise an eyebrow, grinning wickedly. “Funny, pet. The phone records dinna lie.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively. “It wasna my voice on the voicemail askin’ if Hamy wis awake.”

Amy crosses her arms stubbornly, but there's laughter flickering at the edges of her eyes. “You're delusional. None of that happened.”

I shrug lightly. “Maybe so. But delusional can be fun. Ye should give it a try sometime.”

Outside the door, Declan gives Marie’s backside a firm slap, the echo ringing out loud enough to be heard on social media.

Amy’s jaw drops. “Did he just spank my mother?”

“Aye, looks tae me like he just gave her the Glasgow goodbye,” I say dryly.

Amy groans, burying her face in her hands. “My family is so bizarre.”

I pat her comfortingly on the back, then slide my hand lower, just enough to make her jump away and scowl at me. “Hamish!”

“Och, Amy, dinna be so uptight,” I tease. “I’m just preppin’ ye fer when I win our wee bet.”

She eyes Declan and Shannon, clearly considering the odds. “Fine. But when you lose, you're wearing Chuckles’ tartan kilt for the entire reception.”

"There's but one body part o' mine that'll fit, lass." I narrow my eyes and peer at the wee puss. “But then again, it may be too small.”

"Men always think it won't fit, but it always does."

I hold out my hand.

She shakes firmly, eyes sparkling with challenge. But as Declan swaggers out looking like he's just masterminded the greatest escape ever, I can’t help but grin.

Chuckles better keep his wee kilt handy, just in case.