They found a restaurant that boasted the world’s finest fish and chips. Her tall companion acted as if the sign should be trusted, so Jordan went along. She had the impression he was just as clueless as she was, but she wasn’t willing to let Kerry Mather out of her sight to look for a more reputable looking place.

They both ducked into the restrooms first thing. She wanted to make sure her nose wasn’t bright red from the cold. And since it felt a little numb, she had to make sure it wasn’t dripping down her face without her feeling it.

Kerry still wasn’t out by the time she emerged from the antique little bathroom. While she waited, she prayed he hadn’t gotten away from her again. A couple of men eventually came out of the hall, laughing. Kerry came next, looking pretty pleased about something. She didn’t want to know what.

A suddenly-attentive waitress led them to a table in the back and made cow eyes at the Highlander while she listed the specials—twice. He barely looked at her, which was flattering considering he watched ever little move Jordan made.

Of course, it was only fair. She couldn’t stop watching him either. The modestly-sized chair pretty much disappeared beneath him, and the table looked small and low, like a kid’s table. It was like having dinner with a very fit, very handsome NBA player.

She took off her cute grey rain hat and set it on a chair. He dragged the plaid cap off his head and stuffed it into his sporran while she averted her eyes. With his dark hair exposed, he was even more handsome—a fact that wasn’t lost on anyone else in the little restaurant. Kerry, however, didn’t seem to think the attention was anything out of the ordinary and returned every smile sent his way without comment.

As she watched him, she noticed that when he was only smiling to be polite, his mouth rose at the corners, but his high cheekbones stayed where they were. When he smiled at her, the waves rippled all the way up to his eyes. Was he doing it on purpose? Was this his flirting smile?

His eyes were a tie-dyed swirl of bright green, brown, and yellow that seemed to shift when he blinked. He had slashing dark eyebrows that were the most serious detail about him. His nose was large but narrow, and it matched the one on the statue. Apparently, it had been passed down through the generations along with a penchant for pounding horseshoes.

Speaking of shoes, the fish was the size of one of Jordan’s. The pile of thick-cut fries could have filled her hat. By the time she’d eaten a third of her meal, he’d finished his—with the kind of gusto Americans never dared show for their food—and he eyed her plate as if expecting the fish to come back to life.

“I’m stuffed,” she said and pushed her plate forward. “Would you like to finish mine?”

“And gladly,” he said, eagerly trading plates. “I must thank ye again for procuring the meal. I shall do my utmost to prove myself worthy of it.”

“No problem. My employer is covering my costs, which includes taking a local model out to dinner.”

“A model what?”

“A model model. Someone who poses for photographs. They usually get paid better than just a fish supper.”

“Two fish suppers,” he said with a grin, then took a large bite. While he chewed, he pointed at her chest with his fork. “What do ye call this coat. I have seen them often, but I vow this looks quite fetching on ye.”

She looked down at the black jacket she hadn’t taken off since she’d landed. “It’s called a pea coat.”

“I remember sailors used to wear such coats.” His gaze traveled up the buttons, around the collar, and to her face. Then it jumped from her lips to her eyes. He seemed embarrassed to be caught staring at her and dropped his attention to his food again. “Forgive me.”

She chuckled. “What for?”

“For staring. Ye might say studying people is a long-established habit now. It would be nigh impossible to break.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m having the same trouble.”

A fresh grin spread across his face, and he went happily back to making the fish and chips disappear.

~ ~ ~

The meal was so pleasant Kerry had nearly forgotten where he was. Food on his belly was so welcome, so familiar a feeling it was as if he’d never gone without. Though, strictly speaking, he’d had no stomach a’tall these past centuries, so there’d been no hunger to appease. But from time to time, some bloke would wander across his path at Culloden, while stuffing something or other in his gob, and the memories of hot food would tease at him.

Speaking of teasing…

The curious American sitting across from him was charming in both manner and aspect. She had warm brown hair that only came to her chin, and even warmer brown eyes with large black centers. Her lashes lowered onto her cheeks when considering her answers, but she looked him in the eye when she spoke.

A forthright lass she was, and confident—as if she were comfortable as could be on Scottish soil, sifting easily through his dialect, though she had no hint of an accent about her.

In truth, she made him feel remarkably comfortable considering how far he was from his own place in time.

“Ye’ve been to Scotland before,” he stated, then shoveled another bite of fish between his teeth.

“Why? Does it show?”

“Most lasses who are new to the country have a nervous, excited look about them, as if they’re trying to memorize every detail.”

She patted her bag. “Well, I do take a lot of shots, so I don’t have to worry about remembering.”

He gave her a wink and a sidelong smirk. “But ye’ll remember me, will ye no’?”

“Aye, laddie,” she chuckled. “I will at that.” She handed one of those credit cards to the waiter and turned her attention to the clock on the wall. “Not much daylight left,” she said to herself.

“Then ye’d best punch the clock for today, aye?”

“Punch the clock?”

He felt his face warm with embarrassment. “Is that not how ye say it? To leave off working?”

She shrugged. “Oh, yeah. Some people punch a clock. Lucky for me, and sometimes not so lucky, I get paid by the shot. Tomorrow, I plan to be very lucky.” Her eyes widened and she swallowed awkwardly. “I mean, I hope to take some shots of you that prove to be lucky.”

“I ken what ye meant, lass. But remember, when all is said and done, ye still owe me those twenty-seven minutes.”

“Twenty-seven, now? I thought it was five.”

He leaned back in his seat and looked at her through half-lowered eyelids. “As an American, I’m fair to certain ye’ll understand the accumulation of interest.”

She bit her bottom lip while she considered. “What is that, about 400% in about an hour?”

“Aye. But I’ll suspend it while ye sleep.”

They both fell quiet as the fellow who came to clear their dishes away seemed in no hurry, as if he hoped to hear more of their conversation. As soon as he gave up and left, Kerry leaned close and laid his hand upon the lass’s. “I will confess, I have been shot before. But on the morrow, I expect it to be much more pleasant an experience.” He lifted her hand and brushed it ever so lightly with his lips before returning it to the table.

Unfortunately, the impulse to kiss her hand was a mistake, for the other patrons embarrassed the lass with a collective sigh. In response, she stuffed both hands into her deep pockets where he could no longer get to them.

“Been shot before, huh?” Though she kept her voice low, she looked him over with no shame at all—except for a faint blush to her cheeks half-hidden by the black and white checkered scarf still wrapped around her neck. It looked as threadbare and insubstantial as cheesecloth. “And now that you’ve confessed, I’ll expect to hear what you really charge for an afternoon of modeling.”

“I wouldn’t hazard a guess—”

“Three hundred?”

“Three hundred what, lass?”

Her eyes widened briefly. “Oh, no. I forgot. I was thinking U.S. dollars, not pounds.”

“Three hundred pounds?”