Sean shook his head as he pushed past Keir to help himself to coffee. “No appreciation. And when I even brought breakfast with me.”
“Breakfast?” Mairi’s head lifted as her eyes opened and focused on Sean. “What did you bring?”
“Buns,” Sean said, looking a little nervous at the intensity of Mairi’s stare.
“Buns?” Mairi looked around the room, as though the buns would present themselves. “What kind? Cream? Jam? What?”
Sean rooted around in his messenger bag—or as Keir liked to call it, his handbag—and came out with a paper bag. He held it out to the beast. “Have at it,” he said.
Mairi snatched the bag, turned and headed for the table. Ten seconds later, she was stuck into a cream bun and a mug of coffee—she was in her happy place.
“I don’t need a website,” Keir said.
This was something he’d told his brother several times. As a recently graduated computer graphic designer, Sean thought everyone needed a website.
“Yes, you do. How else will people know when you’re open?”
“They’ll phone me.”
“Nobody phones anymore.”
“Sure they do. They phone me to ask me to fix their cars. Or upgrade their bikes.”
Sean stared as though Keir was a puzzle he couldn’t quite fathom. “It’s like you aren’t even in this century.”
Mairi held out her mug. “More,” she demanded.
Keir grabbed the pot and sauntered over to refill her mug. He’d learned early on when they were dating that there was no dealing with Mairi in the morning. She needed at least two hours to morph into a human being.
“You’re getting a website.” Sean sat at the tiny table and took a bun. “Now tell me about the guys outside. What’s with the Wookiee?”
Keir pointed his mug at Mairi. “He’s one of Mairi’s boyfriends, and he’s shy. Apparently.”
“Fake boyfriends,” Mairi snapped. “Why won’t anyone remember the fake part?”
“Okay.” Sean scooted his chair farther away from Mairi. “Which one are you going to marry?”
“None of them,” Mairi said at the same time as Keir said, “Me.”
Sean’s jaw dropped as he looked between the two of them. “You’re getting married? To each other?”
“No.” Mairi reached for another bun and bit off a chunk, while flashing Keir a defiant glare.
“Yes,” Keir said. “It’s the only way to make this go away.”
“Over my dead body,” Mairi muttered through a mouthful of food.
“I don’t think that’s legal,” Keir said. “You know, you could show a little more gratitude. I’m trying to help you here.”
“Is that what you’re trying to do?” Mairi frowned. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
There was a knock at the door.
“I wonder who that could be?” Keir said with heavy sarcasm as he sauntered over to open it.
It wasn’t a boyfriend—instead, it was a guy, dressed in a black suit and white shirt, who looked vaguely familiar. He held a massive bunch of balloons in one hand and a microphone in the other.
“I’m Danny Lowe, Josh McInnes’ most famous, and best, tribute act,” the guy said. “Someone called Derek hired me to sing Mairi a special song.”