Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
CALLIE
I think my neck is broken. Every time I try to move it, shooting pain flies up my spine and into my skull. Was I in a car accident? Did something happen last night that I wasn’t aware of?
My eyelids are heavy with sleep when I blink them open.
The smell of coffee fills the room and makes me feel cozy.
I’m still on the sofa in Gavin’s living room, and the fire is burning hot, even though we’re well and truly into morning.
Dust motes swirl through a beam of sunlight falling on the carpet.
A fresh log was recently added to the hearth and is popping loudly, making itself known.
Shoving up to a seated position, my entire spine is stiff, and my neck is on fire. The angle it was positioned in all night was evidently the wrong choice.
Gavin pushes through the kitchen door and stalls, his eyes on me. “You’re awake, then.”
“Yes. Kind of.” My back is bent sideways while I massage my neck. “Slept weird.”
He cringes. “You were out cold. I figured it was best not to rouse you.”
I nod, then immediately regret it. “How are the roads?”
Gavin’s lasting cringe gives away his answer before he speaks. “It doesn’t look good out there. Roads will be shut until tomorrow, at least.”
My face drops into my hands.
“Could be worse, aye? You’ve got your very own Scottish tour guide.”
Guide to what? His house? Besides, the man doesn’t want that job title. He probably doesn’t want to be saddled with our entire family, let alone a single woman who tried to maul him the first night she met him. “I’m going to shower.”
“Fantastic.” He smiles, his short beard shifting over his lips. “Then we’ll have breakfast.”
“Are you ever not cheerful?” I thought Scots were supposed to be moody and grumpy, not walking balls of sunshine. There’s no reasonable cause for why his bright smile sets me on edge. It’s a little intense this soon after waking up.
“Of course.” Gavin crouches at the fire and pokes around a little, then rises again and hangs the poker on the stone wall. He doesn’t elaborate, so I escape.
My attic room has a chill to it. A shiver runs over my skin as I sort through my suitcase for clean clothes.
By the time I’m out of the shower, my brain has spiraled to an unforeseen low.
Frost covers the window, making it difficult to discern anything other than blobs of snow-covered trees and buildings in the midst of the still-falling snow.
It’s a torrential nightmare of white with no escape, and I’m trapped with Buddy the Elf.
My phone rings, and I practically dive for it.
My stomach falls when I see my best friend’s name across the front instead of Luna’s.
Not that I don’t want to speak to Bekah—I just want to hear from Luna.
Even though logic persists, telling me Luna can’t get through the closed roads today, some small part of me hoped she would call to say she would get as close as possible.
“Hi, Beks.”
“I want to hear every tiny detail,” she says quietly. “Are the men like Jamie Fraser?”
I think of my concierge that first night at the hotel and his overgrown mustache. I intentionally do not think about the man somewhere downstairs right now. “Unfortunately, no.”
“Pity.”
“Says the woman with a serious boyfriend.”
“I meant pity for you.”
I glance at the time and do the math. It’s midnight in California. “You didn’t close tonight?”
“No. Peter has a faculty thing, so I’m on my own tonight.”
Bekah works at the same Italian fusion restaurant I do.
We’re open until midnight, and we both prefer closing shifts because they bring in the best tips.
She’s dating one of the professors in my psychology program.
I was worried it would be uncomfortable after they first got together last year, but we keep things professional at school and friendly at home—the exact opposite of Kayla and her psychotic control issues.
“Well, I’m snowed in right now,” I tell her. “But the house is incredible—it’s all stone—and we’re tucked into the Scottish Highlands. I’ll take pictures when I can open the door again. You won’t believe this place, Beks. It’s unreal.”
“It sounds dreamy. How’s Luna?”
“Not here yet. That’s the downside of the storm. She’s stuck on the other side of it.”
“Who are you there with?”
“You know how my brother-in-law’s best friend has family in Scotland, and we’re staying with that family?”
“Yeah,” she says, drawing the word out.
“Well, that family is one man.”
“One man,” Bekah repeats. “One single man?”
This is where my humiliation will become complete. “Yeah, about that…” I tell Bekah about the first night at the pub, my plans, my target, his reticence, then discovering his identity. She is appropriately shocked and disturbed by his response, feeding my vindication.
“Who knew your bucket list was going to be so easy? You have to kiss him now.”
I fall back on the bed, looking at the wooden ceiling. “Were you listening?”
