CHAPTER FIFTEEN ~ ABBY ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
“Want some juice?” Graeme asks.
“Since when do you have juice?”
“I always keep some on hand.”
I picture the contents of his fridge. He’s got cans of pop, a couple of bottles of the fruity carbonated water I’ve been obsessed with since we arrived in Scotland, and then the rest is food.
The twinkle in his eyes tells me I’m missing something. Although, to be fair, some variation of that twinkle is almost always present these days.
The others left five days ago. I changed my flight to May twenty-second, which will get me home three days before graduation.
The others were shocked but thrilled when I told them I wanted to stay in Scotland for two more weeks.
Drew had immediately turned to Brodie and said, “Can we stay too?” A mix of emotions flooded through me, ultimately ending in guilt.
It would have been amazing to spend more time with her here, but I wanted to be alone with Graeme.
When Brodie reminded Drew she’d agreed to volunteer at an elementary school in Kingston until the move to Toronto, it stirred up a strange combination of disappointment and relief.
Later that day, I confessed my feelings about the exchange to Graeme, and he assured me I wasn’t a bad friend. “And if you are, then I am too, because I want you all to myself for the next two weeks.”
Now, as we sit in the living room after a day spent in the border town of Jedburgh, I can’t help but laugh at the expectant grin on Graeme’s face.
His low chuckle makes my skin tingle. It’s followed by a wave of shivers as it occurs to me I’m allowed to feel this way.
For so long, I locked away my feelings for Graeme, ignoring the physical sensations he stirred up in me, while ruthlessly blocking out any romantic inclinations.
For the last five days, we’ve been acting like a couple—kissing, holding hands, going on dates, sharing lingering looks and touches.
Every night, he kindles that fire he’s lit inside me with a scorching good night kiss...
and then I go to the spare room to sleep alone in the bed he ordered online the night I agreed to stay.
“Okay, MacKinlay, what am I missing?” I ask.
“‘Juice’ is used for a multitude of drinks in Scotland, and can vary by region,” he says. “It encompasses any soft drink and actual fruit juice. Some people call carbonated soft drinks ‘fizzy juice’, and I have a mate from Glasgow who calls any fizzy drink ‘ginger’.”
“Well, that’s not confusing at all,” I say wryly. “So if I wanted an Irn Bru, I’d ask for fizzy juice?”
“Or a can of juice.” He chuckles again at whatever my expression is. “When I first moved to Canada, it took some getting used to because everyone specifically names each drink or the brand.”
“In a way that actually makes sense, you mean?”
“Och, away.” His arms dart out, and I brace myself, assuming he’s going to either tickle me or tackle me to the couch. Instead, his strong hands grip my hips, and the next thing I know, I’m straddling his lap.
Breathless laughter spills out of me. Graeme has always been affectionate and easy-going, but I’ve seen a whole new side of him since we’ve been on our own.
I was worried things might be awkward as we navigated this new side of our relationship, but I quickly discovered Graeme will use any excuse to touch me, and I love it.
He’ll take my hand or put his arm around me when we’re walking; lay his warm palm on my knee while he’s driving; brush the small of my back or my shoulder as he passes behind me.
The touches, ranging from casual to lustful, have shown me I’m not the only one who’s been holding back all these years.
The way his hands slide from my hips to my ass now can only be classified as possessive.
The laughter fades from his eyes as his gaze sweeps over my face, lingering on my lips.
We haven’t talked about the physical side of our relationship, but it hasn’t progressed past kissing and a bit of light over-the-clothes exploration.
As much as I want to take things further—and god, do I want to—I’m hesitant, partly because it seems like the point of no return, and partly because I’ve only ever been with Tripp, and I’m worried my inexperience will be a turn-off for Graeme.
Although if the hard bulge pressing against me where our bodies meet is any indication, I don’t think I have to worry about Graeme not wanting me for any reason.
I lower my mouth to his, humming softly when his tongue sweeps over my bottom lip.
The other day, after an involuntary moan escaped me when he rocked against me during a makeout session, I learned something new about Graeme: he likes it when I’m vocal.
I’d never been able to fully release my inhibitions with Tripp, and had always stayed quiet while we kissed or had sex.
He’d commented on it once, which made me even more self-conscious.
