Chapter 18 Katie
Chapter 18 Katie
It seemed to rain about 80 percent of the time on Mull, or at least while I’d been there.
But I liked the rain. And the morning mist failed to stop me from making the walk to find the puffins and search for the sea
caves Lachlan had mentioned.
The fresh air cleared my head.
Praying along the way helped too. Of course everywhere I looked inspired some sort of awe at creation, so turning my thoughts
in a heavenly direction came fairly easily. And boy, did I need some heavenly thoughts with all the chaos going on inside
my head and heart.
I wanted what I experienced yesterday at the MacKerrow house. I wanted the safety of Graeme’s arms. I wanted that sense of
belonging.
But what I didn’t want was to give up my job or give away my heart, only to have it smattered across the glens. Or royally
mess up a relationship with Graeme and smatter his heart across the glens... and hurt Lachlan and Mirren in the process.
Why was I even considering any sort of romantic-something with Graeme when so many things were at stake?
What am I supposed to do, Lord?
A gentle breeze answered with a whiff of honeysuckle in the air, and I breathed it in. Grandpa would have loved this place. The quiet, the vastness, the earthy feel of connecting to nature and history. Perhaps the faeries played their games with me as I moved up the hillside, stopping at several points to take photos or videos, but when I finally reached the summit, I’d gone much farther than I’d expected.
Down below on one side, I could still make out the tip of Craighill’s tower, but on the other side, the loch spread out and
widened. In the distance, a cliff branched outward like an arm into the water, revealing caves beneath with water crashing
up against them. I moved forward, taking a few more photos and holding my hat during my video as the wind whipped around me.
And then, up ahead, in a little flock, waddled one of the goals of my walk.
Puffins.
I slipped as close as possible to the stocky little birds, their black-capped heads bobbing as they huddled together near
the cliff’s edge. A strange, almost comical, collection of sounds emerged from the birds. Like they were having some sort
of humorous gurgling conversation with one another. It fit them.
As a few puffins flew in to join the rest and proceeded to stumble into their landing, I felt an immediate kinship to these
creatures. Another took off nearby with an equally bumbling liftoff. Yep. I’d found my spirit animal.
“Aren’t you guys the cutest things ever!” I drew closer, with my camera taking in as much as I could. And, I suppose, most
Edwardian ladies—and maybe even Lizzie Bennett—didn’t crouch, because the attempt stretched dangerously at the cloth of my
walking dress. (A note for a future video.)
The cliff view in the background with the puffins in the foreground really made for some spectacular shots. Brett would love
them.
A few of the larger puffins caught sight of me and waddled closer, giving me amazing pictures of their unique coloring of
black, white, and that interesting orange. Another landed nearby, tripping along in a way I understood down to my big feet.
And then... their comical conversations became frantic.
I stood from my crouched position as they scattered away from me, some taking off and leaving the ledge, others dispersing in opposite directions from one another.
“Hey, I’m not scary,” I called, stepping a little closer, and they scattered even faster, a few staggering into flight. “In
fact, we have a few things in common. Funny-looking. Clumsy.”
They continued their retreat. Hmm... I’d heard puffins were social and curious. Not skittish. Maybe it was the hat?
And then I heard it. A deep snort-like growl behind me. I froze and closed my eyes, drawing in a slow, deep breath. Keeping
my movements small and deliberate, I turned toward the sound.
Air stopped in my lungs.
Standing less than twenty feet away, growing larger the longer I stared, was a Highland cow. His rust-colored fluffy coat
rippled over him as the wind hit it. He stared back at me, with the one black eye not covered by the wooly bangs dangling
across his forehead. Handlebar horns protruded from his fuzzy head as he lowered it a little, stomped the ground, and offered
another intimidating snort.
Although referred to rather adorably as a hairy coo, the way his cold eye bore into my face, I wasn’t getting any “adorable”
vibes from him at all.
And was this Highland cow (I refused to refer to such a terrifying beast as the sweet-sounding “hairy coo”) the same one Lachlan
had referenced? What was his name? Seamas?
I shifted a step back, much too aware of the cliff not too far behind me, as the puffins took off in quick succession, their
little wings doing much more than my hat would do for me.
I took a step to my right with the purpose of making a run for it back down the hill, but Seamas stomped a few steps closer
in that direction, so I stopped again. Okay, did you do the same things with Highland cows as bears? I raised my arms into
the air to make myself bigger.
Nothing.
So I roared.
He flinched and then snorted but didn’t move.
I roared again.
He lowered his head, and a chill moved up my body... just before he charged directly toward me. In the distance—as I saw
my life flash before my eyes for the... sixth time—I heard a dog barking, but I didn’t have time to contemplate the direction.
