Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
CALLIE
Settling into my room, a cozy little attic I immediately fell in love with, only bought me twenty minutes.
Doing my hair and making myself look like I didn’t just roll out of bed is an additional thirty-five.
By noon, my stomach is rumbling, my pride is smarting, and I want a sandwich and my sister.
But, also, Luna is to blame for this situation, so the hours it’ll take her to reach us will help cool my ire.
I make my way downstairs, admiring the house.
Everything about this cottage is cozy. The walls are mostly plastered on the inside, something I wasn’t expecting when we came upon it.
The wall framing the large fireplace in the center of the main room is stone, and it’s gorgeous.
I take my time meandering through the rooms, the soft lighting and warm, earthy tones melding seamlessly with the scenic views through each of the windows.
Photographs of Gavin with what I’m assuming are his grandparents dot the walls at different stages of his life—though there are a few with his parents too. He was always attractive, that much is clear. Maybe he’s also selfish and egotistical…because there must be a reason he’s still single.
The sweet, hometown boy-next-door vibe he’s been exuding could totally be a front. I’ll keep my eye out for the bait and switch.
Gavin is sitting at the kitchen table in front of an empty plate littered with crumbs when I find him. The table is a thick, beastly piece of furniture, set before a wide-open window. It’s long and sturdy and meant for a large group.
The kitchen has clearly been remodeled in the last half a decade, and it’s evident from the furniture in this house that someone knows a carpenter, because everything looks custom.
Either Gavin comes from money or his parents take very good care of their things, because this house is incredible.
He could run it as a rustic-chic bed and breakfast and make a killing. There are enough bedrooms for it.
“Hungry?” he asks.
I hover in the open doorway until my grumbling stomach gives me away. “I don’t want to impose.”
“Och, Callie. We can’t be having this all winter, aye?” He pushes away from the table and opens the fridge. “Bit of haggis with a side of haddock, then?”
I’m about to lose the lunch I haven’t even had yet. Then I notice a twinkle in his unreasonably blue eyes when he glances over his shoulder. The cheerful wretch is teasing me. “You don’t have PB&J?”
“Not on hand, no. But I can rustle up a bacon roll.”
Good heavens above, I would die for one of those, whatever they are.
He must read it on my face, because he pulls ingredients out of the fridge and starts the stove. “Drinks are in the fridge. Tap is cold as a loch.”
I find a glass in the cupboard and fill it with water.
Luna drinks Dr Pepper like it’s a life source, but I’ve always been big on mankind’s actual life source.
It started out when I went away to college, worried someone would spike my drink at a party.
I lived five hundred miles away from home and had to look out for myself.
Then I liked not being hungover while all my friends struggled during exams. The health benefits of water are unbeatable.
The large window looks out over the countryside. The trees and mountains and gray sky look all moody and Scottish. Wisps of clouds are tucked around the tips of the peaks, moving in at a steady pace. The good weather we drove here in was fleeting, evidently.
If I wasn’t feeling defensive and just plain idiotic for my behavior last night, I would be so grateful to be here.
No, scratch that. Those feelings can exist simultaneously.
Gavin sets a plate on the table with a sandwich on a soft roll, and my mouth immediately waters.
This table must seat twelve, and Gavin places me on the corner next to his seat. Would it be seen as ungrateful to slide it over so I’m not sitting right beside him?
Yes, it would. My mother taught me better than that.
“Thanks.” I dig in, and it’s the best sandwich I’ve ever had. The bacon is different. It’s not crispy, but I’m not complaining. I pick up a slice of red bell pepper and crunch into it. “Delicious.”
“It’s no trouble. Your mum wants to set up a meal schedule, I believe, so we’ll have the chance to cook for each other while you’re here.”
“That sounds like her.” I take another bite, fortifying myself before delivering the bad news. “The English travelers won’t be here soon. When I called, they hadn’t left yet.”
“I know. Hamish told me.”
I stare at him. “You don’t seem upset.”
He shrugs, offering me the happy-go-lucky smile he’s been wearing all day. “They’ll get here when they get here. No point in fretting.”
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t throw yourself at your host.”
Gavin’s smile widens, his white teeth flashing beneath his light brown beard. “I thought we put that behind us.”
Again, easy for him to say. I fill my mouth with sourdough bread and bacon and melty cheese so I don’t have to reply, watching the large open window. The panes look new and clear, but the casings seem old.
