8. Chapter 8
It took me a full ten seconds after waking to remember where I was.
Then I smelled the coffee and remembered everything else too.
I threw on an old T-shirt and some yoga pants and wandered into the living room where Max was sipping coffee and watching dailies.
I didn’t want to startle him, so I quietly said, “Good morning,” but he jumped anyway.
“Hey! Good morning,” he replied, running a hand through his hair.
He did a double-take. I glanced down to see what had caught his attention. The shirt. Of course I’m wearing the Fault Lines shirt. Dammit.
“Sorry I slept so late. The jet lag was getting to me more than I realized. How’s the footage looking?”
He looked back down at his screen. “Good. I mean, we’ve got CGI stuff to add in, and some other effects, but for now it’s looking good.”
I went to the kitchen and filled a mug with coffee and grabbed a scone. I returned and plopped down next to Max on the couch to join him in watching the dailies for a film I wasn’t a part of.
“I love the close-up of that soldier’s eyes,” I said.
“Yeah. That’s the first time anyone gets shot in the battle. It’s like the moment he knows this is the end.”
I nodded. “The camera stays on him or cuts away?”
“Stays. Five full seconds.”
“I like it. Do you have a pitch deck or a lookbook I could see?” It slipped out before I could stop myself. “I’m sorry,” I added, embarrassed. “I know you have to sign an NDA to see that stuff…”
“Actually, not the pitch deck. I made that before we signed the contract, so they don’t own that. Here.”
He opened a file.
I looked through it: Period costumes, tartan, stone churches. Soldiers around a fire. Then one drawing stopped me—a man in full tartan raging into battle, mouth open, clearly swearing. The heart of these young men, fighting for a world that would soon no longer exist.
I couldn’t help but smile. “I love it!”
“Thought you would,” said Max. “It’s kind of a Braveheart meets… something similar but toned way down. You know, like maybe… Macbeth.”
“The one with Denzel Washington? Masterpiece.”
“Well, of course.”
We both laughed. Then silence.
I took a sip of my coffee. “So you said there’s good hiking around here?” I asked, anxious to break the silence.
Max’s face brightened as he sat up straighter. “Amazing hiking. You could come here and do nothing but hike. I mean, that’s what most people do.”
I pushed myself up from the couch. “I’ll go get dressed. Will it be cold?”
“Bring layers,” said Max. “Out here you have to be ready for anything: rain, sun, wind, midges—oh, be sure to coat yourself in that Skin-So-Soft you’ll see in the bathroom. Keeps the midges away. Trust me, you’ll want it.”
It felt oddly familiar sitting next to him as we drove. He followed the GPS, twisting down narrow roads like he’d driven them a hundred times before.
We seemed to be driving to the end of the earth when he made a sharp turn and suddenly there were camper vans, families, and hikers along the roadside. He pulled into a parking lot. We were there.
“Where are we exactly?”
He looked around, then back at the GPS. His brows furrowed slightly.
“Oops. We’re at the Fairy Pools. I had told you about the Fairy Glen. That’s going to have to be a separate visit.”
“They’re not together?”
“You’d think so, but no. We’re here…” He pointed to a spot on one side of the island. “And the Fairy Glen is there.” He pointed to an area that looked far away.
“I guess I was so focused on hiking that I came here. The Pools are more of a hiking place; the glen is more whimsical. Probably what you were looking for.”
“For a wedding location, yes. They already hiked around Old Man of Storr,” I said.
“So we’ll do some sightseeing, and I can take you there later?”
Suspicion stirred at the back of my mind. “Is this a ploy to get me out of the house so you can film there? Or maybe you’ve got a shoot set for the Fairy Glen?”
“Chalk it up to too many 14 hour days on set and brain fog. Forgive me?” Those big blue eyes—damn him.
“For now,” I said pointedly.
We joined the stream of people winding their way along the trail, carried forward by the current of excited tourists and determined hikers.
I stared at the jagged silhouettes, sharp against the pale blue sky. “Wow, those mountains are gorgeous!”
“Hills. They usually call them hills,” corrected Max.
“The sign said they’re the Black Cuillin Mountains,” I said.
“Fine…,” he conceded, his voice softening in a way that made me want to both reach for his hand and walk ten paces ahead.
“I remember Angus, the groom, had used the phrase ‘hill-walking.’ I guess that’s more accurate than actual mountain climbing. But when you live in a mostly flat area of Massachusetts, these are pretty impressive.”
The hills were different here. Greener. Mistier. We soon came upon a narrow creek and followed it toward the hills. The crowd had thinned considerably—the warning signs about treacherous footing had apparently deterred many of the older visitors.
We followed the river toward the mountains, and aside from all the hikers dressed in their wellies and waterproofs, we could’ve been in Jacobite times.
Rip Van Winkle. The stones in Outlander. No wonder so many writers had looked at places like this and imagined the veil between centuries growing thin.
The path opened to reveal the first pool.
Water gathered beneath a cascade tumbling down black rock.
At the waterfall’s edge stood a teenager in bright swim trunks, toes curled over the precipice.
I held my breath as he waited for a swimmer to clear the landing zone below, then launched himself into the air.
For a heartbeat, his body hung suspended before slicing through the air and into the frigid water with barely a splash.
A shiver cut through me. “It must be freezing!”
“You going in?” Max asked with a slight smirk.
I raised a single eyebrow and gestured ahead of me. “After you.”
And damn if Max didn’t start climbing up to the top of the waterfall.
“Seriously, Max?”
He just grinned and began untying his hiking boots.
I stood frozen and called up to him. “Don’t they have insurance on you for the film?”
“Yeah. We’re insured.”