“He must be wounded,” she says. “No one is that cheerful, Callie. Not unless they’re hiding some deep, painful past.”
“Or maybe he’s an unbothered guy who doesn’t let things penetrate his emotions. Maybe he doesn’t really have emotions. Those people exist too.”
“In the Scottish Highlands in a gorgeous house? A hot-blooded, capable man who seems financially set and is still single for no reason? No way. There’s a reason he’s not married.
He’s been hurt somehow. Perfectly healthy single men don’t turn down a perfectly good make out session in a back alley with you. ”
“It wasn’t a back alley. It was a well-lit sidewalk directly in front of my hotel.
” Besides, Bekah is exceptionally biased.
We met freshman year of college at a karaoke night, when I overheard her wanting to sing “What Is This Feeling” from Wicked and none of her friends would do it with her.
Me and my friends were sitting in the booth next to hers, so I volunteered to be her Galinda, and we totally hit it off.
You don’t spend over five years as someone’s closest friend without developing an over-appreciation for their virtues and a blindness to their faults.
“So he could see you very clearly, you mean?” she says. “You’re not helping your case here.”
“You’re biased.”
“I’m honest, and you’re hot. Are you sure he’s single?”
“No. I don’t really know him.” My eyes squeeze shut.
Do I really want to share more of the shame of his ultimate rejection?
How he’s selective about who he chooses to kiss?
Gavin’s problem could be an overabundance of perfectionism.
Except for the disaster he made of the kitchen while cooking, and the unavoidable dust in his work vehicle, everything about him and his house and his car has been spotless and orderly.
Maybe Gavin takes his selective nature to the extreme when it comes to women, too.
I can talk to her. If I can be that vulnerable with anyone, it would be Bekah. We’ve gone through the ups and downs of college, her depression, and multiple break ups. She won’t judge me.
Bekah doesn’t give me time to decide whether I want to open that particular door, because she barrels ahead. “I bet he’s seeing someone.”
“Or about to,” I hedge.
“Can’t blame him, then.”
“No, you really can’t.” I sit up slowly. “How were the tryouts?”
Bekah blows a raspberry through the phone. “I’m not getting a callback. Nothing sets me apart, Callie. I’m no different from every other girl on that stage singing ‘Popular’ and flipping my hair.”
“Well, you’re not blonde and you still have all your own teeth. That’s saying something for LA.”
She growls. “It means nothing if I never break through the first round of auditions.”
“There’s always—”
“Don’t say reality TV. I won’t do it.”
“Fine, I won’t say the thing that could possibly put you on the radar of important TV people. Look at Carrie Underwood. Kelly Clarkson. Harry Styles. Benson Boone.”
“If I wanted to be a musician, that would mean something,” she says.
“They all started in reality TV. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I know you mean well.” Bekah yawns. “Now I’m going to bed. Update me when you know more about your host’s deep wound. I need to know why the man is insane.”
Laughter tears from my chest in a sudden burst. It’s only been a few days since I’ve seen Bekah, but I miss her so much. “He made amazing mushroom scampi for dinner last night, by the way. So not totally insane.”
“Really? Vegetarian?”
“Yes.” My smile is growing because I can feel how on-the-hook she is.
“I ten percent approve right now,” Bekah says.
“You don’t have to approve at all. After New Years’, I’m never going to see this guy again.” I inhale slowly. “Has Alex come by the restaurant?”
“Don’t do this to yourself.”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m just curious. They’ve been dating a year now, right? I’m wondering if they’re engaged yet.”
“No. He hasn’t been by, and Peter hasn’t mentioned anything either.” She yawns again. “You okay?”
“Yes. I am. Go to sleep now.”
There’s a pregnant pause before she accepts. “Okay. But don’t forget to text me bucket list updates. If I can’t be in Scotland, I need to live vicariously through your photos.”
“Deal.”
“Good night, Cal.”
“’Night.”
We hang up, and I toss my phone on the bed beside me. If Bekah’s right and Gavin is selective to protect his heart from a massive pain in his past, then I feel like a complete chump. If I’m right and he’s just picky…
Does it matter?
I’m only here to enjoy Christmas, which is what I’ll do. It doesn’t matter why he thinks I’m not good enough to kiss him. I need to let it go.
Three layers—one of which is, in fact, thermal underwear—a sweater, and two pairs of socks later, I’m ready to return downstairs.
Gavin is seated at the kitchen table in front of a laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration.
It clears when I darken the doorway, his eyes lifting to my face. “Feel better?”
