SAM
We spent the rest of the night hanging out with old and new friends, sending messages back and forth to our immediate family. We kept glancing around, trying to figure out if the woman from the bathroom was still at the pub, but thankfully, no one ever approached Hugh.
I kept getting text messages from my family back in California. Apparently, everyone knew about the proposal beforehand. I barely had the time to send a group text before everyone in my family chimed in with messages, GIFs, and wishes for a long life together. Even my brother Rob—who’d been skeptical about love and relationships since our parents’ marriage crumbled—seemed to be really excited for me.
“I can’t believe you asked my dad,” I told him, incredulous, staring at his eyes that seemed to sparkle even in the dim light of the pub.
He breathed out a laugh and shrugged. Then, his smile grew bigger, and his eyes seemed even brighter.
“It was the right thing to do.” He bit his bottom lip, and that made me want to kiss him again, but I didn’t want to encourage our rowdy friends to make fun of us some more. Throughout the evening, any time our lips would touch, they’d cheer and whistle.
Just a little while before, they’d caught us coming out of the bathroom together. True to form, Cecilia started singing “Hands to Myself” by Selena Gomez just as she’d promised.
Hugh turned a bright red and tried to downplay his embarrassment with an easygoing smile. Blood rose to my cheeks as well, but because of my skin tone, I was able to hide it better. While I really didn’t care about people whistling and cheering at us, Hugh looked a bit uncomfortable—or maybe I was imagining things. Maybe it was just a combination of the alcohol, our bathroom encounter, and the uproar of emotions we were both navigating through.
Still, even slightly flustered, he looked so beautiful, so happy, and he was happy because of me. I still couldn’t believe this man was mine and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. After what I’d gone through with Eric, I had been determined to steer away from love, but falling for Hugh had been entirely too easy.
Everything about him was intoxicating and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t resist him. Since Hugh and I had reconnected back at the Oscars, I often fantasized about marriage. I thought it would be something we’d discuss, eventually.
His proposal had undoubtedly shocked me, and part of me worried it might be a bit too soon. But, another bigger part of me—the part that still somehow believed “love conquers all”—knew I shouldn’t be second-guessing what I felt.
He was it for me, and I knew he loved me as much as I loved him, though I wasn’t completely sure why.
“When did you talk to him?” I leaned in and looked up at his face, inhaling his heavenly scent, a mix of peppermint and something woodsy. It was the same scent I’d caught in the cottage. As my mind went to our home, I envisioned exploring and christening every corner of the place. Frolicking with him around the glen couldn’t come soon enough. I had been fantasizing about it since the year before.
“A few months ago, when we were back in LA, I also talked to your mother, too, ye ken . . . since your parents are divorced.”
I laughed nervously. “You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” I asked, my voice colored with surprise. Going from a cheating boyfriend who wouldn’t commit to one who worshipped you and laid the grounds for your life together was quite the change.
“I bet my mom loved that you asked her.”
“You’re right about that, mo chridhe. She was thrilled. But, you see, I wasn’t much worried about your parents or your family . . . there was just one person who knew that I was worried about. I thought for sure she’d end up telling you and ruin the surprise.”
“Who could you possibly be talking about, I wonder?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
He exhaled a deep breath and winked. We both turned in the direction of my former roommate, who was mingling around with some of the other makeup artists from last year. “Cecilia, always the troublemaker.” I smiled.
“Your sister, too,” he added, his accent a bit heavier on the last word. “She was so excited, for a moment there I regretted telling her.”
“My sister?”
“She can’t wait to help you plan this wedding, apparently.”
“Mira? Help out? When would she ever find the time?”
“I dinna ken, but she said if we want to get married in LA, she knows people who could help out.”
I shook my head. “I’d rather keep this wedding and us as far away from all that Hollywood madness as possible.” I sighed. The more I tried to imagine a wedding in LA, the more I despised the idea, and as I looked around the pub and all the familiar faces, I knew it wasn’t what I wanted.
“I want to get married here.” There was no hint of doubt in my voice, and when my eyes met his, I noticed them grow softer. He held his bottom lip between his teeth and exhaled. Then, the soft look was replaced by one full of mischief.
“You want to get married here? Here at the pub?” he joked, and I swatted him on his tight arse.
“No, silly, but I do want to get married here in Scotland. Besides, you in a kilt in the hot LA weather? I just can’t picture it.” I stifled a yawn.
“We should be getting back, Sam. You must be tired. Did you not get to sleep on the plane?” His brows furrowed, his mesmerizing blue eyes studying my face.
“I couldn’t sleep—I was too excited to see you.”
He cradled my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine.
I closed my eyes, lost in the moment, deciding to ignore everyone around us. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back with all I had, not caring one bit about the cheers and claps coming from our loud, drunk friends.
Except for my new house and my hot new roommate, season two was set to begin the same way as season one. The actors were going to resume their training, and the production team was going to have meetings for each department and schedule ahead for the next few weeks. We would start shooting in a couple of weeks.