I stumbled with the grace of a puffin a few more steps back, trying to gauge when to jump to the side in order to dodge those
horns, when the foot I’d placed my weight on slipped.
And then the rest of me followed.
Over the edge of the cliff.
I wasn’t dead.
That was my first thought as I blinked my eyes open. Because, from all I’d read about heaven, pain wasn’t a part of it, and
the ache rising up my backside, not to mention in my ankle, confirmed a very earthly habitation.
But where was I?
I sat up on my sore derriere and gasped. Nothing but sea and sky and distant cliffs met my view. I looked up the way I’d fallen.
A six-foot drop—or more—left me on this tiny ledge on the side of a cliff in the rain.
Which had increased from a mist to a solid pelting.
Squinting up at the offending rain, I stretched out my back and tried to sort out what in the world I was going to do. Ah,
was that thunder?
Perfect.
I think this moment easily topped the Peruvian sheep one. Especially with my lack of options for escape.
Highland cows were my new nemesis.
I lowered my face into my hands for just a moment, thankful for my hat giving a little buffer from the rain, and... laughed.
Laughed at the ridiculousness. Laughed that God saved me “by a ledge.” Laughed that, after all my worries about falling in
love, I never contemplated actually falling off a cliff.
Again.
Maybe God was trying to prove a point, that instead of relying on my own directional abilities, I should pay attention to
His course. Wasn’t there a verse about that somewhere?
I steadied myself against the cliff wall and stood, holding in a wince when I pressed weight on my ankle. Not bad, but not
good either. Especially if I hoped to climb up the side of the ledge toward freedom.
Just in case someone had walked near enough to hear me over the rain, I called out a few times for help and then reexamined
my game plan. I’d learned years ago not to panic. Panicking only muddled up my thinking. And worst-case scenario, I’d sit
on the ledge of this cliff for a few hours in the rain before someone came looking for me.
I’d left my whereabouts with Emily, so at least someone knew my general location.
And if I didn’t show up for my date with Graeme tomorrow, surely he’d search for me. Right? I mean, he wouldn’t think I ran
away again, would he?
My stomach twisted. Because I really wanted that date.
And running away didn’t look as appealing as it usually did.
Thoughts of the date spurred me back into my plan of climbing up the ledge, so I studied my options. A few of the rocks may
prove to function as little stepping stones to assist me in gaining height, right?
And I’d climbed worse.
My attention dropped to my clothes. Except, I hadn’t been wearing a pretty gown on my last climbing excursions, and the idea of skimming down to my drawers and corset for all the world to see felt a little scandalous by anyone’s standards.
I glanced around. Okay, so my viewing audience was severely limited to fowl.
Though the dress was smudged with dirt from my chest downward, it didn’t show one tear. My followers would be happy to learn
that bit of information. Very sturdy, indeed.
I stood up on a rock, keeping my hand against the cliff, and tried to raise up on my elbow by hooking my boot on a slippery
stone, only to get my knee caught in the folds of my skirt while trying to raise it. I slipped back down to the ledge to land
on my backside... again.
Ugh. My bum did not approve. At all. In fact, it strongly protested.
I looked down at my skirt and sighed. Scandalous, here we come!
Tugging off the cute thin jacket covering my blouse, I folded it and gently placed it on a little tuft of grass nearby. Then
I unfastened the skirt and placed it on top of the jacket. Thankfully, the mock blouse covered my top down to my hips, so
instead of standing on a cliff in my corset, camisole, and knickers, I at least added a thin white blouse to the ensemble.
Plus my hat.
I probably looked ravishing. Especially with the garters holding up my stockings.
Just as I stepped back up on the rock, a head popped over the top of the ledge. A fluffy, familiar head, with tongue on full
display and two-toned eyes staring down at me.
“Wedge?” Relief swept through me. “Did you come to my rescue, boy?”
If I couldn’t have a knight on a white horse, I’d take a cuddly sheepdog.
Wedge yipped his response and then released a whine, pawing at the edge of the cliff above me and sending dirt tumbling onto
my upraised face. I dodged part of the avalanche and wiped my eyes.
“What ya doing down there, Katie Campbell?”
Well, if that voice wasn’t one of the best!
My grin spread, and I looked back up to find Lachlan peering over beside Wedge.
I cupped my eyes in a futile attempt to shield my upturned face from the rain. “I met Seamas.”
The boy’s eyebrows rose. “And he pushed you over the ledge?”
“He charged me, and I fell.”
Lachlan looked out over the horizon and released a low whistle. “The good Lord sure wants you alive, Katie Campbell. This
is one of the only places with a ledge near the edge of the cliff. Otherwise, it’s just a pure drop down to the rocks and
sea.”
