13. Ruby
13
RUBY
We climb to the top of Arthur’s Seat, an extinct volcano in Holyrood Park, and eat breakfast sitting on the frosty grass overlooking the city. The climb allows me to forget about my mom for a while. Harry doesn’t believe that she would report me as a missing person to the police, but he doesn’t understand the lengths she would go to, to get what she wants.
I didn’t truly understand either, until now.
What other explanation is there for the cops turning up at our hotel in another country and asking to speak to me?
I know that I must go home eventually and tell her how I feel about Harry, but not yet. I’m not ready to face her yet. I’m only sorry that my dad will be on the receiving end of her anger until I return. I’d bet every cent I’ve ever earned that she hasn’t told him she has involved the cops.
“Is this how it feels to be a fugitive?” Harry scrunches up the brown paper bag our breakfast came in and stuffs it into the side flap of his suitcase.
“It’s an adventure.” I shrug. “If she thinks I’m going to come running home with my tail between my legs, and tell her that she was right all along, she’s got another thing coming.”
Harry laughs and kisses me with his icy lips. Strange how kissing him already feels as natural as drawing breath. Walking away from him now would be like forgetting every book I’ve ever read. It would be like stepping onto the moon without an oxygen tank.
“She was right all along?” Harry furrows his brow.
“About me and you.” Guilt swirls around inside my stomach, and I wish I hadn’t drunk the cold coffee.
One day I’ll tell him about my mom’s plans for her only daughter, but not yet. Not here. Edinburgh has brought us together in a way that Chicago never could have. I feel like this will always be our city, the place where happy memories were given life, the city where we lost ourselves and found each other.
“She’ll understand when she sees how good we are together.” Harry peers out across the city.
In his eyes, it’s that simple. Two people fall in love, and the whole world claps as they set off into the sunset holding hands. He doesn’t know my mom.
“I’m not going back. Not yet.”
His smile lights up his face despite the bitterly cold wind at the top of the hill turning his lips blue. “Phew. I was sitting here trying to figure out how I could abduct you for real without getting caught.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “You only had to say. I’d have bought some rope and a blindfold myself.”
“Now there’s a thought.” His eyebrows dance comically. “Time to go. I can’t even feel my butt anymore.”
“Where to?”
“We’ll find the railway station and get on the first train out of the city, see where it takes us.”
It takes us to Glasgow.
This city is louder, brasher, livelier, like Edinburgh’s gin-swilling, opinionated great-aunt. We wander out of the grand, high-ceilinged station, grab a kebab and sodas from a takeout, and wander along Sauchiehall Street, where the air feels charged with something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Anticipation. Tension. Confidence.
We pass a couple of uniformed cops and Harry squeezes my hand tightly, trying to tug me to the other side of the street. But I carry on walking, my head held high, making eye contact as they come closer.
“We can’t stay here,” Harry says as soon as they’re out of earshot. “They tracked us down in Edinburgh. They’ll do the same here if we check into a hotel.”
“No hotel then.”
He gives me the side eye. “I’m not sleeping on a park bench.”
“And I thought you were enjoying being on the run.”
He stops on the sidewalk and wraps his arms around me, his chin resting on the top of my head. He’s warm, and I stop shivering, just for a moment. “I’d enjoy being anywhere with you. But I draw the line at benches and doorways.”
A bus approaches us, and I realize that we’re standing next to a bus stop. Pulling out of his embrace, I join the line, dragging Harry along with me. We hop onto the bus and find a seat right at the back where the windows are steamed up, and the seats are cozy.
“Where are we going?” Harry clears a patch on the window with his sleeve and presses his forehead against the glass.
“No idea.”
“I like the sound of that.”
The bus heads out of the city, leaving the gray buildings and the colorful murals behind, and I rest my head on Harry’s shoulder, my eyes feeling heavy. The terrain becomes greener, the roads winding around turns, the bus picking up speed and slowing down at regular intervals, rocky streams following us and disappearing, only to rejoin us further down the route.
The clouds dissipate, allowing the sun to smile down upon us like ants hitching a lift on the back of a many-legged beetle.
Harry and I move closer to the window, soaking up the view, alert again.
I’ve never seen green so vibrant and glossy and glorious. The hills roll away in the distance, some growing into snow-capped mountains, others supporting wind turbines and the occasional, lonely Gothic mansion.
“That house has turrets.” Harry points to a tall, narrow house set back from the road in the middle of nowhere, the long driveway guarded by stone lions. “Must belong to a princess.”
“Or a witch.”
We pass stone huts and drywalls that crisscross the land like a patchwork quilt and fat-bellied sheep munching on lush grass in every direction.
And then the sea comes into view.
We both gape at it, wide-eyed. The sun casts a zigzag pattern straight down the middle of the gray-blue sea, sparkling like diamonds, so bright it hurts our eyes. There’s a gigantic rock in the distance, just sitting in the water, majestically, a perch for the seagulls and puffins.
We get off at the next stop, an unspoken agreement. It’s a tiny village nestled between granite mountains and the sea, the land in between filled with sheep. Even from the bus stop, we can hear the sea crashing against the shore, and my body is filled with a sense of peace that I don’t believe I’ve ever felt before, like the wilder the terrain, the calmer I feel inside.
There’s a pub in the village, a small, single-fronted grocery store, and a curiosity shop with marionettes watching passersby from behind dusty windows. The cottages are low-built and weather-worn. The wind whips across the village from the sea, tugging our hair around our faces, and making us snuggle deeper into the shawls Harry bought in Edinburgh., our fingers belonging to each other now.
Passing by the grocery store, I spot a card in the window announcing that a local farmhouse is operating as a B&B. It would mean no checking in using a credit card that the cops can trace back to us.