Last year, when I’d gotten there, I was nervous and worried I wouldn’t be up to the task after working on the set of a TV comedy.
This year, I was worried for a few different reasons.
And just like the previous year, I couldn’t sleep.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure how much of my insomnia was due to jetlag and how much was first-day jitters. But, once awake, I knew I was going to have the hardest time going back to sleep and instead of tossing and turning in bed, I decided to go for what I knew would relax me while my man was sound asleep.
Baking.
Baking would ease my nerves. As I started thinking about work again, the uneasy feeling in my stomach became more pronounced. I knew I had no reason to be worried, but I couldn’t help myself. I felt a bit guilty toward my coworkers. Hugh and I had been forced to keep things under wraps, and besides a handful of people, no one knew about us.
Then I was let go, and everyone soon found out about the real reason: I was let go because Hugh and I were seeing each other.
Since I had gotten back, I had seen some of the crew, but not everyone I had worked with. I wondered how they’d take the fact that I was back, and now engaged to the star of the show. Everything had happened so fast, and Hugh and I had been so desperate to be with each other during the last couple of days, we hadn’t even talked about the wedding yet. I glanced around the cottage, astounded he’d been able to get the whole place renovated in just a few months. Clearly, the man had plans for us.
I would have gone to the courthouse if it had been just the two of us—was it even called that in Scotland?—but I wanted my family and his to be present.
Wedding scenarios started filling my head, fantasies of white dresses, kilts, images of Hugh’s niece and nephew, Claire and Rory, running around on a green hill. I’d have loved to have an outdoor wedding, but with Scotland’s moody weather, it would have been suicidal. I mixed the batter for the cookies I was making with a spoon—I hadn’t had the chance to equip my fancy kitchen with small appliances. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear him come downstairs.
“What are you up this early for?” Hugh asked, his frame filling the narrow staircase of the cottage as he came down.
“Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to. I was trying to be quiet.”
“No, you didn’t wake me.” His eyes were weary, taking in the mess crowding the kitchen. He placed a kiss on my forehead and then gave me an inquisitive look. “What are you doing, Sam?” he asked, hands on his hips, his beautiful face marked by a deep frown. I let out a chuckle, because when he spoke with his serious, deep voice, he made me stupid. He eyed me with an air of curiosity and I finally fessed up.
“I’m making cookies for everyone. Tomorrow’s a big day.” It would be our first day back on set, and I wanted to do something nice for the crew.
“Sam, you know people don’t expect you to feed them all the time.”
“I know, but . . .” Cecilia and I had hosted quite a few get-togethers the year before, and I honestly didn’t mind cooking for people. It gave us an opportunity to socialize and made those first few weeks in St. Martin less lonely.
He stared at me, his eyebrows drawing closer together as his frown deepened.
“You’re nervous.”
“Yes.” I let out a deep breath and instantly felt the biggest part of the weight on my chest lift. Yes, I had seen people here and there around town, but the next day would be the first day back on set, and there were so many coworkers I still hadn’t seen since I’d left in January.
“It’s just first-day jitters,” he offered with a shrug and a kind smile.
“Is it really, though?”
“Well, what else would it be?” he asked, eyebrows pulled together as he reached out for one of my banana peanut butter cookies. “You know everyone. You know what’s expected of you. You’re even familiar with the ‘drop-dead gorgeous male lead who’s stealing hearts left and right.’” He grinned at me, and I had to laugh because I knew he was quoting one of the headlines we’d read together in a recent magazine.
The corners of his lips rose and he smiled at me in that certain way that made my heart swell. I smiled back, but hastily took the cookie away from him and he made a face.
“Come on, can’t you even spare one?” he protested.
“Wait a moment. It’s missing something.” I reached for a scoop of Nutella buttercream frosting and coated the cookie with it.
“So, why do you feel so nervous, Sam?”
“I don’t know. I feel kind of . . . guilty.”
My eyes met his blue depths. Earlier, they had reminded me of the Scotland sky on a sunny day, but now they were a bit clouded. He looked equal parts intrigued and confused.
“What do you have to feel guilty about?”
“Well . . . me . . . and you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I worked side by side with most of these people for months and they never knew about . . . us, and even when I got fired, I still didn’t tell them. They had to find out afterward. I mean, if that were me . . . I would feel a little betrayed, that’s all.”
He placed the cookie down and started laughing at me. His laugh was quiet as a whisper at first, and then grew louder and wouldn’t stop. He was laughing so hard that he was clutching the corners of the marble countertop.
“Come on! It’s not funny.”
“It is,” he said in his Scottish accent.
His accent seemed to be heavier on the most random words. He was a trained actor, and he could speak with a perfect British accent, or even American when required, but in daily life, traces of Scottish slang and accent made welcome appearances. I loved when he rolled his Rs, and when the tone of his voice went higher on the last word in a sentence. I’d heard him speak with an American accent during an interview on a dare, and the difference was startling, to say the least. His voice was still beautiful, but it felt like it was missing something. I liked every single part of my Scot, but the low rumble of his voice and his accent were two of the things that simply drove me crazy.
