CHAPTER NINETEEN ~ ABBY ~ NOW #2
“How am I hungry when all I did all day was eat?” I ask. “All I ever seem to do here is eat. I swear everything tastes better in Scotland. I just really love food, Graeme.”
He laughs under his breath. “I know you do, sweetheart.”
I gasp softly when he kneels in front of me and begins unlacing my boots. “You d-don’t have to do that,” I stammer.
“I seem to remember multiple instances in our uni days when you were so pished after a night out that you fell into bed fully dressed, shoes and all,” Graeme says, mirth dancing in his eyes.
I can’t reply right away. I’m mesmerized by the sight of this gorgeous man on bended knee in front of me.
He removes my first boot and straightens my sock before moving on to the other one.
When he peers up at me, I shake my head to clear my thoughts, including the pervy ones that have me wondering about what he’s wearing under his kilt.
I loop my arms around my stomach when it gurgles. “We should have stopped at a chippy. Remember the nights we used to go clubbing in Kingston, and Drew always made us stop at that chip truck on the way home?”
“Impossible to forget,” Graeme says. “You three girls would be singing and dancing in the street, shimmying and swinging each other ’round while you ate your chips or hot dogs or whatever.”
“I’d forgotten that part.” My laughter turns into a wistful sigh. “Man, those were the days. You and Brodie hated going out, but you did it for us. I always felt so safe with you watching over us and then making sure we got home okay afterward.”
“I’d have done anything for you.” His voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear him. He pulls off my second boot and tweaks my toes as he looks up at me. “Still would. Unfortunately, I can’t think of any chippies nearby that’d be open this late, but I can make you something to eat.”
“Toast would be nice,” I say.
“With raspberry jam?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you still like it cut into triangles?” he asks.
I press my lips together and nod, unsure why I feel the need to hide my smile.
He helps me to my feet, and I groan at how stiff I already am.
He keeps hold of my hand as I stagger down the hall, both of us laughing the whole way.
He ducks into the kitchen, and I go into my room, where I collect my sleep clothes before heading for the bathroom to wash my makeup off and change.
When I exit the bathroom a few minutes later, Graeme is just coming out of the kitchen. He’s holding a tray with a plate of toast and two cups of tea. He pauses and smiles when he sees me.
I lift my arms at my sides. “Cinderella has turned back into a pumpkin. Or something.”
“You look just as beautiful now as you did all night.”
My cheeks heat at his earnest tone. I stop in front of him and allow my gaze to roam over him. “So do you.”
One side of his mouth curves. “I especially like your top.”
I’m wearing the same Spice Girls shirt I wore the day we met. I found it during my move from Toronto to Kingston, and packed it on a whim, never thinking Graeme would see it since I was supposed to be staying at his parents’ place.
“Am I still your favourite Spice Girl?” I ask.
“Always.” He jerks his head toward my bedroom door. I go in first and get settled in bed. Graeme sits beside me, setting the tray between us. There are four slices of toast on the plate, along with a handful of fresh raspberries.
“Thought I’d join you if that’s okay,” he says, picking up one of the mugs.
“Of course.” I take a piece of toast, noticing it’s slathered in jam, just the way I like.
Graeme always used to laugh at my liberal application of jam compared to the thin layer he spread on his.
“I was thinking of what you said earlier, about how I’d sometimes fall into bed after a night out, clothes and all.
That Abby was able to get up early the next morning with very few ill effects after a night of drinking.
I doubt thirty-five-year-old Abby will fare as well. ”
“Lucky for her, she has thirty-eight-year-old Graeme to make her a fry-up to sop up all that alcohol. I also have Irn Bru, which helps with a hangover.”
“Good ol’ Irn Bru,” I say, forcing out a laugh to cover the inexplicable tremor in my voice.
He flashes me a smile. “Aye. So...eggs, sausage, toast with raspberry jam. Mushrooms?”
“Sure.”
“Tomatoes?”
I scrunch my nose. “No. I still can’t get used to tomatoes for breakfast. Unless they’re from the Edinburgh Farmers Market.
Remember the ones we bought when we had Isobel and Cam over for dinner?
Those were the best tomatoes I’ve ever had.
Mind you, it’s been fourteen years, so I’m sure that farmer doesn’t still come to the market. ”
Graeme is studying me closely, his head cocked to the side. I can’t read his expression.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head, his gaze falling to the half-eaten piece of toast in his hand.
“Nothing, I just...” He sighs and shakes his head again.
“You’re right about that particular farmer, but new ones have taken his place, and their tomatoes are just as good.
I don’t have any on hand right now, though. ”
I want to know what he was going to say.
I’m tempted to press him, but I’m afraid it’ll be something I don’t want to hear.
Silence falls as we finish our tea and toast. My mind wanders, and for once, my thoughts are blessedly quiet.
I wonder if that’s the effects of the alcohol or Graeme’s presence.
He laughs softly as he takes my empty mug from my hands. “You look so dazed, I’m waiting for your eyes to start spinning like they do in cartoons.”
I purposely cross my eyes, making him chuckle again. “Or maybe those little birdies that float around a character’s head after they’ve been knocked out.”
“Aye, which is my cue to leave and let you get some sleep.” He gathers everything onto the tray while I slide under the covers and get comfortable. “All set?” he asks, and I nod. My breath catches and holds as he bends to kiss my forehead.
“What were you thinking earlier when you said it was nothing?” I ask.
He blows out a sharp breath as he picks up the tray and heads for the door.
“Tell me, Graeme. Please?”
He turns back when he reaches the doorway.
The skin around his eyes is tight, as if he’s in pain.
“I was hit by an overwhelming feeling of love for you. I felt it all night as I watched you with our friends, dancing and laughing. As you and Drew trudged up the hill with your arms linked. When you came out of the bathroom earlier, all fresh-faced and glowing. And again when you were talking about tomatoes of all things.”
He already admitted the other night that he still loves me, so this shouldn’t come as a shock. And yet, the yearning in his words, paired with what appears to be anguish painted across his face, is a surprise. Loving me hurts him. That’s the last thing I want.
All I can manage to say is, “I’m sorry, Graeme.”
His expression clears as his head cocks to one side. “I’m not.”
And with that enigmatic response, he turns off the light and backs out of the room.