“That’s no reason to intentionally—”
In one fluid motion, he shed his hiking pants, revealing a pair of navy swim briefs underneath. His shirt came off next. Welp. He’s still lifting weights.
Perched at the waterfall’s edge, he mimed holding a camera to his eye—a universal gesture everyone recognizes. I fumbled for my phone, managing to hit record just as he flashed a quick grin, pinched his nostrils shut, and dove feet-first into the crystalline pool below.
I caught the whole thing in glorious 4K, complete with the splashes all over me and my phone.
He surfaced, shivering, shook his hair like a dog, and scrambled up the hill to do it again. That’s Max, ever adventurous.
I bent down and stuck my hand in the water, then yanked it back instantly. My skin stung from the cold.
“C’mon in! The water’s—”
“Freezing!” I laughed, shaking my head. “No way. I’ll leave it to you.”
Max launched himself into the pool again with a shout, slicing through the frigid water before swimming to where I waited. He hoisted himself onto the rocks beside me, rivulets of water streaming down his torso.
“Remember that place in Arizona?” Droplets sparkled on his eyelashes. “Slide Rock. You had on that green swimsuit and practically shrieked when you hit the pool at the end.” He waved his arms wildly in imitation, sending water spattering around us.
I glanced at his chest. More defined than I remembered. I looked away.
“Yeah, but it was so hot there we had to go in. It was refreshing.”
“You can’t say this isn’t refreshing,” he said with a grin.
“But Slide Rock was more of a lazy river meets slip and slide.”
“You still talk like a filmmaker. Die Hard meets Jaws.”
Max made quick work of redressing. He tugged his hiking boots back on, laced them quickly, and we set off again. The stream ran along our path, deeper into the valley, the Cuillin’s dark peaks appearing and disappearing in the mist.
“So why wedding planning?” he asked.
“It’s an easy match for my skill set. I’m organized, and I can organize other people.”
He cast me a quick side glance. “Because you’re a producer.”
“Or maybe I’m a wedding planner. I love the idea of taking a couple’s dreams for a special day and making it a reality.”
“Like a director.” Again with the smirk.
I swatted him. “Enough! The difference is this—it’s usually in a city. I work once or twice a month, and nobody wants to get married on a Wednesday night. My weekdays are free.”
“Maybe you should make rom coms.”
“Max, I'm happy.” The word didn’t land right.
He nodded slightly. We trudged uphill in silence, our boots sinking deeper into the mud.
Around us, tourists scrambled onto massive boulders, phones extended for the perfect shot.
Max gestured toward one particularly picturesque rock.
I declined with a quick head shake. We approached another waterfall, this one revealing a pool so clear I could count the pebbles underneath.
“How far does this trail go?”
“About a mile and a half, but I mean, you could go on forever. Did you ever walk along the beach with a plan to walk to the edge? I think this is like that. You can keep going until you get to the mountains, but you’re better off following the stream and then turning back.
It’s fairy land, and the Good Folk, as they’re called, don’t want humans messing around with their land. ”
“Where’d you hear all that?”
“Well, I’ve done a ton of research on Celtic mythology, Highland mythology, Scots mythology. You name it. I’d been researching for a little selkie film when I happened upon the right person at the right time, and now we’re doing my Culloden project,” he said.
Heat rose on my cheeks. I pushed it all down and smiled. “That’s awesome, Max.”
For a moment the mist parted, revealing the jagged silhouette of the Cuillin mountains against the sky. I raised my phone to capture the view when something flickered at the edge of my vision—gone before I could turn my head. The mist was closing in around us. Enveloping us.
I zipped my fleece and switched to video as the mist crawled in like a cat slowly approaching its prey. The boundary between earth and sky dissolved. We’d crossed into somewhere else entirely.
“So do the fairies live in the mountains? I’ve heard stories about strange goings-on in similar areas, like Mount Shasta in California or Mount Bugarach in France.”
“If it’s not the Good Folk, then it’s stories of UFOs. When it’s not UFOs, it’s angelic beings. I dunno. But it’s all great fodder for films.”
“You’ve got me there.” I looked out at the green rolling hills and the trail ahead of us. The hills ahead definitely looked like a setting for a Spielberg film.
“You used to write that kind of thing.” Max’s eyes met mine.
I looked away. “Yeah.”
A knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Want to take a crack at a selkie film?”
I blinked, struck speechless. Are you freaking kidding me?
“I’m serious. I’ll set you up on a WGA contract. My agent can recommend an agent to represent you. We’ll make a deal. You can take all the time you need. I’d love to see your version of this…” He swept his arm across the landscape, encompassing the mist-covered mountains and sparkling river.
I’d love to create my version of this. The idea arrived whole: characters, tone, the first image. Then my stomach dropped. Wedding planning paid the bills. It gave me structure. Stability. Shit.
But Max had caught the spark in my eyes. “You’d start with a pitch,” he said, his voice quickening. “Then a one-pager, synopsis, beatsheet. Once they greenlight it, you’d have six weeks to deliver the first draft.”
I bit my lip. “Caitlin’s wedding comes first.” It wasn’t a no.
“I’ll let you borrow some of the fairy tales I’ve been reading. Mythologies. Histories. All that. It’s fascinating.”
Before we could continue the conversation, the clouds split open, unleashing sheets of rain that transformed the path into a muddy mess within seconds.
I yanked my hood up and hunched my shoulders against the downpour.
All around us, the spell broke as tourists abandoned their fairytale moment.
By the time we reached the car park, my socks were soaked through and the mist-shrouded mountains had vanished behind a gray curtain of water.
As we settled into the nice dry car with the heat blasting, Max turned to me. “I have some things to do today, but meet me for dinner at the pub in town tonight?”
“There’s only one pub in town?”