Chapter Twenty-Three
Gretchen
Kirk drives a little faster than usual, his lips tight and his hands gripping the wheel as if the thinks the world is about to be taken over by AI robots that want to destroy humanity.
Okay, I've watched too many apocalyptic movies and TV series.
The arrival of my parents, who I love and respect, will not make the universe implode.
Probably.
But there is the issue of Kirk. I haven't really told my parents about him, much less my sexual escapades with him.
I mean, how do you tell your parents you've been having hot and heavy sex with a Scottish stuntman in ancient castles and outdoors and wherever else?
That's not exactly the kind of souvenir they expected me to bring home.
"Are you nervous?" Kirk asks, his gaze shifting from the road to me and back again.
"No, I'm not nervous," I say carefully, lying through my frigging teeth.
Then I decide to fess up. "Well, yes, actually.
I'm very nervous. My dad's protective in that a quiet, intimidating way.
It's something he learned in the Army. And my mom?
I swear she has a superpower that lets her read my mind.
One look at me and she'll know we've been, um. .."
"Shagging like rabbits?" He smirks, and I want to smack that grin off his face. He's enjoying this turn of events way too much.
"I was going to say 'involved,' but thanks for that vivid image to take into my meeting with my parents."
The Porsche hugs another curve as I press myself deeper into the passenger seat. Kirk's knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and his jaw tightens with every mile marker we pass, so maybe he's anxious too. "Relax, lass. Parents generally like me. I've got that Scottish charm, after all."
I'm not sure which one of us he's trying to convince.
"Yeah, well, my dad once made my high school boyfriend cry just by asking what his five-year plan was." I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, suddenly wishing I'd worn something more conservative. "And my mom a way of seeing through bullshit that would terrify CIA interrogators."
Kirk chuckles. "Are you ashamed of me, then? Is that what has you tied up in knots?"
"God, no!" The words burst out before I can stop them.
"But my parents weren't expecting me to be with anyone while I was here.
This was supposed to be my solo adventure, remember?
The one where I finally got out of my comfort zone and did something for myself.
" I keep a death grip on the painted stone in my pocket.
"And now I've got to explain that I met you and we're..."
"You think your da might murder me, aye?"
"No, of course not."
The twinkle in his eyes really annoys me. I might just kick him in the shin strictly to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face. "I don't know, Kirk. Are we dating? Or just 'together' in the loosest sense?"
He barks out a laugh that melts some of the tension in his shoulders. "All of the above, I'd say."
The road narrows as we reach the outskirts of town, and Kirk heads for The Loch Fairbairn Arms where I told my parents I would meet up with them in the lobby.
I gave up my room, but I'm sure Mom and Dad will be able to find accommodations.
I'm still baffled by their sudden arrival.
My skin starts to itch the closer we get to our destination.
But when Kirk finally parks his Porsche and we hurry into the lobby, I notice something, um. ..unexpected.
A lot of strange people milling around.
Every last one of them grins at me and Kirk. He seems as confused as I am.
Then a familiar figure approaches us. Not my parents.
No, it's Thane Buchanan.
He smiles at us. "Your parents are here, Gretchen. We've set them up in the finest suite in the hotel, where they've been waiting for you two. And you finally arrived!" He shouts over his shoulder, "Someone please bring the Carvers here!"
After several minutes, my mom and dad appear from around the corner, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to bolt out the door.
Dad's wearing his "vacation casual" outfit---khaki pants with a polo shirt that still somehow looks military-precise.
Mom is wearing her favorite floral dress that always makes her look like she's going to for afternoon tea with the Queen.
"Gretchen!" Mom calls out, waving excitedly as if I might miss her in the crowd. "Sweetie, it's us! Me and Dad!"
As if I didn't know that. They're probably a little anxious about meeting so many strange people. Kirk shifts beside me, straightening his posture as if he's about to face a firing squad. I feel his hand brush against mine, a quick touch that could be accidental but isn't.
