Chapter 6 #2
Ewan bursts out laughing.
For a second, I’m speechless.
Then I find myself smiling.
“We’re hospitable.”
“Or intrusive.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
She laughs softly and takes a sip of beer.
Around us, I can feel the number of stares multiplying.
Moira MacTavish is whispering into her phone.
I’d bet money she’s talking to Mrs. MacLeish.
Old Angus is watching us with a smug smile.
Even Ewan keeps sneaking glances our way between customers.
Clementine, meanwhile, seems not to have noticed.
She’s studying the pub with curiosity, her gaze moving across the walls covered in old photographs, the whiskey bottles lined up behind the bar, and the regulars occupying their usual tables.
“It’s actually quite nice here,” she says eventually.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. I only came here once when I was six. I barely remember the village, the manor, or the pub. I think I expected something more... touristy, maybe?”
I shake my head.
“Glenfield isn’t a tourist village. It’s a real village. With real people. And real stories.”
She looks at me thoughtfully.
“Ghost stories?”
“Among others.”
She smiles.
“Do you believe them?”
“Ghosts?”
“Yes.”
I hesitate briefly.
“No. But I believe in the power of legends.”
She frowns slightly, as though she’s unsure she heard me correctly.
“The power of legends?”
“Yes. They shape the way people see a place. The way they feel about it. The way they talk about it.”
She nods slowly.
“You sound like a real estate agent.”
“It’s my profession.”
“So, to you, the manor isn’t haunted. It’s just... poorly marketed?”
I grin.
“Exactly.”
This time she laughs openly.
The sound is light.
Genuine.
And somehow it makes me smile even more.
Then Moira rises from her table and heads toward us.
I immediately sense danger.
“Clementine!” she calls warmly. “I’m Moira MacTavish. I own the village grocery store.”
Clementine turns toward her politely.
“Nice to meet you.”
“How are you finding Glenfield?”
“It’s... charming.”
Moira nods approvingly.
“And the manor? Are you enjoying it?”
Clementine hesitates.
“It’s large.”
“And frightening, isn’t it?”
I notice Clementine stiffen slightly.
“No. Just old.”
Moira leans closer.
“They say it’s haunted, you know.”
“Yes. I’ve been told. Several times.”
“And you haven’t heard anything? Seen anything?”
Clementine takes a sip of beer before answering.
“I saw a sheep. Does that count?”
Moira’s eyes widen.
“Hamish?”
“Apparently.”
Moira straightens triumphantly.
“Hamish! You see? It’s a sign!”
I sigh inwardly.
Clementine shoots me a confused look.
I give her a subtle gesture that clearly says:
Don’t ask.
Moira returns to her table, visibly delighted to have acquired fresh information to spread around.
Clementine leans closer.
“What exactly is the story with Hamish?”
“Sort of a local legend. People think he has a sixth sense.”
“A sixth sense for what?”
“For knowing where things are going to happen.”
She stares at me.
“You’re serious?”
“I’m only repeating what people say.”
“And do you believe it?”
“No.”
She smiles.
“Good. Because otherwise I was going to start worrying.”
We sit quietly for a few moments, drinking our beers.
But around us, I can feel the social pressure building.
More glances.
More whispers.
And for the first time, I realize something that makes me uncomfortable.
By agreeing to have a drink with me, Clementine has placed both of us directly under the spotlight.
The village is already building a story around us.
And I still don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Clementine finishes her beer and sets the empty glass on the counter.
“I should get back to the manor now,” she says, standing.
“Are you sure? You could stay a little longer.”
She smiles.
“No, thank you. I have a lot of work to do. Besides, I think I’ve contributed enough material to the gossip mill for one day.”
I stare at her.
“You noticed?”
“Obviously. I’m not blind.”
She extends her hand.
“See you around, Cameron.”
I shake it, oddly affected by her casual tone.
“See you around, Clementine.”
She leaves some money on the counter, steps away from the stool, and heads for the door.
Then she’s gone.
For a second, silence settles over the pub.
Then the conversations resume.
Louder than before.
More animated.
More intense.
Ewan leans toward me.
“She’s smart.”
“What do you mean?”
“She figured out exactly what was happening. And she left before things got out of control.”
I remain silent, staring at the closed door.
Moira approaches the bar again.
“She’s a good one, that girl. A little direct, perhaps...”
I say nothing and take another sip of beer.
“And the two of you make a lovely couple.”
I nearly choke.
Coughing, I stare at her.
“We are not a couple. We barely know each other!”
Moira raises both hands in surrender.
“I’m just saying what I see.”
She returns to her table, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Ewan watches me with an amused smile.
“Welcome to the arena, Cameron.”
I let out a long sigh and finish my beer.
He’s right.
I’ve stepped into the arena.
And I’m not even sure how it happened.