CHAPTER TWELVE ~ ABBY ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO #2
I don’t tell him how sexy he looks in that peacoat or how the sight of him in it will no doubt fuel illicit fantasies for months to come.
“I didn’t expect it to be this cold here,” I say instead, inching closer to him for warmth.
He puts his arm around me and draws me against his body.
We’re mostly protected from the rain under this tree, but the occasional droplet falls on my hood with a loud plop.
“I feel like a bad Canadian for complaining about the cold.”
He chuckles. “It’s a different kind of cold here.
The damp can seep right into your bones, and you rarely get the sun for long enough to warm you up.
” We’re quiet for a minute, watching as the rain slowly clears the fog away.
Graeme’s hold tightens on me when I shiver.
“Do you still love Scotland despite her unpredictable, ever-changing weather? I’ve always thought of you as a sunshine girl. ”
“I think my love for this country is officially unconditional,” I say, tilting my head up to look at him. “Dreich weather and all.”
Graeme’s smile holds a hint of pride at my use of the Scots word for dreary. Brodie spent several minutes the other day getting Fern and me to say it properly, with the guttural ‘ch’ sound at the end.
It hits me suddenly how close our faces are when Graeme laughs under his breath, and the warmth of it ghosts over my lips.
I’m about to duck my head when he grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding me in place.
His eyebrows bunch together as his gaze sweeps over my face, landing briefly on my mouth before returning to meet my eyes.
His face and hair are damp from the rain, with droplets glistening in his dark tresses and eyelashes.
The cerulean depths of his eyes hold a question I’ve only seen once or twice before. The last time was the night of my breakup with Tripp, when Graeme told me about Scotland, and I threw myself at him in a hug. We’d been this close then too, faces just a breath apart, bodies pressed together.
My fingers act of their own free will, tightening in the front of Graeme’s coat.
He lowers his head slowly, our eyes locked until mine fall shut.
His lips brush mine so lightly I might be imagining it.
A sigh escapes me as his mouth presses against mine, firm and soft at the same time.
My eyes fly open when he releases his grip on my chin, but in the next instant, his hands cup my face, thumbs sweeping over my cheeks.
His cool skin sends tingles racing through my entire body.
That question is back in his eyes. I nod this time, certain of what I’m agreeing to. There are a million reasons I shouldn’t want Graeme MacKinlay to kiss me right now, but I don’t give a damn about a single one of them.
He tilts my face and lowers his head, letting his lips trail over mine in a whisper-soft tease.
He presses a kiss to one corner of my mouth, then the other.
When I let out another soft sigh, the puff of air on my skin tells me Graeme is laughing softly, but I don’t open my eyes.
I want to see him, want to know what his expression is in the instant before he finally kisses me for real, but I’m afraid opening my eyes will somehow break the spell.
His lips meet mine in earnest, all hints of teasing gone.
I let out a soft moan when our tongues touch, and he drops one hand to the small of my back to haul me closer.
The damp chill in the air fades along with the pitter-patter of rain around us as my senses are overtaken by Graeme’s taste and scent and the feel of his hands on me.
My hands roam, caressing the rough stubble on his jaw, then diving into his hair.
When a full-body shiver rolls through me, his mouth leaves mine, eliciting a whimper that makes me bury my face in the front of his coat.
I can’t hear him laughing, but I can feel the vibration of it, just like I can feel his heart knocking against my cheek, even through the layers of his sweater and coat. My own heart is racing so fast it’s reverberating throughout my entire body.
Graeme holds me close, his hands gliding over my back in a way that’s both soothing and arousing. “Think it’s sacrilegious to make out in a kirkyard?”
The giggle that escapes me sounds relieved and only a tiny bit crazed. “A graveyard in Scotland was definitely not on my list of places I thought we might kiss.”
Graeme eases me back so he can look at me, revealing an unexpected playful glint in his eyes. “You’ve thought about us kissing?” he asks. “And when you say ‘list’ do you mean a literal list like the ones I’ve seen you make a million times or—”
I wrench out of his grip and smack his shoulder.