"Showtime," I whisper to Kirk.
My parents close the distance between us with shocking speed. Mom reaches me first, enveloping me in her arms as she pulls me into a hug tight enough to crack ribs.
"Jeez, Mom," I croak. "It's only been a few days since I came to Scotland. The chokehold isn't necessary."
She finally releases me, holding me at arm's length to inspect me like I've returned from war rather than a Scottish vacation. Her eyes narrow as she scans my face, and I can practically feel her maternal radar picking up all sorts of signals I'd rather keep jammed.
"You look different," she announces, her head tilting to one side. "Happier. More...alive."
I roll my eyes. "I've always been alive, unless you think I'm a zombie now."
Dad steps forward, giving me a much gentler hug before turning his attention to Kirk.
My father does that slow, sideways sweep I've seen many times before.
Bert Carver is assessing the situation with the same squinty stare that made Bobby Jenkins wet himself at prom when he brought me home fifteen minutes late.
"And who might this be?" Dad asks, his tone deceptively casual.
Kirk strides forward, extending his hand with the kind of confidence I both envy and admire. "I'm Kirk Balfour, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you both."
Dad's handshake lingers a second longer than necessary, his grip visibly tightening. "Bert Carver. And this is my wife, Alvena."
Kirk doesn't flinch or even blink at Dad's intimidation tactics. He simply smiles and turns to Mom with a slight bow of his head. "Mrs. Carver, I can see where Gretchen gets her beauty."
Mom actually giggles and flutters her hand in front of her face as if she's suddenly been transported to a Jane Austen novel. "Oh my, aren't you charming, young man? And that accent! Just delicious."
Delicious? Did my mother really just call Kirk delicious? Like she wants to devour him? Sheesh.
I shift awkwardly beside Kirk, watching my mom practically melt at his feet. My father is still sizing him up.
"So, Mr. Balfour," Dad says, emphasizing the word mister, "what exactly do you do here in Scotland?"
Kirk stands a little straighter, and I can feel the tension radiating off him despite his easy smile. "I'm a professional stuntman, sir. I work primarily in film and television, though I also do promotional events for local businesses. I've done stunt work in other countries as well."
Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "A stuntman? Like jumping off buildings and crashing cars?"
"Among other things, aye." Kirk's voice remains steady, but I notice his right hand flexing slightly at his side, which tells me he's feeling nervous. I shuffle a half-step closer to him in silent support.
"Kirk's the best in the business," I blurt out, hoping to head off any truly awkward questions. "He just did this amazing stunt for a whisky commercial that was absolutely mind-blowing."
Mom beams at Kirk as if he's just handed her a winning lottery ticket. "That sounds so exciting! We'd love to hear all about it, wouldn't we, Bert?"
Dad grunts something that might be agreement or might be a warning. It can be hard to tell with him.
"Why dinnae we all sit down?" Thane suggests, gesturing toward the hotel's restaurant. "I've reserved a table for us. I thought it might be nice for you to meet some of the local community while you're visiting your daughter."
I blink at him, wondering when this turned into a group event. "Thane, I appreciate that, but I'm pretty sure my parents would prefer a quiet dinner, just the four of us." I squeeze Kirk's arm, feeling the tension in his bicep. "Right, Mom? Dad?"
To my surprise, Mom shakes her head. "Actually, honey, we'd love to meet your new friends. When in Scotland, as they say."
"No one says that, Mom," I mutter, but she's already being swept away by Thane's enthusiastic tour-guide routine, pointing out the antique fixtures and explaining the hotel's history.
Dad hangs back, falling into step beside Kirk and me as we follow. "So, how exactly did you two meet?"
Kirk clears his throat. "We met right here in the village, sir. She walked into the café in Loch Fairbairn where I was enjoying a meal alone. Gretchen didn't see me at first. Eventually, she noticed me, and I offered to show her around the village. The rest, as they say, is history."