Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
CALLIE
Gavin has been on edge since dinner. I helped him serve his caramel banana pie with hot cups of tea, devoured my slice, and still his family hasn’t moved from their seats at the table.
These people know how to linger. They’ve got nothing on whoever The Cranberries were singing about.
I don’t know what all that weird book stuff was about earlier, but I can pin it as the moment things became tense.
Gavin’s face has shown a faint degree of strain ever since.
It’s not super obvious—the man is clearly well-practiced in repressing his emotions.
If we were in a session, I would be trying to get him to unpack this one layer at a time.
But we’re not. I’m not his counselor. He’s not even my friend…yet?
The fact that he wants to be was enough of a surprise.
Maybe he’s not used to being at odds with anyone.
He’s too sunny to have a rain cloud in his house, so he needs me to be all fluffy and cotton and free of rain again.
Watching him interact with his family, I get the sense Gavin hasn’t always had it super easy.
I stifle a yawn.
“You must want us out of your hair,” Jean says, stirring more sugar into her tea.
“No, of course not.” I shake my head vehemently. The last thing I want is for all these people to think I desire more alone time with their son. Grandson. Whatever. “Still adjusting to the time change. It hasn’t been as hard as I expected, since Gavin keeps me fed like clockwork.”
“My boy is a good one,” Nessa says confidently, beaming at her grandson. “Always looking out for others. Such a gentleman.”
It’s true. That’s a fitting word for him. I’m the harlot who tried to seduce the man. Good thing my blush isn’t trying to come hang out again, or it might give me away.
“He’s always been that way,” Jean confides. “Even in school, he was so good with the lasses.”
“Remember when he took wee bonnie Penny the flowers for her birthday?” Nessa asks, slapping the table softly. “He couldna been more than nine at the time.”
I glance at both men, wondering whose chivalry he was mimicking. “A charmer,” I say.
“Guard your heart.” Nessa claps Gavin on the arm, then pours herself another cup of tea. “He’s been known to steal a few of them.”
I have a feeling she’s putting it lightly. I also imagine he hates this conversation excessively, despite his golden retriever energy, which makes me want it to go on even longer. It’s easing the tension in a great way.
“What else did Gavin do?”
Jean laughs. “Remember when he wanted to take Blair to the Leavers’ Dance?”
“Mum,” Gavin says, spinning his phone on the table and refusing to meet anyone’s eye. He looks uncomfortable. “We’ll be putting the poor lass to sleep at this rate.”
“Not at all,” I promise.
Gavin shoots me a look, rising to gather dirty pie plates.
I lean toward his mom and put my chin on my hand. “Go on.”
“He wanted her to feel special, so he dressed in his best clothes, had his grandfather help him tie his tie. Oh, he was the sweetest lad. He went to school early and stood at the top of the steps with a sign asking her to be his date.”
“In front of the entire school?”
Gavin grumbles, stacking the rest of the plates and swiping mine with an extra flourish. “Aye. She said yes though, didn’t she?”
“Of course she did. Who could resist you?” Nessa asks, squeezing him on the shoulder.
Why do my cheeks feel warm? In my personal experience, it’s Gavin that’s good at resisting.
I’m just like every other girl around him, evidently.
Looking at him, though, it’s not a surprise he’s such a charmer.
The man is attractive, he takes care of himself, and he cleans.
I mean, his house smells nice. It’s not just the stew and bread, but the house itself has a faint woodsy and leather scent, similar to how Gavin smells.
The man probably uses real wood polish and takes care of his leather furniture in a proper way, like a proper adult.
My last boyfriend—if Alex even deserves that title with how on-again-off-again we were—used expensive cologne and shower gel to cover up the fact that he wasn’t great about doing his laundry consistently and never made time to clean his apartment.
It wasn’t a priority while he focused on grad school and work and getting his clinical hours in.
I have the same grad school classes, work, and clinical hours, and manage to pick up after myself. It’s not that hard, but what do I know?
“What do you do for fun, Callie?” Jean asks, lifting her mug and taking a sip.
Fun? When was the last time I did something that didn’t specifically move me forward in some way? Whether it was school- or work-related?
“If you need to think this hard, you might need Gavin more than we thought,” Hamish says, his deep voice taking me by surprise.
Need Gavin? Let’s nip that in the bud. “I used to read.”
Nessa wrinkles her nose. “Used to?”
“I used to blow through fiction books like they were a box of See’s chocolates. Now, when I read, it’s for school.”
“What else did you used to do?” Gavin asks, taking a chair between me and his grandmother.
“I’ve always loved yoga. That’s sort of a family hobby. The beach. My parents have a farm, so I grew up riding horses. Lately, my life has revolved around my career, though. When I’m not in class or clinicals, I’m working or studying.”
Jean empties her teacup. “Horses. Did you hear that, Gav?”
“Aye.”
When no one explains, I continue. “I’ve really loved your little town, what I’ve seen of it so far. Have you all lived here your entire lives?”
Gavin can see what I’m doing. He peers at me through slightly narrowed eyes but lets me deflect anyway.