“We can use fake names,” Harry suggests. “What do you want to be called?”
I grin at him. “How about Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff?”
The farmhouse is just outside the village. The sheep eye us up suspiciously as we trudge along the gravel path between fields to the large stone cottage situated at the bottom of a hill.
We knock on the bright red door and are greeted by a ginger-haired woman wearing a faded apron and a wide smile. Her cheeks are mottled pink, no doubt from the biting wind, but her eyes are bright blue, smile lines fanning from the corners and around her mouth.
“Can I help ye?”
“We’re looking for a room.” Harry gestures to his suitcase. “We noticed the card in the grocery store window.”
“Come a long way?” She peers behind us as if we might be carrying a sign announcing that we’re from the States.
“Chicago,” Harry says at the same time as I say, “New York.”
The woman’s smile grows wider. “Come in. It’s blowing a hoolie out there.” She opens the door wide and gestures us through to the kitchen.
The room is warm and filled with the aroma of baking bread. The table in the middle of the room is rich pine, a vase of heather sitting in the center. The work surfaces are scrubbed clean, and I notice freshly washed towels flapping on the washing line outside the window.
It’s cozy, and it feels instantly like home.
“How long are ye wanting to stay?” The woman fills a kettle with water and switches it on to boil. Then she takes three large mugs from a wooden stand and drops a tea bag into each.
“We’re not sure,” Harry says. “A few days maybe. Is that going to be a problem?”
“Ach, not this time of year. Sit yourselves down while I make ye some tea, and then I’ll show you to your room.”
We both do as we’re told.
The woman tells us that her name is Eileen. She and her husband, Alastair, manage the farm and take in guests to make a bit of extra money.
“The pub in the village does great food if ye’re wanting to eat out in the evenings. I’ll provide a full Scottish breakfast—do ye like haggis? But ye’re welcome to use the kitchen in the meantime. I want ye to treat it like home while ye’re here.”
She smiles at us and slurps her tea while it’s still scalding hot.
“Alastair will show ye round the farm if ye’re interested.”
I wonder if she’s starved of company while Alastair is out on the farm all day because she barely stops to draw breath while she’s talking.
The bedroom is just as clean and cozy as the kitchen. The bed has a floral comforter, and a faux fur throw on top, with plumped up pillows and cushions, and fluffy white towels folded to resemble swans. It’s hard to believe that this woman has welcomed us into her home as if she has known us all our lives, and I hope that we can find a way to repay her kindness.
“Settle in,” Eileen says, from the threshold. “There’ll be fruit cake in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”
She closes the door behind her, and I flop backwards onto the bed. My muscles ache. My brain is scrambled from traveling and running from the police, and all I want to do is sleep, but Harry lays down beside me, his hand slipping underneath my sweater.
“Are you ready for fruit cake, Mrs. Heathcliff?” His fingertips find my nipple and his tongue pushes its way between my lips. “Or…?” He leaves the sentence hanging.
“Or…?” I can’t help smiling at his use of the fake name.
“Or shall we work up an appetite first?”
“Hmm, what do you suggest, Mr. Heathcliff?”
His hand snakes a path down to the waistband of my jeans, and he opens the button easily with a flick of his thumb. My body is instantaneously throbbing.
“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” He kisses the tip of my nose before sliding my jeans over my hips and spreading my legs wide.
His fingers stroke between my legs, sending a shiver down my spine, and I grab his arm, guiding him inside me. “Can you think about it down there?”
“Hmm…I’ll try.” He kisses my lips while he slides two fingers inside me, opening me up. My body is instantly wired, my sex already wet.
I nibble his bottom lip, catching it between my front teeth. “Harder, Harry.”
“Harder … Heathcliff. Say it, Ruby.”
A gasp escapes my lips as my favorite quote slides into my mind of its own accord: Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same .
“Harder, Heathcliff.”
“Harder?” His breath mingles with mine. “You mean like this?” He rams his fingers inside me, and I pant. My spine automatically arches, pushing my pussy onto him.
“Yes.”
Harry leaves my side, and I muffle my moans of pleasure with my fist when I feel his tongue between my legs. His fingers drag back and forth, rubbing my clit before his tongue is right there, licking slowly, hitting the spot with each stroke. He slides a hand up to my breasts, pinching my nipple between his fingers.
“I can’t see you, Ruby.”
I raise my head from the pillow and peer down at him, his tongue inside me, his eyes watching me hungrily. He starts sucking then, holding my gaze, his eyes lighting up when he sees what effect he’s having on me.
I can’t control my orgasm. I bite down hard on my knuckles, feeling the explosion everywhere.
Harry doesn’t waste a beat. Before I’ve caught my breath, he’s inside me. He pushes my thighs backwards, and drapes my feet over his shoulders, my knees almost touching my ears. He’s in so deep, I swear I can feel the end of his cock hitting my spine.
“Hard enough for you?” His face is so close, I can see the faint red lines crisscrossing the whites of his eyes.
“Yes.” It comes out breathily, mingled with my shallow breaths.
“Sure?” He grips my hair tightly, arching my neck backwards and exposing my throat to his kisses. “I think you can take more, Ruby.”
On his knees, he slides his cock all the way out, its absence leaving me breathless, then rams himself back inside me. So deep it forces the air from my lungs.
“How about that?” He smothers my mouth, his teeth biting into the soft flesh around my lips and making my brain cells swim.
I entwine my fingers with his hair, holding onto him, his kisses as hot and hard as his thrusts. I’ve never wanted him so badly. He fills my mouth with his tongue, and I suck on it, desperate to keep him inside me. To feel him filling me up. I hold him tightly until he reaches his own orgasm, his wetness exploding inside me, his body juddering in a reaction that is already so familiar, I can’t help smiling to myself.
This is Harry.
My Harry.