“Samhain, do you really think anyone is going to hold a grudge because you kept our relationship a secret? They knew we had no choice.” He tilted his head in my direction and I let out a sigh.
Maybe he was right. I was probably overreacting, just as I had the year before when I started working on Abarath. Back then, I was a ball of nerves and insecurities—insecurities that came from the fact that I’d been cast away from Hollywood following my very public revenge on my cheating boyfriend. Also, I had been working on a TV show that didn’t pose many challenges makeup-wise, and Abarath had a heavy amount of prosthetics, fake blood, and special effects involved.
For weeks, I felt I really didn’t deserve to be there, and even more so when I replaced the main makeup artist, Margaret, and started working directly with the main lead.
My fiancé.
“You know you have nothing to worry about. It wasn’t your fault, or mine; it was just how things had to be. Thank God that’s over,” he said with a deep sigh. I knew keeping things secret had been as hard for him as it had been for me. The network behind Abarath wanted to milk the chemistry between Hugh and one of the female leads, Melissa, but neither one of them were interested in prolonging the charade. Hugh and I were falling in love, and there was also the fact that Melissa was gay. After his very public declaration of love at the Vanity Fair Oscar party, the network didn’t have a choice but to back off for good.
Of course, there was a small price to pay.
After some photographers from the party came forward with pictures of Hugh serenading me at the Oscars, he had to agree to have them published.
The old saying “any publicity is good publicity” still rang true in Hollywood.
“No more worrying about what your colleagues are going to think, okay?”
“You’re right, you’re right, I know you’re right,” I said with a smile, quoting one of my favorite lines from When Harry Met Sally.
He smiled and finally took a bite of the Nutella-frosted cookie. His eyes lit up as he munched on the first bite, and a chorus of “Mmmmmm” followed.
I laughed. Sometimes watching him eat something I’d made was as gratifying as eating itself. With the second bite, he added in an “Oh my God!” while rolling his eyes and succumbing to the deliciousness. He licked his thumb clean of the frosting he’d gotten all over it, adding a few more moans while he was at it.
“Hugh MacLeod! You better not orgasm on my cookies without me!” I yelled.
He covered his mouth with one hand, trying to finish his bite and stop himself from laughing at the same time, but I knew he couldn’t help himself from being vocal.
The cookies were the bomb.
The banana and peanut butter gave the cookie a unique, balanced flavor, but it was the chocolate hazelnut frosting that took the recipe to a whole other level. It had been what I called a “happy accident” type of recipe after I messed up the consistency for muffins, and it was one I had been perfecting over the last couple years.
Needless to say, it had become a favorite in my family.
I opened the fridge and poured him a glass of almond milk. I placed it in front of him, he nodded his gratitude, and he drank half the glass then placed it back on the counter and grabbed a paper towel to wipe his mouth.
He circled around the counter and his hands wrapped around my waist from behind. Just the nearness of him made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and it was even worse when he started whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
“How about I help you finish up here and then I give your sweet muffin something to moan about?” he asked, his voice low and seductive. Granted, the words were decidedly corny, but they were still effective. My throat went dry, and my body reacted in the way it always did when he tried to seduce me. He didn’t have to try that hard, but the anticipation his words and touch ignited made foreplay a whole lot sweeter. A shiver ran down my spine, my breasts felt suddenly fuller and heavier, and wetness started pooling in my underwear. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I would have bet anything I owned that the smolder was on full blast.
I turned around and my hands caressed his strong arms, his shoulders, all the way up to his neck. I ran my fingers through his soft, wavy hair and reached for his lips, thirsty for him.
“How about you forget about helping me in the kitchen and you help out elsewhere?” I asked, my voice loaded with need. He arched one eyebrow in response and leaned down just slightly so he could better reach behind my legs and lift me up. I didn’t know what he had in mind, but I had learned in the last few months to just go with it. When it came to sex, the man was a constant surprise. He knew how to be sweet and slow, fast and rough, and I could never seem to get enough. As cliché as it sounded, when we were together, everything else disappeared. We existed only for each other. We might as well have been the last two lovers left alive, because in those moments, we couldn’t seem to be bothered or distracted by anything else. Since most of the counter was occupied by the dozens of cookies I’d baked, he placed me on the opposite side of the stove, on the counter space between it and the sink. With a quick swoop, he took off my sweatshirt. I was naked underneath, and my nipples pebbled as the cool air washed over my skin.
The fiery look of determination coming from his icy blue eyes was devastating. It made me forget everything else. In that moment, only he mattered.
“Sam,” he murmured, but didn’t add anything else. He was too busy taking me in as his hands started tracing my skin and the swell of my breasts as if it were the first time all over again. I bit my bottom lip as he pinched one of my nipples, and I arched my back. I wrapped my legs around him and brought him closer to me. I loved the feel of his firm ass under my hands, and I loved the feel of his hard length against my needy, achy center even more.
I wanted him right then, but he seemed to have other ideas.