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The Highland Fling

The Highland Fling Summary

The Highland Fling from bestselling author Meghan Quinn, an American searching for her purpose escapes to a Scottish town but finds more questions than answers when she meets a brooding yet handsome handyman.

Freshly fired from her third job in a row, Bonnie St. James has lost her way. So when she and her best friend stumble upon a “help wanted” post to run a coffee shop in the Scottish Highlands, they apply on a whim. Who knows? Maybe traveling to a new place is just what she needs to figure out her next move.

When the friends arrive in the tiny idyllic town of Corsekelly, they instantly fall for the gorgeous Highland landscape and friendly townspeople. But Bonnie finds a less-than-warm welcome in Rowan MacGregor, the rugged local handyman. Busy wrestling his own demons, Rowan’s in no mood to deal with the quirky American―even if she is a bonny lass.

As Bonnie and Rowan’s paths inevitably cross, insults―and sparks―fly. Can the pair build on their similarities to help each other find purpose and direction…and maybe romance too? Or will their passionate tempers fling them apart?

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author, wife, adoptive mother, peanut butter lover, and author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.

The Highland Fling Introduction

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Cake consumed today: One slice . . . okay two . . . fine, FIVE, FIVE LARGE SLICES.

Jobs fired from: One, making that a total of three jobs in three years. What a brilliantly terrible accomplishment.

Eviction notice: One, and not because we didn’t pay our bills but because we turned a one-bedroom into a two . . . illegally. Oops!

Days since last male-induced orgasm: Sixty-five, and it wasn’t even a good orgasm, just a twitch of gratification. A blip. Barely a pulse of pleasure.

Relationship status: Dumped and painfully wallowing in self-pity. Thank you very much, Harry.

This, my friends, is sad lady status. Enjoy.

“We’re doomed,” I whine, slinking down into the velvety soft cushions of our thrift store couch. “Why did I have to eat all the cake? Cake would make this all better right now.”

“Because your life is a mess.”

Dakota Dalton.

Fierce mother hen of our shared one-bedroom apartment, best friend since I was nine, and can be persuaded by any variety of cake, just like me. She’s working that whole Meg Ryan circa Kate and Leopold vibe with her blunt shoulder-length blonde hair and take-no-prisoners style.

She’s my rock.

The reason I’m not lying on the bathroom floor and purposefully giving myself toilet swirlies—thus is the current status of my mental health.

“How can you possibly be scrolling through Facebook right now, knowing we’re bound to be homeless in a few weeks?”

“Alcohol,” Dakota says, bringing a pink plastic cup up to her mouth and draining its contents.

“This is all my fault.”

“How is this your fault?” Dakota asks, pausing at a funny meme of a sickly-looking SpongeBob serving food.

“I don’t put good vibes out into the world. This is God smiting me.” I hold my fist up to the air. “I’ll be better, you hear me? I won’t eat all the cake anymore. I’ll give Dakota two-thirds of every sheet cake I make and take a measly one-third. That’s love. ‘Share with thy neighbor’ . . . something like that.

” Pleading, I continue, “And . . . and I’ll really apply myself. Use this brain you bestowed upon me to truly max out my potential. I won’t go out with guys like Harry anymore. Guys who want one thing and one thing only: the sin of the bedroom.” I rub my temples, hoping and praying that any kind of zippity zap from above strikes me with an idea on how to get us out of this mess.

“And I plan on really sending out my résumé. I’m not sure I want to do the personal-assistant thing. It’s not as glamorous as I thought it was going to be—one person can only pick up dry cleaning so many times before losing their mind. But I’ll find something. This weekend I’ll, uh . . . I’ll take a career assessment test. Yes, perfect. I’ll take a test. Multiple, actually. I’ll take five . . . no, ten. Ten seems like a good number. You like the number ten . . . Ten Commandments and all.” I smirk at the big guy. “I’ll take ten career assessment tests, and then I’ll apply to jobs that best fit my talents. I’ll make something of this life.”

“When did Anita have a kid?” Dakota asks, completely oblivious to my pleading.

