Chapter 5
Lesson 5: When in the company of a Scotsman, always look over your shoulder.
Bridget Jones Tally:
dog people—1
cat people—1
“Oh,” I said lamely. “Umm. No... I don’t want to... Let’s just head back.”
“Course not. Come on, shake a leg. We’ll be back before they’ve even noticed we’re gone.”
“No, wait. I...” Would rather complete the Tour de France with a yeast infection! But he ignored me as usual and set off so quickly down the path that I had to hurry to catch up with him. At least I had had
the foresight to change out of my boots on the bus and into something better suited to meadow rambling at top speed.
I paused to take photos of the river or the castle, but no matter how long I stopped to change lenses or fiddle with settings, I couldn’t shake him. He was only ever a few feet ahead of me. But the spring air was cool and crisp, and the sun felt good on my skin as I walked briskly between the wildflowers. I felt my mood lighten, despite the company. I was glad I hadn’t waited on the bridge to wallow in thoughts of home and my empty bank account and other women wearing my engagement ring.
When he finally stopped, we were far below the bridge. It was cooler down here in the small valley between the two steep hills.
The only sounds were the chirps of birds and the wind rustling the leaves. A pair of small, white butterflies chased each
other in the stray beams of green sunlight that had filtered in through the trees.
I felt a sudden wave of gratitude. I could be stuck in my apartment looking for jobs in my underwear, but here I was basking
in the Scottish sunshine under the picturesque ruins of a medieval castle.
We descended the old, uneven stone steps that sloped down the other side to get a better view. It was so neat.
Waiting for me to take a few more photos, he took off his sweater and tousled his dark hair, leaving it handsomely disheveled
in a way that I decidedly did not notice. I moved my camera to make sure he wasn’t in the shot.
“This steep trench was dug for protection. This was originally a drawbridge. Fairly adept at keeping the English out.”
“Oh really? I would have thought that the threat of bagpipes and haggis would have done a fine job of that.” What are you thinking? Do not engage!
He laughed. “Now it’s an American invasion that we have to worry about.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s true. Armies of them arrive
in droves every summer, camera-laden, clad in plastic ponchos, and asking what time the one o’clock gun goes off in a loud,
nasal war cry that sends a chill through every red-blooded Scot.” He gave a little shiver.
“It’s no wonder you catch a chill when you people run around wearing little plaid skirts with nothing on underneath.”
He raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Why do you think the Americans are in such a hurry to get here?”
“Gross.” He wasn’t wrong. But I’d be damned if I’d admit it.
“And just so you know, I’m going to personally make sure that you try haggis while you’re in Scotland. And you’re going to
thank me for it.”
“No thanks. It’s true that you Scots have been very innovative with your sheep stomachs, but I think it’s highly unlikely
that you and I share the same taste in anything.”
“Well, you did pick this tour over all the others, so I’d reckon we’ve got a bit more in common than you’d like to admit.”
I scoffed.
“For instance,” he went on, “I love Highland cows, and you’ve styled your hair just like one.”
Was he playing with me? Or was he trying to put me down for demeaning his little tour in front of the others? Either way,
his smile told me he was enjoying it, and I just couldn’t let that happen. The smart move would be to ignore him. But I was
too sleep-deprived for smarts.
“You should talk. Your hair looks like you drove here with your head out the window—the first of many doglike qualities, now
that I think about it.” I gave him a scornful look to convince both of us that it wasn’t attractive.
He laughed. “And I take it you’re a cat person. Like most witches.”
I sighed. “Look. I don’t know what you’re doing, but you really don’t have to try this hard to make me miserable. Just being
near you is enough.”
He laughed again, and I ignored him and went back to fiddling with my camera settings, hoping he could take a hint.
He crossed over to lean back against the stone of the bridge right next to me and looked down at my camera. I am on the tall
side for a woman, and while he was only a few inches taller, his shoulders were broad, and he had a capable, masculine frame
that managed to make me feel small.