He laughs, catching my hand and holding it against his chest. This moment could have been supremely awkward, but he’s not letting that happen, and I love him for that.
God help me, I just love him, period. It makes me fight opposing urges: the first is to throw myself into his arms. The second is far more dramatic and would involve me running toward the exit and telling him not to follow.
“I’ve thought about kissing you too,” he says when I don’t respond. “I could lie and say it was only once or twice, but it must be in the hundreds now, if not the thousands.”
I swallow hard, unable to form words past the lump in my throat.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says. “Shouldn’t have kissed you either. We don’t have much time left together, and the last thing I want is to fuck up our friendship. You’re so precious to me, Abby. I’m sorry if this will make things awkward between us now.”
Something about the way he says ‘you’re precious to me’ makes me want to break down in tears.
His expression is pained, and I don’t think he realizes how hard he’s clutching my hand to his chest. I free myself from his grip, but only to press my palm flat over his heart.
“I’m not sorry. About the kiss or about you telling me you’ve thought about kissing me. ”
The tension eases from around his eyes, and his shoulders drop slightly. The sound of shrill laughter startles us both; two women are running up the path nearby with their jackets over their heads to protect them from the downpour.
“The rain could stop in the next thirty seconds or carry on until tomorrow,” Graeme says. “How do you feel about heading home to regroup, and we can figure out a plan for the evening from there?”
His use of the word ‘home’ sends a wave of warmth into my chilled extremities. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”
He takes my hand, and we dart out into the rain.
* * *
We pause on the second-floor landing outside the MacKinlays’ flat.
I shake my head. I need to change into dry clothes, but I’m afraid if I’m alone right now, I’ll spiral and come up with excuses why I can’t go out with Graeme tonight.
We held hands the entire twenty-minute walk home, and our fingers are still laced together.
We’ve held hands a million times before, but there’s something different about it now.
Without a word, we carry on up the stairs to the top floor, where Graeme lets us into his flat.
He asks if I’d like to take a shower to warm up, and when I decline, he brings me a towel and a stack of dry clothes.
As I don his hoodie and sweatpants, I’m reminded of the evening a few weeks ago when he found me after my break-up with Tripp, and took me back to his place.
I felt warm and safe and comfortable that night, and I feel all those things now, but they’re paired with a buzzing sensation beneath my skin.
The kettle is boiling when I pass the kitchen, although Graeme is nowhere in sight.
I smile to myself when I see he’s set a package of Jaffa Cakes next to a pair of mismatched mugs.
As Morna pointed out the other day, I haven’t bought many souvenirs during my time here, so I plan to pack as many UK snacks into my suitcase as I can, including at least one package of these orange and chocolate treats.
I make two cups of tea, tuck the box of Jaffa Cakes under my arm, and head for the living room.
There’s still no sign of Graeme, so I take my tea and stand in front of the window.
The rain has stopped—because of course it has, now that we’re inside—and a rainbow arches over Arthur’s Seat in the distance.
The sight is so beautiful it makes my heart ache.
Graeme clears his throat from behind me. I turn to find him standing in the doorway, wearing a cozy-looking blue sweater and dark jeans. I’m momentarily confused by his concerned expression until I blink, and tears dart down my face.
I let out a self-deprecating laugh as I wipe them away. He comes further into the room, and I motion to the table where I set his tea. He murmurs a thank-you, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I’m not ready to leave,” I say, deciding honesty is best. If anyone understands, it’ll be Graeme. He always understands. “I expected to love Scotland, but I didn’t expect to love it this much. I feel like a different version of myself here—one I never knew existed before.”
“Any other reason you don’t want to leave?” He’s standing a few feet away, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. I get the impression he wants to touch me, and this is his way of ensuring he doesn’t.
My cheeks heat, but I resist the urge to look away. “I think you know the answer to that.”
He nods slowly. “Then why don’t you stay?”
I laugh again, and Graeme’s lips twitch. “You know I can’t do that. The rest of us have graduation in a few weeks, and you know how Drew feels about us attending. Plus, I’ve got a job and an apartment already lined up in Toronto. I can’t just walk away from that new life before it even starts.”