Chapter 11 INT. COFFEE SHOP
Chapter 11
INT. COFFEE SHOP
Dinna fash was driving Cole up the wall. He’d figured out that it meant Don’t worry and was interchangeable with Nae bother . But did that mean his request was a bother but a small one he shouldn’t worry about, or that it was actually no bother?
Scotland was incomprehensible.
The man behind the counter of the coffee shop handed Cole a drink caddy with a few more words of Gaelic—which raised another possibility: Cole was on the receiving end of some well-earned teasing.
“Who’s the second coffee for?” a soft, familiar voice came from over Cole’s shoulder. He turned to find Maggie Niven smiling at him.
“Hey, I didn’t see you come in.” Cole tried to arrange the two to-go cups and the white paper bag of scones on the caddy. “My driver.”
“Doesn’t he normally get coffee for you?”
“Nah, that’s not his job. And he’s doing me a favor.”
“That’s kind.” She gestured around. “I see Merrit shared the good news about this place with everyone.”
She had indeed. “That woman ought to run the United Nations.”
“Not enough of a challenge.”
“Tropical Storm Tasha is more her speed,” he agreed. “But always trust Merrit’s recs. I don’t know how she does it, but she finds the best places in any city. If you need to buy a case of plastic pink flamingos or eat the best tapas, she’ll know where to get ’em.”
“Pink flamingos?”
“Don’t ask. But speaking of Merrit’s boss, I’m glad you and Tash are getting along.” They’d all had a conversation the day before that had been so smooth and friction-free, he’d almost asked his best friend for identification. “Did Merrit manage that too?”
The guy behind the counter delivered Maggie’s coffee and wished her a good day in totally comprehensible English. So the barista had been messing with Cole. Well, he was an American strolling in to play a Scottish literary hero. They could mock him if they wanted to.
It was good Zoya wasn’t making the American actors do accents on the show. Cole would never have heard the end of it.
He and Maggie headed toward the door together.
“I wish I could take credit for the change,” she said, “but it worked out because Tasha decided it should. I’m as shocked as you are.”
If her words were a little careful, Cole decided to leave the matter alone. They had a blocking rehearsal on the books for Monday, and that would be the sink-or-swim moment for Tasha and Maggie.
“That sounds about par for the course, then.” They stepped out into the street. “What are you up to?” The production had the day off. Depending on the weather, this likely wouldn’t happen often. The schedule had them filming two pages of the script per day, and they didn’t have many free days if they were going to nail that.
“I was planning to play tourist and go see the castle.”
Because Cole wanted to keep talking to her, he did something stupid: he looked at Maggie’s shoes. They weren’t boots, but they laced and had thick soles. His gaze traveled up her body. Maggie was wearing jeans, a sweater, and a raincoat—a solid outfit for what he had in mind.
“Do you have a hat and gloves?” he asked.
“Yup?” Her tone was quizzical.
“Forget the castle. You wanna go climb a hill with me?”
Maggie’s face scrambled. “A ... hill?”
“Yeah, like go hiking. I’m meeting my driver in a second; that’s why I grabbed him a coffee. He’s putting together a pack for me with water and snacks. He’s going to drop me at the trailhead and then pick me up a few hours later. It’s supposed to have the best views of the city and the sea.”
Maggie blew into her coffee, and for a second, Cole wondered if he’d overstepped. Or maybe she really wanted to see the castle.
But when she looked back at him, those worries disappeared.
Gosh, he liked her eyes.
“That sounds fun, but I’m not really an experienced hiker. Are carabiners involved? Or, um, crampons?”
It was hard not to laugh. “No, it’s a beginner hike.”
“Good, because I honestly have no idea what crampons are.”
“Spikes that go over the soles of your shoes.”
Her eyes went wide. “My God, I don’t think I will ever be badass enough to do any activity that requires shoe spikes.”
“It’s good this isn’t one of those things, then.” He nudged the toe of her sneaker with his. “Come on, Maggie, go hiking with me.”
