give little Colin a hug. The parents gathered their bags in one hand and the children in the other and filed toward the door, their chatter reverberating around the room as Old MacDonald’s quacking duck played them out.
Iain stood to the side like a stone sentinel, not acknowledging the curious smiles tossed his direction. His focus was entirely on her, and it was intense.
What was going on behind his stare? Was he assessing her strengths and weaknesses? Was he strategizing how to take charge of the festival? Perhaps watching her Hokey Pokey with a dozen toddlers had solidified in his mind that she wasn’t capable of running the festival. Or the town.
She shook the thought clear. He didn’t know of her ambition to run for mayor. No one did. But as soon as she filed her papers at city hall, word would spread throughout Highland like a virus. What would the response be?
Anna could almost hear the whispers in her ear. She wasn’t old enough or good enough or smart enough. Damming her doubts behind a fake smile, she forced her shoulders back. She couldn’t allow Iain to sense weakness.
She brought up the rear of the exiting parents and children, waving them out of the studio until she and Iain were alone. She cut off the music. The resulting silence was oppressive. Her mojo was off balance as if it had launched into a dozen pirouettes. Blindfolded. And drunk.
“You’re early,” she said as if it were an unforgivable sin.
“Promptness is generally regarded as a virtue.”
She harrumphed, knowing it was ridiculous to chastise him over something she appreciated.
“I came to town, met Dr. Jameson, and we stopped for a drink.” He held up the to-go cup she hadn’t noticed.
“What did he allow?” she asked.
“I didn’t ask his permission.”
She blinked at his nonsensical response before making a small sound of realization. “Sorry, I forgot I’m speaking to a non-native. It’s a way of asking what he had to say. I’m being polite. Or trying, anyway.”
His brow scrunched. “Does that mean you actually want to know or don’t?”
“I, uh, never mind.” She waved her hand, wishing she could brush away the awkwardness. “Come into my office so we can talk.”
She led the way and only realized her mistake when Iain joined her. Her office was the size of a walk-in closet because that’s exactly what it had been at one time. A desk took up the bulk of the space. A laptop and a few folders graced the top. A file cabinet was jammed in one corner, which left her swivel chair on the working side of the desk and a kid-size school chair she used when a parent was late picking their child up from class on the opposite side.
She vacillated. Logic decreed that Iain wouldn’t fit on the school chair. While humorous to picture, something would end up broken. Most likely the chair. Which left only one option. Anna would have to sit in the small chair and leave Iain in a position of power behind the desk.
Actually, she had another option. She could suggest neutral territory. She turned, not expecting him to be standing so close. Her nose was practically in his armpit. She sniffed. Even a hint of BO would have made him seem less formidable. Alas, his armpit smelled like fresh pine deodorant.
Anna clamped her arms tight against her body. She probably reeked after her classes this morning. Not that her armpits were as accessible as his. Why was she suddenly fixated on armpits?
“It’s a little cramped in here. Have you eaten? We could grab a sandwich over at the pub.” When he didn’t move or respond, she tilted her head back and took in the strong column of his throat, his trimmed beard, and the blade of his nose, before meeting his eyes. What she’d assumed was black was actually a warm, dark brown.
She blinked to clear her thoughts. It’s not like she was asking him out on a date, for goodness sake. She was suggesting a business meeting. So why had nerves dried her mouth? She swallowed and darted her tongue over her lips. His gaze followed.
“Lunch?” she asked again, this time with a waver in her voice that she hated more than overcooked turnip greens.
“At a pub?” The corners of his lips sank into his cheeks as if a smile tried to break free of his restraint.
“The Dancing Jig pub. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s fast and has good food.”
“A man has to eat.”
“Okay, let