My stomach plummeted. I didn’t necessarily need that information.
“It’s good to know God’s not finished with me yet, then.”
“Aye” came his quick reply. “Granny would miss you fiercely. Uncle Graeme too.”
The simple statement spread the sweetest warmth through my chilling body. I love kids’ honesty sometimes.
“Well, let me see if I can get out of here so I won’t be missed any longer. Would you take these for me?” I tossed the jacket
and skirt up to him, and after a few tries, he caught them and placed them on the grass above. Then I clutched the cliff and
took position to try to climb again.
I made enough headway to almost get an elbow over the lip of the cliff. Lachlan grasped around my arm to assist, pulling till
his cheeks grew redder than they already were.
“You’re heavier than a sack of potatoes, ye are.”
I laughed. Okay, maybe their honesty wasn’t always my favorite.
And I slid right back down the cliff side.
“Och! This is no good.” He released a loud sigh and raised his slender arms in defeat.
“We could try again.” I righted myself and reached for the ledge, but Lachlan frowned.
“I know what is to be done,” he said like the grown-up he wanted to be. “I’ll run for help and leave Wedge here to keep you company.” He peered down, a sudden glimmer lighting his sprite-like face. “Dinnae go anywhere.”
“Funny,” I called as he disappeared from view.
Wedge sent a few more sprays of dirt down to me and finally gave up digging to take a seat. The rain picked up a little more,
and the air cooled another dozen degrees. Or at least it felt like it. I rubbed my palms against my bare arms and tried to
think of warm fires and hot chocolate... which automatically sent my thoughts to Hot Scot, which helped a little with the
internal cold feeling.
I sighed out to the horizon. Maybe I should have at least kept the jacket.
Brilliant and graceful. Me to a T.
I waited a little while, occasionally finding Wedge peering down at me before he’d disappear from view again. And then I decided
to try to climb again. I mean, being the literal damsel in distress didn’t mean I couldn’t put forth a little effort.
After a few false starts, I finally hooked one elbow over the summit as the rain pelted my soaking hat. At least the brim
kept water from blocking my vision, except when the wind blew rain into my face. I sputtered out another unwelcome taste of
the storm and tried to get my other elbow over the rim, and had almost succeeded when two things happened. A movement in the
distance distracted me and the wind blew so hard it sent my hat soaring over the cliff side and into the sea. Or, at least, I assumed a sea still swirled
beneath the thick fog shrouding whatever lay below.
Just lovely. Hatless, skirtless, and completely prideless.
I blinked my vision back to the approaching distraction above the cliff and almost lost my grip on the rim. Galloping through
the blinding rain, in my direction, was a horse with a rider. A white horse.
I squeezed my eyes closed and reopened them. Did hypothermia cause delusions? Or were the faeries at work?
Wedge yipped, and the rider veered his horse in our direction.
Definitely the faeries.
Every Scottish legend I’d read over the past week burst through my mind, intermingled with a few BBC costume dramas. My Scottish
folklore knowledge didn’t go that deep. The scenarios included my being turned into some weird creature—or possibly sea-foam—or
being stolen away to the faery kingdom to live out my days without a memory of the human world. Or I would be driven into
the sea by kelpies. Or, my favorite of the scenarios, I’d hear the sweet tones of my dream guy’s Scottish accent recounting
his fear of losing me and my love in the form of a sonnet.
Did kelpies have riders?
The hoofbeats grew closer, and through the clearing of the mist came Graeme MacKerrow.
I blinked. Graeme MacKerrow on a white horse in the rain wearing an open-collared blue shirt.
My jaw dropped. Dream-status achieved.
Maybe I had died and gone to heaven.
And proved a Scot on a white horse swoonier than any other knight.
By lots.
Thank you, Seamas.
“You’re the most troublesome woman I’ve ever met.”
So much for the undying love sonnet.
At which point I lost my hold on the cliff’s rim and slid right back down to land quite dramatically on my softest spot.
Maybe I’d rather face the kelpies.
I pushed myself back to my feet, groaning as the bottom of my cello protested the movements. The wind from the sea brushed
up with a fury, tossing its cold chill all the way up my damp and thin Edwardian undergarments.
Why did every one of my mishaps end in meeting him somewhere along the way? Couldn’t I, at least once, show up without a catastrophe in my wake? I’m sure I’d look more appealing. And actually dateable.
I desperately wanted to tell him that I was much smarter than these encounters suggested, but Gran’s adage “Actions speak
louder than words” stilled my defense.
A rope dropped in front of me, and I looked up to find Graeme staring down with Wedge at his side. One boasted a very bunched
brow.
Not the furry creature.
“This wasn’t my fault.”
