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intriguing. Liam wanted to kiss her, wanted to bury his hands in long skeins of dark red hair, wanted to sit her on the counter and learn the fit of their bodies.
    Which, of course, he would not do. Spring was in the air, and he’d been forced into proximity with a pretty woman—who had artistic inclinations, didn’t censure a man for avoiding spirits, and was punctual.
    She came swinging down the cottage staircase at eight twenty a.m., dewy and neat in jeans, trainers, and a purple-and-green tie-dyed T-shirt. Her hair was coiled into a low bun held up by no means Liam could discern, and she appeared to be free of makeup—probably the secret to her punctuality.
    “I’ve stashed the last two scones in my sporran,” he said. “We can finish them off on the way to Edinburgh.”
    Louise opened the fridge and passed him four eggs.
    “Hard-boiled,” she said. “Woman does not live by carbs and fat alone, as tempting as the prospect might be—unless you’re vegan?”
    Damn Donald’s big, presuming, well-intended mouth. “I eat eggs and dairy happily and in quantity.” Liam had also been known to enjoy the occasional hapless fish when his body craved protein and the menu offered no vegetarian fare.
    “My kinda guy,” Louise said, tucking an orange into her purse. “Do we have water in the car?”
    “We always have water in the car, trail mix and energy bars.” Also a first aid kit, a pair of thermal sleeping bags, waterproof matches, and a pup tent, none of which Liam had ever used. “Do you want to practice driving?”
    He’d surprised her—also himself, the Mercedes being less than a year old—but he’d pleased her too.
    “How about if I take a day to get acclimated and watch the master in action?” she said. “I missed the countryside yesterday, and I don’t want to make that mistake again today.”
    “The countryside is worth a look,” Liam said, getting the door. “And you’ll have plenty of opportunity to drive.”
    He, however, had seen the countryside between Perthshire and Edinburgh countless times. He had not seen a woman lick her fingers one by one, when she’d finished her scone.
    “Are you happy, Liam?”
    Americans.
“I hardly know you, Louise.” Probably the other half of why he’d thought—fleetingly—of kissing her. “Why would I answer such a personal question honestly?”
    “It’s only a personal question if the answer’s no. I’m not happy either, and I don’t enjoy admitting it.”
    Nobody had asked her to. “Sometimes contentment is the more reasonable goal. Why did you choose the portrait gallery over the National Gallery?”
    She allowed him to change the subject, explaining that she wanted the more Scottish collection. Talk wandered to the various galleries in the Washington, DC, area, which were many and varied.
    And she knew them well, including their most recent exhibitions.
    “Edinburgh looks old,” she said when Liam had wedged the Mercedes into a parking space. “But pretty-old, like your grandma. Not tired-old, like you feel after a bad breakup.”
    She said the damnedest things. Liam’s phone buzzed, probably the call he was expecting from Stockholm.
    “This is the less old part of town,” Liam said. “The New Town, in fact, though if we’re to hike Arthur’s Seat, we’ll nip over to the Old Town.”
    Liam dealt with his call when Louise took photos of the Walter Scott monument, and as they wandered in the direction of the gallery, he explained aspects of Edinburgh history every schoolboy took for granted. Louise paid attention to his ramblings and to their surroundings. More than once, she simply stood in the middle of the sidewalk, face upturned to the morning sun, eyes closed.
    “Do you do that at home?” Liam asked when she opened her eyes. “Do you stop in the middle of the street and gather freckles?”
    “I should do it at home. Freckles are where the angels kissed you.”
    “I suppose you kiss angels on first acquaintance?”
    Louis