She looked away, a smile playing over her mouth. It was a breezy morning, and the wind was blowing color into her cheeks. Finally, she turned her eyes back to him. “Okay.”
Cole felt the word everywhere, but his car showed up then, which kept him from touching her again. He opened the back door for Maggie and leaned into the front to give Phil his coffee and scone.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Phil was a burly guy who looked as if he warmed up for the day by tossing a few cabers. Cole probably should’ve gotten him more than one scone.
“Sure I did. This is beyond your normal duties.”
“I have to show off the city to best advantage.”
“Do I have enough water for two? I talked Maggie into coming along.”
“Oh, aye. You’ll be grand. Try not to get lost.”
“Will do.”
“Do you normally do things like this?” Maggie asked Cole.
“Yeah. You have to pass the time somehow.”
Cole didn’t know if he was more of an introvert or an extrovert, but his career had forced him into a fairly solitary nomadic lifestyle. Every project was like a little family, where you built a place for yourself for the weeks or months it took to film. When one project ended, the family dissolved. Then it was on to the next role, the next little family, and the next and the next and the next.
He’d been running so hard for so long, he’d gotten tunnel vision. Did this life suit him? Did that even matter? But as he buckled his seat belt, he glanced at Maggie, and doubt ran a cold fingertip up his spine.
During the drive, Cole chatted with Phil about the route, about the Edinburgh Festival Fringe—which they were going to miss—and about the weather. In California, the weather was too boring to be much use for conversation. But here, a single day could contain every season. Maggie joked with them both, and she produced an elastic from her pocket and braided her hair. Cole tried not to watch the progress of that too closely.
Finally, Phil pulled in to the parking lot of what was, in winter, a ski lodge.
“Where are we, anyhow?” Maggie asked.
“The Allermuir Hill trail,” Cole explained. “It’s a loop, or nearly so. Phil’s going to pick us up in this village—”
“Swanston,” Phil supplied.
“Yup, that’s the place. We should be there ... in three or four hours.” Cole had originally planned to do the trail faster, but he added some time to account for Maggie.
“If you’re not, I’ll send out a search party.”
“Last chance to ditch me,” Cole said, getting out of the car and putting on the backpack of supplies he’d borrowed from his driver. “Phil can take you back to the hotel.”
Please don’t go back to the hotel.
But after a beat, Maggie unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out. “I don’t know if you’ve properly prepped me for this scene, James.”
“Do you have any hard limits?”
“Shoe spikes. We already went over that one.”
They stopped at the trailhead, and he snapped a picture of the map with his phone. Maggie did the same and texted it to someone.
“Savannah, my best friend,” she explained. “I’m telling her if I don’t text again in four hours to call the police. It’s our date protocol.”
“Date protocol, huh?” He rubbed the burn that had started in his belly.
“Can’t be too careful.” There was something faux chipper in Maggie’s tone, as if she didn’t like this subject any more than he did.
“That must be the start of the trail.”
“Wait.” Maggie followed his finger with her eyes. “It ... goes straight uphill.”
“The initial climb is supposed to be the worst part, at least if it’s not muddy. And according to Phil, it shouldn’t be muddy.”
She was still gawking. “Shouldn’t there be steps? Or a ladder? A funicular, maybe?”
“It’s not that much of an incline.” It wasn’t flat, either, though. Maybe this wasn’t really a novice hike.
Maggie still wasn’t moving. After a second, she said, “How am I going to do that?”
From a woman who’d remade her life after getting sucked into a bad publicity tornado, it was a puzzling attitude. “One foot in front of the other. You go first.”
With a humph, Maggie started up the trail. For all that she was skeptical, she set a punishing pace. He almost warned her to slow down, conserve some energy, but he was so glad she hadn’t turned back that he let her go.
When they reached the end of the first stretch of climbing, Maggie stopped and set her hands on her knees, breathing hard. “I’d like to file a—a complaint with ... the hiking board.”
“There’s no such thing.” Cole swung the pack around under his arm and began digging inside. He located two bottles of water, and he offered one to her.
