“You’re Scottish!” I exclaimed.
“You noticed!” Hank flashed another toothy grin. “As hard as I’ve worked to rid myself of it, it never quite goes away.” His accent broadened more and I knew he did it on purpose.
“My aunt is from Drumsallie.”
“No, she’s not! I’m from Kinlocheil!”
“I’ve been there! She took me for a visit when I graduated from high school. In fact, my first t—” I stopped talking immediately.
Way to embarrass yourself, Samantha.
The teenage boys stared at me, waiting.
“First—taste of whiskey—was in Scotland,” I finished lamely, trying to hide my blush behind my hand.
Hank leaned over, grinning, as he whispered. “Nice save, Samantha.” His breath was warm on my burning cheek. He smelled fresh like a Scottish Highland morning.
© 2017 Dellani Oakes