Makenna
“Can we step in here? I read they have safe gluten-free things. They may have gluten-free scones we can use instead of me having to fool with biscuits.”
“Not a big biscuit maker?” Malcolm asks, opening the door to the bakery.
“They’re just more work when they’re gluten-free, and the outcome varies.
” I grin up at him. “At least for me. Plus, when you find safe things at a bakery, you have to try them! Especially when on vacation,” I add as I take in the store before me.
It’s beautiful and whimsical in a way that’s subtle and just right for me.
And the smell. I’m actually more of a savory girl, but even I think this smell might be a teaser of heaven.
I spot a separate case marked “gluten-free” and head straight for it, Malcolm on my heels.
“You won’t make me jealous if you get something regular,” I say over my shoulder. “I’m used to it at this point.”
“That’s a wee bit sad.”
I shrug. It is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve grown in that way since the first few years after my diagnosis.
Malcolm stays by my side. He doesn’t wander off to get himself a tasty gluten-filled treat. Maybe he’s not a big sweets person either.
“What can I get for you, dearie?” The older woman behind the counter asks. She’s wearing a sky-blue apron with white ruffles, and the most grandmotherly smile I’ve ever seen.
I look down at the case, and they do have scones, but they’re blueberry. “I was looking for plain scones.”
“You’re in luck. Some just came out of the oven. Give me just a sec.”
I look at Malcolm and silently cheer with my face and arms. His deep laugh booms around the small space, then he looks at me thoughtfully before turning his eyes back to the case.
“This place is so expensive,” he says. “Although, so was the food I got you at the store.”
“I can pay you back for those—”
“No. No, that’s not why I mentioned it. It’s just … is it always like this?”
“Pretty much always.”
“Alright, how many would you like?” The woman approaches us with a plate covered in perfect little scones.
“Four, please. And I’d love to try one of your cream-filled chocolate biscuits.”
“Och. You’ll love it,” she says as she begins filling up my box. “That was my great-granny’s recipe. She was a big baker, taught me everything she knew before she slippit awa when I was twelve.”
“How wonderful you got that time with her. And you clearly have turned her knowledge into something incredible.”
“Aye, that’s true. She’d be fair proud, I think.” She grins looking around her shop, before turning to Malcolm. “And what can I get for you, sir?”
I begin to open my mouth to tell the woman that he’s not getting anything from over here, but Malcolm beats me to speaking.
“I’ll have a brownie, both kinds of cupcake, a chocolate chip biscuit, both kinds of shortbread, and a blueberry scone.”
I turn and look at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
He shrugs. “You said we had to try it all.”
“I’m not sure that’s exactly what I said. I mean … I always want to try it all, but …” I raise my eyebrows at him like you’re about to drop a tiny fortune.
“Well, we’re doing it today, lass.”
“Hang onto this one. It’s always good to have a man who buys you treats. You’re a braw couple, aye, that's for sure,” the woman says and winks at me. As if any of that were true. I laugh awkwardly, then feign deep interest in a watercolor painting of a cat hanging near the register.
We pay and head out the door. “Thank you. I can’t believe you got all that.”
“Och. Dinnae worry about it. It only makes sense to have a wee dessert tasting after a meal with chocolate gravy.”
I laugh. “Yes, it only makes sense.”
We walk in silence for a moment until Malcolm speaks. “So, how long have you had Coeliac Disease? Or I guess, how long have you known you have it?”
“I was diagnosed about seven years ago. But I’d been sick for a while. Frequent migraines, brain fog, absolutely no energy—and of course, my digestive system was not working as it should.” I won’t go into details there. “I thought I was going to have to quit my job. It was awful.”
“Has that settled now that you’ve cut out all the gluten?”
“Pretty much. I don’t think I feel as good as most people do, but I’m certainly much better, so I’m grateful.”
“I’m grateful for that too.” He grins and softly bumps his shoulder into me, setting off a burst of butterflies in my stomach.
I think leaving Scotland with my heart intact might be the hardest thing I ever do.
“It’s fun grocery shopping here. It makes me feel almost like I live here, you know?
A lot of people don't go grocery shopping on vacation. I mean, I usually have to, but in general I think people like to eat out when they’re traveling.
Don’t you think?” I put a carton of eggs into the basket hanging from my bent arm.
“Likely so,” Malcolm agrees.
“I mean, it just feels like normal grocery shopping when we travel in the US, but here? It’s a totally different experience. Like I might sprout a Scottish accent at any moment.”
“Is an accent something that can be sprouted?” Malcolm teases.
Why is he being so cute and sweet today? It’s almost like there’s a wall between us, but he’s peeking around it. I’m seeing more of the real him, and unfortunately the real him is truly better than words.
We shared the chocolate chip cookie as we walked to the market, and he hummed with happiness at the taste. With a body like his, at least from what I can tell, you wouldn’t expect him to have a sweet tooth, but he definitely does.
I laugh and shrug as I walk toward the bacon.
“I don’t suppose you can sprout an accent.
But I do wonder if people can develop one if they live somewhere long enough.
I mean, I know the longer you live somewhere different the more likely you’ll lose some of your accent, but do you think you can gain one? ”
“I really don’t know. But I’m sure you’d sound bonnie with a Scottish accent if you were to sprout one.” He grins and I elbow him softly in the side.
“Alright, alright.” I say, accepting his teasing. “I’m going to find something to tease you about if you’re not careful.”
“I’ll be sure to be canny.”