“Can I see?”
“No.” That felt good. I tried to ignore him until he went away. Instead he watched me.
“So what is it that brought you all the way to Scotland, Alice Cooper? You just booked a few days ago, didn’t you? Why so
last-minute?”
Something unpleasant stirred in the pit of my stomach. A flash of dread that I worked to ignore. I lifted a shoulder. “Temporary
insanity, obviously. Can you not stand so close?”
“Hmm... interesting. Let me guess—you’re running away from something, aren’t you?” I felt the words deep in my gut as he
went on to make a list of options on his fingers. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Did the men of your country chase you out with pitchforks
for being an overbearing hellcat? Were you left at the altar when some poor pillock came to his senses? Were you hired to
assassinate me with nonstop complaints and moody looks?” He flashed white teeth in a wide grin. “All feasible scenarios.”
I felt a little swoop of nausea. My face grew hot. He’d unwittingly stepped on a landmine. I didn’t want him to know how close
he had gotten or how much it hurt.
“Shut up. I’m not running from anything. I’ve just always wanted to see Scotland. I obviously didn’t know you would be here.”
He spoke through his smile and crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, I saw you there getting a real close look at the Edinburgh cobbles this morning.” He gave me a nudge.
“Wait. You saw me fall on the street? And now you’re mocking me for it?”
“Oh, come on. I’m only having a laugh.” I hated that lopsided smirk of his. Like everything was funny. Like everything was a joke to him and everyone in the world just there for his amusement. I didn’t need this. I’d had a day from hell, and yet I was trying my damndest to focus on something positive, to enjoy the fucking but terflies, and this asshole was doing everything he could to bring me back down. Heat crept up my spine. I felt the exact moment control slipped away from me.
“My God, you’re the fucking worst. I can’t even believe this. How on earth does anyone put up with you for three whole weeks?”
“Oh, they don’t just put up with me—they pay me for the privilege.”
“Look. Can you just leave me alone? I have had—”
His eyes rolled upward.
“Oh, don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.”
His eyes snapped back down to mine.
“And why not? Do you have a monopoly on eyerolling?”
My voice came out shaky. I raised the volume to make it stronger. “I am so done with this. You have been outrageously rude since the first moment I stepped foot here. If you think that for the next
three weeks, I’m just going to sit by and—”
His eyes rolled skyward again. “Umm.” He interrupted, lifting a petulant finger in the air, as if that would stop me. It was
all I could do not to grab the thing and snap it off! “You might want to keep it—”
“What? Keep it down? Because I’m just so hysterical?” I raised my hands and shook them above my head like a threatening crazy person. He started to laugh. I honestly
think steam started coming out of my ears. “No. I won’t keep it down! You don’t get to tell me what to do. You’re so used
to old ladies crooning about how wonderful you are all the time, but you don’t have any idea what to do if someone actually
calls you out on your—”
I was gesticulating dramatically when my hand hit something falling through the air. We both looked down between us and saw
a thick pair of reading glasses, attached on one side to a little broken pink chain. I looked up. Above us, all the ladies
were leaning over the side of the bridge watching the show.
I died and waited for the white light at the end of the tunnel.
Could they hear us? It was likely that the sound was echoing up the walls of the bridge loudly enough for their hearing aids
to pick up. Even if they couldn’t, it was plain to see from my body language that I was losing my temper. Again.
Damn it! I’m making a terrible first impression. And it’s all his fault!
The pointing. The eyerolling. “You knew, didn’t you? That they were there.”
“Course I did.” He smiled and waved up at them sweetly.
“Yoo-hoo!” called the same voice from the airport. It echoed along the stone, plenty loud enough to reach us.
“I did try to tell you, but you were too busy having one of your tantrums.”
There was that fucking word again. If the old ladies hadn’t been watching, I would have made sure he regretted ever being
born.
They waved down at us. My cheeks grew hot. And I marched off in the direction we had come from without saying another damning
word.