32. Kilty Pleasures
KILTY PLEASURES
CALLUM
October arrives in Seattle with theatrical timing.
Crisp evenings, spectacular foliage, and the satisfying sense of calm that autumn brings.
If only that calm applied to my own life right now…
"You've arranged the seating chart three times," Connor tells me as he helps me set up the private dining room at Canlis, Seattle's most prestigious restaurant. "I've seen less meticulous planning for nuclear disarmament treaties."
"Strategic arrangement is crucial," I defend, adjusting a place card.
"Fiona next to Nadine encourages continued matchmaking collusion.
Dr. Finnegan between Karina's sisters prevents Viktoria from interrogating Luke about cybersecurity protocols.
You and Ariana by Grayson and Roz to balance the couples. "
"And the empty chair beside Karina?" Connor asks innocently.
"For me, obviously."
"Obviously." He grins. "Not at all symbolic of you finally making space in your life for someone."
I toss him a glare. "It's a chair, not a metaphor."
"Everything's a metaphor when you're in love, my friend." He claps me on the shoulder. "Speaking of which, should we wait until dessert to present our gift?"
"What gift?" I ask warily.
"Just a small token from your closest friends commemorating your viral journey." His expression is far too innocent to be trustworthy. "Nothing embarrassing at all."
Before I can interrogate him further, the restaurant staff begins ushering in our guests.
Karina arrives with her family—mother and sisters in elegant dresses, Dr. Finnegan in what appears to be his finest suit, complete with a tartan bow tie I strongly suspect was Fiona's influence.
She spots me across the room, and the smile that illuminates her face still catches me off guard with its genuineness.
After months of her carefully professional demeanor, I'm still adjusting to the unfiltered Karina.
Expressive. Warm. And occasionally capable of knocking the breath from my lungs with nothing more than a glance.
"You've outdone yourself," she says, taking in the elegant private dining room with its panoramic view of Seattle at twilight. "Mom's already commenting on how she could have cooked for everyone at half the price."
"And twice the flavor," Nadine adds, appearing at her daughter's side. "But very nice. Very fancy for Scottish-Armenian family dinner."
"A worthy occasion deserves a worthy setting," I reply, kissing her cheek in greeting. "Thank you for coming, Nadine."
"Miss chance to see you in kilt? Never." Her palm pats at my arm. "Fiona texted me you might wear traditional clothes tonight."
"My grandmother has an overactive imagination and a concerning attachment to my cultural heritage.” I sigh. "I'm wearing a suit, as you can see."
"Pity,” she exhales. “Good legs should be displayed. Like good fruit at market."
Karina makes a strangled noise beside me. "Mom, please stop comparing my boyfriend's legs to produce."
"Just observation.” Nadine shrugs, spotting Fiona across the room. "Ah! My podcast partner! We recorded new episode this morning. 'How to Know When Your Child Has Found The One.' Very insightful."
As she bustles away, Karina turns to me, brown eyes the size of saucers. "I'm so sorry. Our mothers have become unstoppable forces of nature."
"I've faced worse," I tell her, though I'm not entirely certain this is true.
The room fills quickly with our unusual extended family.
Viktoria immediately corners Luke to discuss encryption protocols, while Susanna charms Grayson and Roz with stories of her latest jewelry collection.
Connor and Ariana move between groups with the subtle ease of natural hosts, despite this being my event.
"Quite the gathering.” Dr. Finnegan appears at my elbow with two glasses of whisky. He offers one to me. "Scottish fortification for surviving a family convergence of this magnitude."
I accept gratefully. "Is this from your private collection?"
"Indeed. My father's father's father's bottle. Or some such lineage. We Irish aren't quite as obsessed with ancestry as you Scots, but we do take our whisky heritage seriously."
"It's excellent," I comment after a appreciative sip. "And thank you for wearing the tartan. Fiona's doing, I assume?"
