Chapter 4 Sam
SAM
Colin is passed out in the passenger seat with a half-eaten pasty dangling precariously from his left hand.
He’s feeling every drop of alcohol from last night.
According to Pierre, one of the other guys got a round of whisky for the bar, but by the time he did that, the bar only consisted of Colin and the four groomsmen who were left.
It’s probably a good thing that the wedding isn’t for three days.
The guy is going to need every hour leading up to it to recover.
I, on the other hand, feel great. The minute my head hit the pillow, I was out, which isn’t surprising, seeing how long I’ve been awake.
I don’t even mind driving, especially now that I’m winding the car through the narrow lanes west of Inverness.
The deeper we get into the Highlands, the lighter I feel.
The fewer cars on the road, the easier I can breathe. I’ve missed it here.
“She’s gonna kill me,” Colin moans from beside me, and I spare him a quick glance, not bothering to hold in my snicker.
“You can always say no, ya know,” I remind him.
“And you could always join in,” he grumbles. “You’re all grown up and shit.”
“Once you hit thirty-eight, hangovers become ten times worse.” Add to that the fact that I’m not supposed to drink much while taking antidepressants, and well, limiting my consumption is easy. Colin knows this but he’d rather ignore facts right now.
He groans again, shifting in his seat and cracking the window. “I’ll let you know in seven months, old man.”
We sit in comfortable silence for another fifteen minutes before the GPS tells me to take the next left, and the country house—manor—cas—no, fucking estate, comes into view, halting my breath as we breach the hill.
“It’s something, eh?” Colin asks, and I can feel his knowing eyes on me, but I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from what I’m seeing.
It’s actually too big. The idea of staying in the estate doesn’t appeal to me as much as staying in a cottage off on the border, but the view is a Highland lover’s dream.
“Regretting requesting one of the cottages now?”
I shake my head, unable to hold back my grin. “Not even a little bit,” I assure him as I guide the car down the tree-lined lane, the estate slipping in and out of view.
Pulling into a spot near the front entrance, I get out as fast as possible and stretch, taking a deep breath as I clasp my hands high above my head, wincing at the ache that’s always present in my left shoulder.
There’s a dampness in the air that doesn’t make sense with the cloudless sky, but it somehow adds to the atmosphere.
If it rained the entire time we were here, I wouldn’t be upset.
However, I’d prefer, for Sarah and Colin’s sake, that it remain sunny for two days.
Aside from the wedding, they have other events planned while we’re here.
Otherwise, I’d happily sit in my cottage drinking coffee and reading one of the three classics I packed.
“It’s about damn ti—are you hungover?” Sarah’s tone goes from teasing to frustrated, a deep sigh following her question as she walks gracefully across the gravel.
“I only had a few drinks with the lads last night. Consider it my second stag, love,” he flirts, pulling her to him and dropping his head to whisper something I’m happy not to hear, judging by the way her cheeks turn pink and she hides her face in his chest.
While the two of them catch up, I start unloading the car, pulling Colin’s two suitcases from the boot and then his garment bag that has been hanging in the back.
The sound of creaky wheels on gravel draws my attention to my left where a guy in a dark blue suit pushes a luggage trolley in my direction.
“I can take those, sir,” he says, already piling the cases on the base. When he goes to grab the last case in the boot, I stick my hand out to stop him.
“That’s mine. I’m actually staying in one of the cottages.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Keefer. My sister had your poster on her wall,” the man says, laughing as he steps back from the car.
Had being the optimal word there. No one has my poster on their wall anymore. I don’t expect the wave of melancholy that hits me, I’ve had nearly three years to come to terms with retirement at this point. But every once in a while I’m reminded of who I once was.
“Jimmy should be back soon with the cart, and he’ll take you to your accommodation. You’re welcome to wait inside.”
Inside is the last place I want to wait, so I politely decline and let him know I’ll wait here. May as well wander around outside for a bit and stretch my legs.
Colin barely spares me a glance as he walks into the estate, arm around Sarah’s shoulders, all his attention on his bride-to-be. As it should be.
Five minutes after arriving, I’m standing alone in the circular driveway. It’s silent, save for the caw of a crow off in the distance. Heaven.
There’s a narrow laneway to the left and an arch leading to what I expect will be a garden to my right, so I opt to go that way.
I can’t name a single plant, but there’s a ruggedness to the area that fits with the location.
Clearly someone planned it out, but it’s as if they planted everything and then immediately walked away without ever looking back.
It’s not generally the kind of place I’d actively seek out. I’d much prefer to be where no human hands have manipulated a single thing. But after the drive up, I’m not complaining, especially since no one else is in here with me.
At least that’s what I assume until a giggle draws my attention to the far corner of the garden, and I catch a glimpse of brown curls disappearing around an iron gate.
As far as I know, Colin and Sarah have only invited one kid, Sarah’s niece.
I don’t actually know much about Sarah’s family.
From my limited knowledge, I’d wager that was the flower girl.
Either that or one of the elves Colin warned me about when I first moved over here.
I don’t actually believe in any of the Scottish folklore, but I’ll admit to never feeling totally alone when I’m in this part of the world.
There’s always a presence, and I’ve never been able to identify it.
It’s almost as if the mist is sentient and the trees have eyes.
It should be creepy as hell, but I find it oddly comforting.
A weak honk pulls my attention from the gate the little girl disappeared through, back the way I came from, and I see a guy sitting in a golf cart waving at me. I look around one more time and then head for my ride.
The view of the estate was great, but to me it doesn’t compare to the little cottage on the outskirts of the property.
I don’t know what it is about tiny cottages in this part of the world, but they’ve got me hooked.
It makes no sense because I know I’ll be ducking through every damn door.
Well aware that I’ll have to fold myself in half to fit into a shower or bathtub.
Yet the tighter the quarters, the happier I am.
Jimmy has been telling me all about the history, but he may as well be speaking German, because I’m not registering a single thing.
I’m far too distracted by the weathered grey stone, blue door, and slate roof.
Trees rise beyond the unruly, craggy lawn, and I can smell the damp moss that no doubt blankets the forest floor.
People are always shocked that I’m so taken with the landscape here when I’m from one of the most picturesque places on earth.
I can’t deny that British Columbia is beautiful, but it doesn’t call to me the same way this place does, and people hate that I can’t explain exactly why that is.
I attempted to understand it early on but I found it to be annoyingly distracting.
When my goal went from having a relaxing trip to trying to pinpoint what it was about this place, it defeated the entire purpose.
Jimmy offers to take my bags in for me, but I wave off his offer as politely as possible.
I’m eager to be fully alone for a bit. He hands over the key and lets me know there’s a bike in the shed for my use, or I can ring the main house for a pickup when I want to head up for dinner.
I thank him and wait until he’s a good ways down the lane before unlocking the door and ducking inside.