She took it from him and tipped her head back, drinking deeply. He tried, and failed, not to notice some water that escaped her mouth and trickled down the length of her neck.
“There isn’t, like, the North Face Council?” she asked when she came up for air. “A Patagonia Principate? A Columbia Congress?”
“No, no, and no.”
“Then who the hell gets to decide if something is a hill or a mountain? Because, my dude, this”—she gestured with her hands at the geologic feature they were climbing—“is definitely a mountain.”
“It’s a hill. You saw the map.”
“It lied to us!”
He had to laugh.
“Don’t mock me, I’m perfectly serious. My complaint, where should it go?”
“I’ll pass it along. And I’ll buy you dinner to make it up to you.” He wasn’t sure why he offered—but that was a bigger lie than the hill-mountain distinction. The truth was that Cole wanted to eat with Maggie. He wanted to tug on the end of her braid while she yelled at him about the hiking board. He wanted to cover her smart mouth with his.
Luckily, she saved them both when she said “Dinner is not enough, James.” She shook a finger at him. “Not nearly enough.”
“Do me a favor and turn around.”
“Why would I—oh my God.”
The slope fell away from their feet, all green fields and scrubby heather, before the city materialized. From this distance, Edinburgh was a neat patchwork of gray city blocks and red brick. And beyond that was the blue smear where the river poured into the sea.
The climb had been killer, sure. But that was some view.
“That’s the Firth of Forth, right?” she whispered.
“Sure.”
“Odd name, but it’s really pretty.”
“It is.”
But he wasn’t looking at the scenery. He was watching Maggie, the hanks of her hair that had escaped from her braid whipping around her face in the wind, her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes bright green.
She’d been legitimately annoyed with him, or with the situation, a minute ago, but now, that had blown away, like a sprig of heather in the window. All that was left on her face was awe—she was actually awestruck.
With a cackle, she spread her hands wide. “Okay. Okay. That’s really ... wow. This has almost been worth it.”
“It has been.”
Maggie caught his attention on her. Suddenly it wasn’t too cold. The wind wasn’t too hard. His thighs weren’t burning too badly.
Cole turned squarely toward her, took a step forward.
But she wasn’t feeling the same tug, clearly, because Maggie only shoved her water bottle at him before taking off again up the trail.
He stowed their stuff, gave himself a brief lecture about not getting swept away because of some pretty vista, and followed her.
“I withdraw my complaint,” she said when he’d caught up. “I mean, I still think this is a mountain and I was misled, but the view is nice even if no one told me the trail would be vertical.”
“Maggie, there are sheep hanging out all around us. Sheep don’t do vertical.”
“Sheep are very nimble. They’re basically puffy goats.”
“I bet there wouldn’t have been sheep at the castle.”
“Probably not. But even still, this is no Glasgow Botanic Gardens.”
“Are they supposed to be amazing?” For all that he’d filmed around the world, he hadn’t seen much outside his trailer. The odd hike here and there was all the sightseeing he managed.
“I didn’t make it to Kew Gardens when we were in London. I was too busy. But these are that same Victorian glasshouse style, and I’m obsessed.”
When they passed the remains of an old fort, they snapped a few pictures. Then they were into another climbing section, and they were both too breathless to talk. Cole and Maggie stopped for water a second time when they reached a big pile of stones and a historical interpretive plaque.
“This is on the map,” Cole said, checking his phone. “We’ve done almost all of the climbing now.” Which was good because they’d been walking for an hour and a half. It was good that he’d told Phil they were going to be four hours.
Maggie pointed to the hilltop at the end of the ridge. “Um, that looks higher.”
“It’s only about twenty meters higher than we are now, and it’s all downhill after that.”
“Meters? I’m an American,” she whined.
“Trust me, it sounds better in metric.” He didn’t have the heart to do the conversion for her.
“In that village, at the end, you are buying me beer and french fries.”
He would’ve rather stuck with his original offer of dinner, but as long as she was letting him feed her, he’d take it. “Deal.”
