Edward
The door closed behind us with a soft thud and suddenly the wind was gone.
"It's warm," I said, because I was stating the obvious and I was still trying to process the fact that I was inside Connor Rennison's bothy.
"Aye," Connor said, dropping our bags by the door with a thump. "Shockingly warm. Must be the Scottish air I told you about. Very insulating."
I kicked off my shoes. "You're from Liverpool. You don't get to claim expertise on Scottish air."
He grinned, that lopsided one that meant trouble. "And you're from London. You don't get to claim expertise on anything that isn't traffic and overpriced coffee."
"Rude."
"Accurate." He was already moving, and I followed him because my hands didn't know what else to do.