“Do you think I should add anything?” I whisper from the side of my mouth.

“Huh? Oh, uh . . .” She taps her chin. “Maybe something about His hair.”

“I don’t know what God’s hair looks like. Do you?”

“Uh . . . white and flowy?”

I look up toward the cracked ceiling. “And your hair is . . . magnificent. Do you use Herbal Essences?”

“I don’t think He needs to shower,” Dakota says, clicking on a picture of Anita’s baby to get a better look. “And He sure as shit isn’t using Herbal Essences.”

“Why the hell not?” I ask, sitting up and staring down at my friend.

“Because He’s God. Why use Herbal Essences when He created Paul Mitchell?”


“What do you think He smells like?”

“Lightning bolts and cotton,” Dakota answers dreamily.

“He’s not Zeus.”

“He could—” Dakota sits up. Her back stiffening, her mouth falling open, her eyes widening.

Detecting that something huge is about to happen, I clasp my hands together. “Did He . . . hear us?”

Dakota shakes her head. “No, but check this out.” She turns her laptop toward me, and my eyes lock on a shared article from her crazy aunt Wendy—a perpetual oversharer of weird shit on social media.

Ever wonder why you’ve found yourself caught up watching a video of an old-timey cowboy teaching you how to make huevos rancheros on a rusted metal garbage can top? It’s because of people like Aunt Wendy.

Trying to get my drunk brain to focus, I read the post out loud. “Help wanted. Looking for two friends to manage small town coffee shop in Corsekelly, Scotland for six months. No experience necessary, all expenses paid, including free accommodations. Applicants need a cheery disposition and a thirst for the Scottish Highlands.” I look at my best friend, eyebrows cocked. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have a thirst for the Highlands.”

“Do you even know where the Highlands are?”

“In Scotland.”

“Where in Scotland?”

“In . . . the Highlands.”

Rolling my eyes, I push the computer back onto her lap. “You’re drunk.”

“Bonnie, don’t you remember the results of your genetic testing? It said you were one-sixteenth Scottish. Don’t you want to visit the lands of your dearly beloved ancestors?”

I point my finger fiercely at her. “Don’t you dare throw my ancestry on the line like that. You know I love a genetically completed family tree.”

“Come on, this is the perfect opportunity.”

“Dakota.” I shake her. “Are you hearing yourself? You are asking to apply for a job in Scotland.”

She grows serious, and even though her eyes are glazed over from the tequila, she looks down at her hands. “I know it’s been a year since Isabella broke up with me, but it’s been difficult to move on.”

Oh . . .

I lean in slightly to catch the distraught look on my friend’s face. Maybe this really isn’t about me but . . . about her.

Isabella was Dakota’s first girlfriend.


Isabella was the girl who helped Dakota finally identify with herself.

And then Isabella went and broke Dakota’s heart.

First love is hard enough.

But first love that brings on the realization that you’re gay . . . now, that’s a whole other level.

“I can understand that.” I reach over and give her hand a squeeze. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in love and lose it.”

“It’s been hard.” She glances at her computer screen, moves the cursor over to “Apply,” and clicks on the link.

“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask, starting to panic that she might actually be serious about this.



“Isn’t this exciting? We’re going to run a coffee shop in Scotland!” she says as she types her name into the application.

Wow, okay. I’ve heard of nervous breakdowns after serious breakups, but I’ve never witnessed one in person.

I need to proceed with caution.

“Oh, sweetie.” I pull her into a hug. “You’re delusional. Maybe I should lay you down and bring you some cake. I can put an order on DoorDash and have some sugary sweetness to you in twenty-five to thirty minutes.”

“I’m not delusion—”

“Shhh,” I whisper in her ear while gently pushing her back against the couch. “You poor dear. I should have seen the signs. Losing my job has really turned me into a blind friend, but I see you now.” I grab her chin and force her eyes to mine. “I see you, Dakota.” I pat her shoulder. “Now, you just lie here while I order the cake, and we can try to figure out how to handle all of this. Don’t worry—we’ll keep this mental crisis to ourselves.”