The next bit of the walk wasn’t as hard, but the wind whipping over the crest of the ridge was wicked, and several times he had to grab Maggie’s jacket to steady her. They encountered more and more sheep, who watched them placidly, until at last they arrived at the summit. They were greeted by a small column made of stacked stones, topped by another plaque.
The Scottish people clearly liked their plaques.
“How is it possible we’re only 1,617 feet above sea level?” Maggie almost shouted into the wind.
“Wait, first you insist this is a mountain, then you’re pissed it’s not taller?”
“I’m tired, James. I’m allowed to contradict myself.” She fished her phone out of her pocket. “Take my damn picture.”
He did. Then, “Let’s get one together. We can send it to Tasha.”
“Sure.”
Trying not to think too much about it, trying not to sense the curves under her jacket and sweater, Cole pulled Maggie into the crook of his body. She came up to his shoulder, which made him feel bulky and awkward. But when he cinched an arm around her waist, when the warmth of her pressed against his chest, when he saw them on her phone screen, looking for all purposes so together , Cole melted.
Right there, on the top of that frigid Scottish hill, he went to goo.
Cole let his chin rest against Maggie’s temple. He could smell her hair, the clean soap of her shampoo mixed with the fresh air, and it was—peace. They might only be 1,617 feet higher than when they’d started. They might only be friends. Their hearts might be racing for very different reasons. But for a moment, Cole felt at peace.
He snapped a picture. Then another. Then a third, not because their eyes were closed, but because when this was done, she was going to step out of his arms.
“That’s good,” she said.
He let go of her and handed Maggie her phone. Then he turned and wiped his eyes, feeling just so silly. It was ridiculous for him to go soft over anyone right now. He needed to stay focused. And besides, Maggie was doing her job—a job she cared about as much as he did his.
“Be sure to send that to me.” Goddamn, but his voice sounded scratchy.
“Will do. It’s all downhill from here?”
“Yup. It should be a piece of cake.”
That was usually a lead-in to disaster, but compared to the first half of the hike, they practically galloped into Swanston. Their quick pace kept them from talking too much—and Cole from stumbling into some other kind of mess. Clearly he couldn’t be trusted where this woman was concerned.
“Jeez, this is cute.” Maggie waved her hand at the whitewashed cottages and thatched roofs.
“I’m surprised we’re not filming here.” Cole was pretty sure pictures of this exact village had been in the packet Zoya had sent him when he’d signed the contract. Or maybe all adorable Scottish villages that seemed untouched by time looked the same.
“I can’t tell if it’s more Walter Scott or Brigadoon .”
“I’m just glad there aren’t bagpipes.” Brett, his publicist, had forbidden Cole from ever admitting it in public, but he couldn’t stand the things.
They found Phil waiting for them in the car, playing a game on his phone.
“We were a little slower than I’d expected,” Cole said. “Sorry about that. Is there someplace to get a drink around here?”
“There’s no pub in Swanston,” Phil explained. “But I know something nearby.”
Ten minutes later, Maggie was cooing her way through a plate of french fries. The noises she was making were next door to obscene.
“Don’t even think about rushing me,” she told Cole and Phil, gesturing with one of her fries. “I may get two more orders of these.”
“Was it that bad?” Phil asked.
Maggie shot her eyes at Cole. Back in civilization and with an audience, she’d reassembled her self-control. There was no more undisguised awe—and there was definitely no excuse for Cole to hold her.
Civilization kind of sucked.
“No,” she admitted. “And the view from the top was pretty special. But I might not be in scaling-a-mountain shape.”
“Whether it was a hill or not is a matter of debate.” That was the only controversy he could see. Maggie’s shape was perfect.
“I’m going to write REI and ask them to weigh in. I may include a small bribe to make sure they rule the right way.”
Phil’s quizzical expression had Cole and Maggie dissolving into laughter.
But even after they’d tried explaining the story and Maggie had polished off her fries with what seemed like an entire bottle of ketchup, the warmth of the shared joke had Cole breathless the entire drive back to the hotel.