“My neck is sore, but I took ibuprofen.”
He nods. “Need a bite?”
My head falls to the side in slight admonishment. “You don’t need to cook for me. Believe it or not, I manage perfectly well on my own back home.”
There’s a beat before he concedes. “Coffee’s brewed on the counter. Help yourself to whatever’s in the cupboards.”
It’s strange, moving around someone else’s kitchen while they’re sitting directly behind me.
I’d feel more comfortable if he was working, but the man is just sitting in his seat at the end of the long, solid table watching me pull eggs from the cupboard and fry them in a pan, then plate them over toast. I put my plate a few seats down from him and peel an orange while pulling up the last fiction book I started but didn’t finish… sometime last year.
“You want some?” I ask without looking up. Gavin’s gaze is hot on my neck.
“No, thanks.”
Really? I pop an orange segment in my mouth and chew. When I look up, he’s staring at my plate. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure? Seems like you have a problem with my breakfast.”
“Not at all. I was lost in thought.” He leans back in his chair and rubs the nape of his neck. “Would you like the bad news or the truly bad news?”
Ah. So that’s why he was staring. My bite of egg on toast stalls before reaching my mouth. “Is this going to make me lose my appetite?”
“Good point. Breakfast first.” He swirls a hand toward me to indicate I should continue eating.
I’m sure I’d rather know now, but we can’t go anywhere anyway, and I don’t want cold eggs, so I eat quickly.
Gavin’s blue eyes trail the table. He’s wearing a brown cable-knit sweater, and his hair is messily combed out of his face.
His beard is trimmed neatly, and with the big window behind him and the snowy wonderland it frames, he looks like he could be posing to advertise wool sweaters or coffee for burly men.
In my layers upon layers, I probably look like I’m trying to promote hibernation.
Rising, I carry my dirty dishes to the sink and begin to wash them. “Okay, hit me with the bad news.”
“Another storm’s on the way. At this rate, we’re looking at two more days with shut roads, easy.”
I inhale, scrubbing at my plate with extra elbow grease. “And the worse news?”
Gavin’s chair legs scrape against the wooden floor. “It’ll be another day at least before we’ll be able to clear the driveway and make it out of here, so for the time being, you’re stuck with me.”
I shut the water off and look over my shoulder.
Gavin’s directly behind me, his ice-blue eyes pinned to mine with trepidation.
It’s a little embarrassing that I’ve made this kind of an impression on him.
Eternal Sunshine was worried about how I would take the news that we have to spend the entire day in just one another’s company.
I’m officially a Scrooge.
Luna would never believe it. I’m about as Christmas elf-y as they come.
My apartment is decorated for Christmas by mid-November—much to the dismay of my roommate—and I’m blasting holiday music well before it’s socially acceptable.
I make friends with almost everyone, yet somehow I’ve made this man believe I fall in line with the Christmas grumps of the world. It’s horrifying. I’m slightly ashamed.
Snow falls on the other side of the large kitchen window, and aside from how awful it is for keeping my sister away, it is a magnificent sight to behold. I have to turn this around somehow.
Lifting a shoulder, I throw a shrug at him. “No worries.”
Gavin’s eyebrow rises.
“Really,” I say. “Put me to work. If we’re going to be stuck here, waiting for everyone to arrive, we might as well make the most of it, right?”
He looks at me with trepidation. “What do you have in mind?”
“Christmas decorations. Do you have any, or do we need to make them?”
“I have some, but we don’t make a big thing of Christmas, mind. It’s Hogmanay we care about in my family.”
“Hog-a-what?”
He doesn’t bother repeating it. “New Year’s Day. First-footing. Midnight parties with all your family and friends?”
“Never heard of it.”
Gavin mutters something incoherent under his breath, but I catch the word Americans.
“We can string popcorn if we have to, but we need to decorate for Christmas in some way. In the States, we care about the tree and the garland and the way it makes you feel to have your home dressed up for the holidays. If we’re stuck inside, we might as well get the house ready before everyone else arrives. ”
“People do that here too,” he says defensively. “But I’ve never bothered to worry about it much before Christmas Eve. We have some decorations, but we mostly just put up a tree and call ourselves satisfied.”
“Well, that’s not going to cut it.” I put the clean dishes in the drying rack and wipe my hands on a dish towel. “Come on. Show me your decorations, and I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”
Gavin grins. “You’ll want to find your snow boots for this.”