“I’m not having a mental crisis.”

“Oh, honey.” I wince. “That’s what everyone says when they’re going through a mental crisis.”

Grabbing my cheeks, Dakota brings me inches from her face, tequila fresh on her breath. “I’m not having a mental crisis. We are going to Scotland for six months, where we will take care of a coffee shop in a small town called Corsekelly.”

Carefully, I lower her hands from my face. “Honestly, I think you’ve lost your mind and you’re frightening me a bit. I’m unsure of what to do . . . should I call your parents? This seems like a ‘time to call the parents’ moment.”

Dakota sets her computer on the coffee table and turns toward me, frustration etched across her face. She can apparently sober up in an instant because she looks at me with clear, serious eyes. “The timing is perfect for both of us. You don’t have a job—”

“Well aware of my unemployment status.”

“We are being evicted.”

“Which I take full responsibility for.”

“And we both need a change,” she says, her voice growing soft now. “I can’t think of anything better than whisking off to Scotland for the summer.”

“What about your job?”

“You know I can do my graphic design work while we’re there.” True. She just rents a workspace so she doesn’t get stuck in our dank apartment trying to feel the creative flow while she hand draws pretty pictures on her tablet for multiple social media influencers. She’s paid well, she’s self-taught, and she can take it anywhere.

If only I were an artist like her—then all our problems would be solved and we wouldn’t be talking about moving across the world. Unfortunately, I’ve never truly found out what I’m good at. I was kind of hoping Los Angeles was going to help me with that, but all it’s taught me is that celebrities are particular about their coffee orders.

I scratch the side of my head. “But . . . we don’t know anything about Scotland.”

“We didn’t know much about Los Angeles, and we still moved here.” Yeah, and look where that got me. My parents’ disgruntled faces flash through my mind. I’ll never forget the looks they gave me when I told them I wasn’t going to college but instead pursuing a dream in the “business industry,” hopefully working my way to becoming a party planner or “something fun like that.” Yeah, used those exact words.

“Uh, we drove up the 15 from Hemet. We didn’t take a plane to another country,” I say. “I already made a big move, and I have nothing to show for it.”

She nods in understanding, but it doesn’t change her long sigh as her shoulders slump. A defeated posture if I’ve ever seen one. “I need this, Bonnie. I need this adventure, something to get me out of here, away from the memories. I know running away isn’t the answer to my problems, but I just need a chance to breathe, at least.”

I study her. Vulnerability shines through the tough armor she wears daily. “Did something happen?”

Her teeth roll over her bottom lip. “It was the day you were fired. I ran into Isabella . . . with her new girlfriend.”

“What?” I practically shout. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Because you’d been fired. You needed me, so I held it in, but it’s been eating at me. They were so happy and—” Her bottom lip quivers, so I quickly pull her into a hug.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold back the onslaught of curse words I want to call Isabella. I rub Dakota’s back, my eyes traveling to the open laptop. “You really want to go to Scotland?” I ask, still in denial that this is real.

Dakota pulls away and wipes at her eyes. “I really need this, Bonnie, and I think you do too. Let’s get you out of this rut you’re living in and find joy in the Highlands. This is our chance to reset, do something different, and just live freely for a few months.”

“So you’re dead serious? You want to move to Scotland for six months and run a coffee shop, even though we know nothing about coffee.”

She nudges me playfully. “You know coffee—you’ve been retrieving it for the past three years. Plus, you learned how to work that one espresso machine when you worked for Lisa. You were making all sorts of drinks by the end.”

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The Highland Fling

The Highland Fling PDF

Product details:

EditionInternational Edition
ISBN1542025222, 978-1542025225
Posted onAugust 24, 2021
Page Count349 pages
AuthorMeghan Quinn

The Highland Fling By Meghan Quinn PDF Free Download - HUB PDF

The Highland Fling from bestselling author Meghan Quinn, an American searching for her purpose escapes to a Scottish town but finds more questions than answers when she meets a brooding yet handsome handyman.


Author: Meghan Quinn

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