"She can be quite persuasive," he admits with a twinkle in his eye. "Claimed it would 'harmonize the cultural vibrations of the evening.' I suspect she just enjoys seeing men in plaid."
"A family weakness…”
"Speaking of family," he says, his tone shifting to something more serious, "you've done well by our Karina. Her mother is pleased. Which means I am pleased. Which means your life will proceed with significantly fewer medical lectures about Scottish dietary deficiencies."
I recognize this as the blessing it is. "Thank you, Doctor. That means a great deal."
He nods once. "Good man. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to explain to your grandmother why Armenian brandy deserves equal status with Scottish whisky. A diplomatic negotiation of the highest order."
As dinner progresses, I watch the improbable blending of our families with a sense of wonder.
Fiona and Nadine hold court at one end of the table, heads together as they plan what sounds alarmingly like a joint travel show concept.
Viktoria is deep in conversation with Luke about security protocols for the new Beyond Your Label initiative, while Susanna entertains Connor and Ariana with dramatic readings from the most popular Kilted Casanova fan fiction.
"'His eyes were like the Scottish highlands—wild, untamed, and prone to sudden storms,'" she recites in a breathy voice.
"'Karina trembled as his gaze locked with hers across the boardroom.
Would today be the day he finally acknowledged the tension between them, or would corporate propriety once again deny their burning passion? '"
"Please stop.” Karina groans, burying her face in her napkin. "I'm begging you."
"This is actually quite good," Connor comments, looking impressed. "The characterization is surprisingly nuanced."
"The dialogue needs work," Ariana critiques professionally. "'Burning passion' is a bit excessive."
"What do you think, Callum?" Grayson asks innocently. "Accurate portrayal of your highland eyes?"
I take a much-needed sip of the whisky. “I think I preferred it when my friends were too intimidated to mock me…”
"That ship has sailed, capsized, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean," Luke informs me. "Along with your privacy and dignified reputation."
As laughter ripples around the table, I find myself remarkably unbothered.
The teasing that would have mortified me two months ago now feels like a gift.
Evidence of how much I've changed.
How much more of life I'm allowing myself to experience, outside of my bubble of work and very few friends.
When dessert is served—an elegant fusion of Scottish cranachan and Armenian nazook that the chef created specially for the occasion—I signal to the waiter to bring out the box I'd entrusted to him earlier.
"Before we continue celebrating," I say, rising from my seat, "I have something for Karina."
She looks up as I place the long, flat box before her. "What's this?"
"Open it and see."
With curious fingers, she lifts the lid to reveal an official-looking document emblazoned with the Abernathy Corp logo and formal seals.
"'Certificate of Authentic Expertise,'" she reads aloud. "'This document officially recognizes Karina Peters for exemplary expertise in authenticity, resilience, and perspective-altering influence on corporate culture.' Callum, what is this?"
"Your official credentials," I explain. "Certified, notarized, and approved by the Board of Directors. No embellishment needed or required."
Her eyes widen as she realizes what I've done—created an official corporate recognition of exactly the qualities she'd hidden behind fabricated credentials.
"This is..."
"Long overdue.” I smile down at her. "And there's something else."
Beneath the certificate lies a small velvet box.
The table falls silent as she lifts it with trembling fingers.
"Callum," she whispers, "is this?—"
"Not quite," I say softly. "Not yet. But soon."
She opens the box to reveal a pendant—a small pomegranate crafted in rose gold, identical to the tattoo on her wrist and hip.
A promise…
Not of possession, but of permanence.
"It's beautiful," she breathes.
"Like its inspiration.” I reach around, helping her fasten it around her neck. "A reminder that the most authentic version of yourself is exactly what I fell in love with."
The moment is perfect—until Connor loudly clears his throat.
"Speaking of authentic versions," he announces, "Luke and I have a small presentation of our own."
They rise in unison, looking suspiciously coordinated as Luke produces a small covered object.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and distinguished families," Connor begins in his best CEO voice. "As witnesses to the historic Kilted Casanova Phenomenon, we felt it imperative to commemorate this cultural milestone appropriately."