“Are you going to try to kiss me again, Callie?”
I choke on my bacon. “Oh my gosh, no! Of course not.”
“Then I don’t see why you think there’s a problem. We can be pals, aye? We got on well enough before that whole debacle.”
It’s true. Our conversation had flowed until the moment his rejection and my stupidity killed it—and my pride—flat.
Gavin’s phone rings. He puts it up to his ear. “Hiya.”
I put all my attention into my sandwich and slices of raw bell pepper as he talks. Once my food is gone, I wipe my fingers and sit back, looking out over the expanse of darkening sky. The clouds are really starting to look ominous, like they might be carrying the snow Luna was worried about.
“Aye, I have one guest here now, more on the way tomorrow.” Gavin’s gaze slides to me, his light blue eyes striking against the natural light streaming through the window. “I’ll mention it. Cheers.”
I lift my empty plate and Gavin’s and take them to the sink, where I wash them and put them in the drying rack.
The scent of bacon lingers in the air, mixed with the sharp tang of dish soap.
“Is there a market close by? If I’m going to be here for three weeks, I should probably pick up some groceries. ”
“Down the road, aye.” Gavin’s closer than I expected, the nearness of his deep voice taking me by surprise. “I can take you in a bit. I need to see a neighbor about a pipe first, if you don’t mind coming along.”
So Gavin’s the local plumber…who drives a nice green sedan? I don’t have space to be picky about the ride, and I have nothing else to do, so I nod. “Let me grab my coat.”
Gavin is idling in a dusty black Land Rover when I make it outside. It’s an older model, and the back is full of tools and junk from the look of it. This is very much a work vehicle.
“Pardon the mess,” he says. “Can’t ever get all the dust out, I’m afraid.”
“It’s fine.”
He takes off down the road with no heed to the dark sky or the snow beginning to fall in thick white flakes. I’ve had Christmas in England before when my sister got engaged, and then the tiny roads were slick with ice. I’m glad the Land Rover seems sturdy.
“Do you think it’s safe for them to drive tonight?” I ask, peering up at the incoming clouds. Why do they seem bigger and fuller already? It’s so dark, yet it’s still the middle of the day.
“Skies could be clear down in England,” Gavin says reasonably.
Of course. They’re hours away still.
“The woman we’re going to see…a word of advice?” he hedges.
“Shoot.”
“Don’t stare. Patty says she doesn’t mind, but I think it gets to her.”
I wait, but he doesn’t continue. “You can’t say that and not explain.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you can put into words,” he says vaguely, pulling into another long driveway not too far down the road. It ends by a small white house tucked into the trees.
A small woman hobbles through the front door using a cane, her back bent nearly in half as she cranes her neck up to look at Gavin. How is that difficult to describe?
“Och, but I canna get it to flush! I’m having the worst time of it.” Her eyes fall on me and her face lights up. “You must be the American.”
“Hello,” I say, careful to look her directly in the eye. “I’m Callie.”
“Come in.” She waves me forward. “Have a spot of tea. Gavin knows what to do.”
She’s right. He shuts the trunk and carries a bag of tools into the house.
“Just call me Patty, hen,” the woman says, hobbling into the kitchen with the use of her cane. A hot pot of tea is already prepared with three cups and a plate of what looks to be cookies. “Sit with me while Gavin takes care of the issue.”
I follow her to the table. “I would love that.”
She pours tea for us as Gavin tinkers in the bathroom. “Shortbread?”
“Is it homemade? Someone recently told me I need to try homemade shortbread while I’m in the country.”
Patty’s gaze shoots toward the open bathroom door, pink bleeding into her pale cheeks. “That rascal. It’s nothing special.”
I bite into a rectangular, buttery cookie, and it melts on my tongue. I have to agree with Gavin. “This is amazing.”
Her blush deepens. “You Americans say that about everything.”
“Not true. We dumped a lot of your tea in the ocean once. I doubt anyone thought that was amazing.”
She snickers. “Wrong country, but I’ll forgive you. How long are you here for?”
“Three weeks.”
“Och, our Gavin is a lucky man,” she sing-songs.
I cough, shortbread lodging in my throat.
“What do you plan to do while you’re here?” she asks, either pretending or oblivious to my reaction.
“Actually, I have a bucket list, but I’m waiting for my sister to get here so we can do most of it together.”
She nods. “Family traditions.”