Golden Luckenbooth

Thirty-Six

"What are you doing up at this hour?" Arran asks as he descends the stairs. Piper and Shortbread lazily rise from their spots to nudge their noses under his hands to get some pats.

"Sipping some chamomile tea. What else would I be doing at 3:30 in the morning?"

"He just left tonight. How can you miss him already?" Arran asks. "You must truly be in loooooovvveee." I swear he says the word like a seven-year-old kid might. Gliding across the floor in his socks, pyjama bottoms, and nothing else that I can see, Arran heads for the fridge. Withdrawing a container of oat milk, he locates a glass and pours himself a hearty serving before putting the milk back and settling at the table across from me.

"Do you know how many things I don't know about my boyfriend?" I ask rhetorically. "His fans out front probably know more than I do. In fact, I have contemplated asking them about his career."

"I'm sure that would thrill them to no end," Arran grins. "More proof that you're not actually his girlfriend in their minds."

"No kidding." I exhale a loud puff of air, watching as one of my wayward curls gets caught in the breeze. "My feet are cold," I complain.

"Then you shouldn't have come downstairs without socks."

I roll my eyes. "When I got out of bed, it's because I was too hot. Do you know anything about pregnant women?"

"Nope, but I'm learning all the time." Tilting his head, Arran's eyes roam over my face. "Do you really think you are missing the important details about Harry?"

"What?" I scratch my head. "Of course I am. I know nothing about his writing process, nothing about how he plans for promo, nothing about who else is on his team besides that Jeffrey guy who came, and I truly know nothing about HIM except that he's American, and that's based purely on his accent."

"And does Harry know how you prepare for surgery? That you like to double glove? That you study up before a surgery to make sure you remember what you're doing – even when it's something you've done a hundred times before? Does he know how much money the clinic makes? What kind of equipment you have or need?"

Confused, I stare at him. "No. Why would he need to know those things?"

The smile that sweeps across his face under that beard is cute. In another lifetime, I might have fallen for this handsome Scottish devil. "Do you think he feels differently about what you need to know? I am not one of those people who thinks couples should have their noses deep in each other's business. After all, if you're really going to be together for decades to come, won't you have time to learn all of that eventually?"

I process what he says, and when Shortbread rests her head on my lap, I absentmindedly stroke her fur. "You know what? I think you're right. I've been tearing myself to bits for not knowing everything about his career, but there's time to learn, and it's not like Harry is upset with me for not knowing. In fact, I think he seems relieved that I'm not overly interested in that side of his life."

"I could see that," Arran's eyes twinkle.

Tilting my head, I look at his tattooed chest and arms, taking in all of the designs. "Quite eclectic," I smile.

"Yeah? Well, your bestie hates them."

"Hates your tattoos? That seems odd. She's usually pretty chill about body art. What makes you think she hates them?"

His shrug interests me, and I attempt to interpret what's behind it. "She told me they're convoluted and don't make any sense."

Hmmm. Not at all like Blair to say rude things about – wait. No. It's exactly like Blair to give her opinion and not mince words.