Luke removes the cloth with a flourish, revealing what appears to be a bronze plaque mounted on polished wood.
"Oh no," Karina murmurs beside me. "This can't be good."
"'The Kilted Casanova Memorial Plaque,'" Connor reads grandly. "'In recognition of the viral sensation that united two corporations, launched seventeen hashtags, and forever changed Scottish-American relations.'"
Luke picks up seamlessly: "Statistical highlights include: 2.7 million uses of #KiltedCasanova, 850,000 instances of #BeyondYourLabel, and 1.3 million of #TheRealKarina."
"Additionally," Connor continues, "merchandise sales have exceeded $340,000, with proceeds benefitting the Beyond Your Label Initiative's scholarship fund."
"And let us not forget," Luke adds solemnly, "the three formal marriage proposals received from strangers, fourteen offers of surrogate clan membership, and one ceremonial sword gifted by the Edinburgh Historical Society."
"Wait, what sword?" I interrupt. "I never received a sword."
"Your grandmother has it," Fiona confirms from her end of the table. "I'm having it mounted in my apartment. More appropriate there than in your minimalist penthouse."
"You intercepted my ceremonial sword?" I ask, genuinely outraged.
"Focus, dear. The point is the recognition, not the weaponry."
"We'd like to formally present this plaque," Connor announces, "to be displayed prominently in the Abernathy Corp lobby as a reminder that even the most controlled CEO can become an international thirst object under the right circumstances."
The table erupts in laughter and applause as Luke presents the plaque with exaggerated formality.
I accept it with all the dignity I can muster, which isn't much given the circumstances.
"You realize," I tell them quietly, "that revenge will be both swift and comprehensive."
"Worth it," Connor replies, unrepentant. "Your face right now is absolutely worth it."
As we return to our seats amid continued laughter, Karina slips her hand into mine beneath the table.
"For what it's worth," she whispers, "I think it's kind of sweet. They documented our whole story."
"Our absurd, public, completely unplanned story," I correct.
"The best kind.” She squeezes my fingers. "Authentic."
I look around the table at our improbable gathering.
Her family and mine. Colleagues turned friends.
All brought together by what began as humiliation and ended as transformation.
"Your attention please," Fiona calls, tapping her glass. "Nadine and I would like to share some wisdom from our respective cultures."
"This should be interesting," Karina murmurs.
Nadine rises first. "Armenian saying: 'One who tells the truth must have one foot in the stirrup.' Means honesty requires readiness to run away quickly."
The table laughs appreciatively.
"Scottish version," Fiona continues seamlessly. "'Open confession is good for the soul, but bad for the reputation.' Same principle, different landscapes."
"To cultural convergence," Dr. Finnegan proposes, raising his glass.
"And to families," Karina adds, "both born and chosen."
"To authenticity," I offer, meeting her gaze.
As we all drink to these somewhat competing toasts, I realize I've achieved my goal for the evening.
Not just a dinner, but a true celebration of the connections we've formed, the barriers we've overcome, and the authentic lives we're finally allowing ourselves to live.
Later, as we say our goodbyes, Karina traces the outline of the ridiculous plaque with an amused finger.
"So where are you actually going to put this?" she asks.
"In my office," I reply without hesitation. "Where I can see it every day."
"Really? I thought you'd hide it in storage."
"It's part of our story.” I shrug. "And I've learned to embrace the unexpected chapters. Especially the ones that brought me to you."
"That's very wise of you, Mr. Abernathy," she says, her smile turning mischievous. "I should warn you—Susanna's already commissioned a companion art piece for your birthday. Something involving digital renderings of kilts and hashtags."
I heave an exasperated sigh. “Of course she has.”
Of course the exasperation is fake.
All that I have left in me is gratitude.
Just gratitude for this imperfect, authentic, thoroughly unexpected life we're building.
Hashtags and all.