“My grandparents bought land here when they were married, and our family has been in Glenbruar ever since. My parents met as kids and stayed here. My dad’s parents both died when I was young, but this was their house. ”
“What a legacy.” I pick up my teacup for a sip even though it’s empty. “Any William Wallace ancestry?”
Nessa points at her husband. “Don’t start, Hamish.”
He looks wounded. “But the lass asked.”
“No, we do not,” Nessa says. “Though some of us like to pretend otherwise.”
I won’t bother asking about Robert the Bruce, then. I have a feeling he’ll be controversial.
“What would you like to do while you’re visiting?” Don asks.
“Actually, I have a list.”
Gavin straightens.
“You want to touch the stones, don’t you?” Don says, shaking his head. “Every American woman who comes here wants to touch the stones.”
“If you’re trying to tell me they won’t send me back in time to find the perfect Highland man, you’re wasting your breath.”
Jean laughs. “Why go to the stones, Callie? You have one of those right here.”
“Enough, Mum,” Gavin says.
“You’re more handsome than that actor everyone loves anyway,” she continues. “Certainly more humble, too.”
Gavin rolls his eyes. “If you smile and nod, Callie, eventually they’ll have to go home.”
“We aren’t leaving tonight,” Nessa says. “We thought we’d sleep here and go home in the morning.”
“Not if you’re going to be harassing my guest, you aren’t.”
“It isn’t harassment to point out how wonderful you are,” Nessa argues.
Don finishes his tea and puts down his cup. “Leave the boy alone. We can make it home alright.”
Gavin rises, taking both his empty cup and mine and carrying them to the sink. “You’re welcome to stay.”
“We’d better be on our way,” Hamish says.
“I was hoping we could make Gavin play the piano so we could sing,” Nessa says.
“You play?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
I can’t tell if it’s a trick of the light, but it looks like his cheeks tinge the slightest bit pink. “On second thought, let me help you out to the truck.”
The Craigs and Mackenzies layer up in hats, scarves, coats, and gloves near the front door.
I’ve known this man for all of two days, and his family for about five hours, and it feels like we’re playing house.
The comfort level between us is exceptionally high, but I suppose that’s natural given the way we’ve been thrown together without a buffer.
Nessa tugs her knitted cap over her hair and steps away from the group, nudging me gently aside. “It was lovely to meet you, Callie. I hope we see you again soon.”
“Once this storm clears,” I suggest.
She gives a noncommittal noise. Her eyes are pale blue, so similar to Gavin’s. When she glances at him, then back to me, I can sense she wants to say something private. “We worry about Gavin being alone.” Nessa lowers her voice. “It’s nice to know he has such pleasant companionship.”
Not sure Gavin would use the word pleasant to describe me. I’m pretty sure harlot or floozy would pop in his head first.
Okay, not fair. He’s too nice for those words.
Daft is probably more apt.
“There’s plenty of room if you want to stay around longer,” Nessa says in a very not subtle way.
At least one of the Mackenzies likes me. No, scratch that. She’s a Craig. “I have a hard deadline for returning to school,” I remind her.
Nessa squeezes my arm. “We have schools here. Think about it.”
I’ve only been in Scotland for a few days. My program is in LA, and it’s not actually the kind of thing I can just transfer to another school. There’s no point trying to explain all that now, so I nod and smile. The sentiment is sweet.
Gavin walks outside with them while they load into the truck. I watch from the window while the vehicle struggles through the snow. Gavin has to shovel out a path before they can make it to the road, and I hope they make it home without incident.
He stomps his feet at the entrance and leaves his boots in the vestibule between the main front door and the interior front door.
This house is so old, there’s literally a small entry room.
His cheeks are ruddy from the cold, his hair darkened from the damp the snowflakes left behind, and he’s exceptionally handsome.
I swallow that thought and pretend it never passed through my mind.
“How’s about we imagine this evening never happened?” he asks. “You can go back to hating me, and I can pretend the women in my life didn’t just try to play matchmaker with a poor American tourist.”
Classic repression. He’s totally got major issues with them if he’s going to joke about it on this level, so I accept it. My shoulders come together in a little shrug. “Only if I get to see a picture of you and this Blair lady at the leaving dance.”
Gavin stiffens.
I’ve said the wrong thing. “Or not. I mean, I really want to see you up on those steps, but I’m guessing no one snapped a picture then.”
“On the contrary,” he says. “I don’t know where the photos are. Would you be satisfied with a game of Monopoly instead?”
“You mean the worst board game of all time?”
“Don’t hold your opinions, by all means.”
“You don’t have Clue, do you?”
“You mean Cluedo?”
I stare at him. “Why did you guys feel the need to add doh to that word? Clue wasn’t good enough on its own?”
He stares back. “I have no idea, but it hardly matters. I don’t own it.”
“If you have a deck of cards, I can teach you a game. My family plays a lot, so consider this me giving you a heads up.”
Gavin heads away. “If you’re certain you wouldn’t prefer Monop—”
“One hundred percent.”
He laughs. “Meet me at the table in five.”