Chapter 21
twenty-one
JONAH
How Did It End - Taylor Swift
“Okay, I have to admit, that got a lot more fun.” I crashed back into my seat, still a little out of breath.
“I told you!”
She’d dragged me up for every single dance. Even when half the village sat in their chairs, deeming the dances too difficult, she took to them like a natural. I let her swing me around time and time again, the world around us slowing to a crawl each time I looked at her.
“Do you want to get some air?” she asked. “It’s a little hot in here.” Her blonde hair had gotten a little messier as the night had gone on, the humidity of the room getting to it, but I liked it nonetheless.
Liked her a little ruffled up, a little smudged.
“Sure.” I grabbed my jacket, throwing it over my shoulder in case she got cold, watching with a sneaking smile as Kit grabbed the bottle of prosecco by the neck and tucked it under her arm to smuggle out. I threw a quick nod to Archie, who currently had his five-year-old clambering on top of him.
“Don’t take too long,” he shouted after us. “It’s almost the bells.”
We emerged from the packed room, a welcome chill immediately chasing away the heat and sweat. The street was nearly empty, a fresh blanket of snow lying on the ground, the light from the antique street lamps cutting through the inky darkness.
I watched as she turned to her left, found a group of very merry people, and charmed them into giving her a cigarette, leaning in as they lit it for her.
She smiled at me. “You don’t mind, do you? There’s something about a rare drunk smoke.”
I shook my head, watching as she pulled another deep inhale, her eyes closing as her breath escaped in a puff of condensation, her shoulders relaxing. Then, her attention scanned the street. “I’ve learned to love this, you know?”
I followed her out onto the street, the music dying behind us. “The cold?”
She smiled cheekily, taking a sip straight from the bottle she’d nabbed, before whispering, “The quiet.” Her head twisted around to me, her eyes finding mine. “I hated it when I first got here. Missed all the traffic and trains and people and the noise.”
“Now?”
A smile grew across her face, dying slightly as she admitted, “Now, I’m not sure how I’ll sleep with all the racket.”
I stepped to her side, looking out along the dark street, the rows of houses, each with their living room light on. I could see it, imagine it, families counting down to the new year.
Could that still be us one day?
“Are you having fun?” I asked, reaching my hand out to hers, taking the cigarette from her and placing it between my lips. I hadn’t smoked since college, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Yes,” she chuckled, almost to herself. “The Scots really know how to celebrate Hogmanay.”
“What do you normally do?”
“Oh, you know, the typical big holiday event.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “There’s always a horribly outrageous drama going on, and the food is always fantastic, and the champagne is endless. Don’t get me started on the gift bags. One time, I got a Rolex.”
I laughed, taking another drag. “Sounds like fun.”
“It can be. Sometimes, it’s also a little sad.” She took another sip from the bottle, her gaze avoiding mine completely. “Being in a crowded room where everyone you’re talking to is only interested in your fame, the clout. Like that’s the only thing that matters there.”
My heart sank for her, like I could really feel everything she felt. Not only that, but I wanted to know, so I could relate. Instead, I passed her the cigarette, letting her take the last of it.
“Here, it’s different,” she said, letting it burn out in her fingers, her attention on me instead. “It’s genuine. Nobody has asked me about home. I’m unsure if they don’t know or don’t care. Everyone will have a chat or a dance, and it’s real. It’s a connection.”
“I like that too,” I admitted, reaching for the bottle and taking a swig. “Everyone’s a neighbour.”
“Exactly,” she said. “How about you? Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Everything apart from that whisky Archie made me drink.” I grimaced at the memory.
She turned, putting the cigarette out and throwing the last into the nearby bin. “I told you to sip it.”
“Well, I thought I’d look cool if I downed it.”
“Signed your own death warrant there.” She hummed, adding, “And the fact you asked him if you could add a splash of coke first.”
I shook my head, the embarrassment threatening to burn across my cheeks only chased away by the cold air. “I know, he nearly took the kilt off me.” I inhaled deeply, the taste of tobacco still on my tongue. “I am having fun though. I think you’re a big part of that.”
Her face lit up with a happiness I could only wish to wake up and see every day. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking her hand in mine. It felt so precious, so fragile. “Around you, everything feels a little brighter.”
She swallowed. “I know…I know I’m going home soon.”
“Thank God for the Scots and their love of a bank holiday,” I tried to joke and lighten the mood. I could tell what she was going to say before she even got a chance, a heartburn I’d been fighting the last few days threatening to rear its head again.
“I also want to thank you,” she said, her voice breaking. “For the best Christmas of my life. When I came here, I obviously hadn’t thought it through. And I had no idea what was in store for me. I’m so grateful to have met you, and—”
I needed her to stop before she went too far, before she broke my heart, so instead I cut her off the only way I knew how. With the press of my lips against hers.
She quieted immediately, melting into my touch, and with the sudden closeness of our heads, I pressed my forehead to hers and said softly, “Don’t speak like that.”
I felt her forehead crinkle against mine. “Like what?”
“Like it’s over,” I rasped, my hands tightening around hers. “I still have you for a couple more days.”
“I know, but—” she started again, but I couldn’t hear it.
“No buts. No goodbyes,” I insisted, the fracturing in my heart threatening to crack.
I wasn’t ready yet. Not sure I could survive it.
“I don’t want them.” The words left me in a broken noise, a crackle of the emotion I was pushing back.
Like a tide to shore, I knew it was coming, that there was no stopping it. I needed to delay it. “Promise?”
“Promise,” she agreed, relief washing over me as if I’d been granted an extension on death row.
“I don’t want to waste a second I have with you.”
Her head shook against mine, and I saw it then, the storm of sadness that almost turned her blue eyes grey. “I don’t want that either.”
“Then we agree? No goodbyes?”
Her lips met mine, soft and tender, before she added, “No goodbyes.”
“Can we dance?” I asked, an arm unwrapping from around her, instead pushing back a lock of hair behind her ear.
“You want to go back in?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Out here. You can have my jacket.” I stepped away, offering it out to her.
“I’m fine,” she said, but I could see the chill along her skin.
“You need it,” I said, offering it again. This time, she relented, the coat too big on her but, as always, looking stylish.
My hand slid down to the low of her back while the other clasped her hand. With the top of her head brushing against my face and her eyes gazing up, we stepped back and forth, not caring if we looked like fools, giggling as I twirled her around.
When the music from inside suddenly cut out, replaced by a countdown, we knew it was time.
The remaining hours we had together dying between us.
All we could do was hold each other. The crowd cheered, breaking out into a rendition of ‘Auld Lang Syne’, and she pressed her head into the nook of my neck, resting and letting me guide us.
Fireworks went off somewhere in the background, but my attention remained solely on her, ignorant to the bright lights fizzing out in the background.
And I wanted to hold her forever. For every New Year.
For every moment she’d let me. I kissed the back of her head, clutching her body as if holding her tightly would make her stay. Keep her close. Keep her here.
That was the moment I realized I was in love with Kit. Two lovers dancing in the snow, in a parking lot, illuminated by only a streetlamp. It felt foggy, like condensation on a window, as if it weren’t really happening to me, as if I weren’t truly there.
But I was.
I was there too, on January third, when I woke up to a letter on her empty side of the bed. Suitcase gone. Clothes gone. Her, gone. She’d caught the earliest bus, left without waking me.
And if that wasn’t what broke me in two, it was the folded piece of paper, her elegant scrawl reading four words.
I’ll always remember my time in Ciallach: Kit Sinclair’s laugh like a bubble of champagne, her touch soft and tender, and my heart hers.
Even if it was thirteen years ago.