But after I let out that moan the other day, Graeme’s hands had tightened on my hips, and he’d kissed me so passionately I felt like I was being devoured.
He lets out a low growl now that reverberates through me.
I fist my hands in the front of his shirt at the same moment he tightens his grip on my ass to haul me closer.
I resist the urge to grind against him, despite the deepening ache inside me that’s begging for relief.
I know Graeme would happily ease the ache, but I’m not quite ready for that.
Instead, I release his shirt and let my hands wander over his broad chest and up his neck.
His hands leave my ass to trail up my back and into my hair.
Time seems to stretch and slow. It could be minutes or hours before the buzzing of Graeme’s phone on the arm of the couch draws us back to reality.
We part in increments, pressing slow, soft kisses to each other’s lips before Graeme nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck.
He releases a long, contented sigh that tickles my skin, and I shiver against him, smiling when the puff of air that follows tells me he’s laughing.
His cell buzzes again. I love how he stays in this moment with me rather than reaching immediately for his phone. I glance at the screen when it lights up again, recognizing the icon that Graeme has assigned to his friend Cam.
“I’m excited and nervous to meet your friends tomorrow,” I say.
Cam and his girlfriend Isobel are friends Graeme grew up with on the Isle of Skye.
He’s only seen them once in the last few years, but they’re in Edinburgh for the week, and Graeme invited them over for dinner tomorrow night.
I offered to make myself scarce, but he assured me he’d love to introduce me to them if I was comfortable with it.
He lifts his head from my neck to meet my eyes. The sight of his kiss-swollen lips, paired with his mussed hair from my eager hands, makes lust pool in my centre.
“After the way you just kissed me, I thought you were going to say you were excited and nervous about something else,” he says.
Heat floods my cheeks. I force myself to maintain eye contact, despite wanting to shy away from his knowing eyes. “Well, that too.”
His eyebrows inch up, even as his face softens into a smile that’s so tender and full of affection, it makes my heart pang. “They’re going to love you.”
My eyes slip closed as he kisses one of my cheeks, then the other. I smile as his lips meet mine once more, but only for a second. My eyes flutter open, soaking in the sight of Graeme’s soft smile as he leans in to kiss the tip of my nose.
“I’m so glad you stayed, love,” he whispers, trailing the backs of his fingers lightly along the curve of my jaw. “Having you here with me is a dream come true.”
It feels like a dream. We’re in our own beautiful little bubble, completely separate from reality. I try with all my might to stay in the moment and not allow myself to think about what will happen when the bubble bursts.
* * *
“But he didn’t tell you about cooncil juice?”
“Or coo juice?”
I laugh around a mouthful of shortbread, sending sandy crumbs flying from my mouth. The others laugh too, and Graeme gently wipes my mouth with a paper napkin since my hands are full.
It’s Saturday morning, and we’re at the Edinburgh Farmers Market on Castle Terrace.
Graeme and I had just stopped for coffee when Cam and Isobel appeared from around the corner.
It warmed my heart to see the way Graeme enthusiastically greeted his old friends—a back-pounding hug for Cam, followed by an embrace that lifted Isobel right off her feet.
They greeted me with eager smiles and hugs when Graeme introduced us, and the four of us have been exploring the market together for the last twenty minutes.
“I can see you’re doing some mental gymnastics there,” Isobel says now, drawing another laugh from the rest of us.
“Cooncil juice and coo juice,” I say slowly.
Cam and Isobel’s accents are thicker than Graeme’s, so I’ve been proud of myself for only having to ask them to repeat a couple of things.
I suppose after nearly three weeks in Scotland, I’m growing accustomed to the array of Scottish burrs. It’s a strange point of pride.
“Okay, well, coos are cows, so...milk?” I wrinkle my nose, and Cam nearly spits out his coffee. “And I’m guessing cooncil is council, so water?”
“Give the lass a prize!” Graeme says. After just a few weeks back home, his accent is changing slightly too, especially around other Scots.
There’s a deeper roll to his Rs, and hearing it tugs at something inside me every time.
When he murmurs quietly in my ear, especially during intimate moments, I nearly melt into a puddle of lust.
“What better prize than some of the best shortbread in the city?” Isobel says, offering me the box of cookies she bought from a local bakery that has a stall here.
I wave her off. “I couldn’t, there are only three left.”