His gaze caught mine, and he blinked. “It’s no time for a conversation. Take the rope.”
With a grumble, I took hold of the rope, and within less than a minute, Graeme held me in his arms again. I nestled into the
familiar hold with renewed appreciation, pressing my face into the side of his neck and burrowing as close as I could.
“God help me, woman, you’re determined to die.” His bass tones reverberated in his chest, his arms tightening around me.
“I’m not really trying to die.” I sniffled, refusing to move from this cocooned spot. “I just have bad timing.”
A growl-like snort, very similar to that of Seamas, rose from him. “Aye, that’s a fact.” And he pulled me away from him, giving
my body a quick once-over. “What on earth are you wearing?”
Before I could answer, he grumbled out something in Gaelic, I presumed, and jerked his collared shirt off to reveal a white
T-shirt beneath. “We need to get you to the cottage straightaway.”
“You... you have a horse.” My whole body shivered as he wrapped the shirt around my shoulders.
“’Tis Greer’s.” He took my arm and stared down at me, rain dripping off those curls. “And my sister must be watchin’ out for
you from heaven for you to have fallen on that ledge instead of... “
He didn’t finish but merely shook his head and marched with me to the horse.
The very idea of the alternative sent another shiver through me. And then, as if it were the most normal thing to do, he placed
me on his horse, mounted behind me, and raced up the hillside.
With me.
On a horse.
With him.
In the rain.
Wow. I loved Scotland.
And I tried really hard not to think about how this mishap reduced my attraction points into the negatives.
“You found her,” Lachlan announced as we entered the back of the house.
“Aye.” Graeme tossed the boy a nod. “Put a kettle on, Lachlan.” Then he turned to me, his gaze trailing over my scantily clad
(for an Edwardian) self. His jaw twitched. “Follow me.”
The brusqueness in his actions fizzled away all romantic notions.
So much for a repeat of those hugs. Or hooded looks. Or near-kisses. I had failed with him just like I knew I would. Stupid,
stupid to get my hopes up.
I followed behind him down a narrow hall to a small bedroom. “I’m sorry, Graeme. I only went to see the puffins and to make
a few videos.”
He opened a drawer and drew out a pink sweater, some black leggings, and thick wool socks, giving me another look from top
to bottom as he did. His entire body tensed, and I rushed forward with my defense.
“Then this massive Highland cow came along and charged me.”
“Put these on. They were Greer’s and should fit.” He sighed. “We’ve got to get you warm, Katie. You’ve been in the wet too long and your skin is ice.” He walked to the door. “I’ll put the horse away and add some wood to the fire.”
With a brand-new sense of humiliation and defeat, I slipped into the wonderfully dry clothes and carried my wet underclothes
and shoes with me back into the living room. The heat from the fire drew me forward, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming me from
the inside out.
“The tea should be ready in a trice,” Lachlan called from the kitchen as Graeme reentered the house, his wet T-shirt doing
nothing to hide the rippled form beneath.
“Thanks so much, Lachlan, but I have to get back to the house. Mrs. Lennox is having a photo op for some of the local newspapers,
and we’re all supposed to be there.”
Graeme stared over at me, his disapproval almost palpable.
This was what I feared most. Tasting just a teeny bit of what being cared for by him would feel like, only to fumble it up
in grand and glorious Katie style.
The sooner I got out of here the better.
“Thank you for rescuing me, Graeme.”
His gaze flipped to mine, and his shoulders slumped a little. “You need someone in your life who will, ye ken?”
“I’ve survived this long.” I shrugged a shoulder. “But... you’re really nice to have around. I promise I’m not an idiot.
I am clumsy, but I’m not usually stupid.”
“I dinnae think you’re an eejit, Katie.” He released a long sigh, and those lips of his twitched. “But I am beginning to wonder
if death is haunting your heels.” He released another snort-like sound. “Because I’ve never in all my days known anyone who
falls into as many predicaments as you.”
“My granny used to call it a gift.”
The snort happened again.
“So why not use your gifts to your advantage, right?” I shrugged. “And become a social media phenomenon.”
And then he laughed. Shoulder-shaking, belly-holding, sweetly contagious sort of laughter. Deep and rumbly and oh so wonderful.
With the memory of his arms around me and the tingle of his voice still warming my neck, this delightful addition to all the
things that made up Graeme MacKerrow pushed my interest over the proverbial ledge into something much more lasting than simple
attraction.
I cared for him all the way to my shivering bones.
Soul-deep.
Like, grow-old-together deep.
My palm went to my stomach. “I’d much rather stay here all cozied up inside your cottage.” Had I just said that out loud?
And rushed ahead, “But I have to get back to Craighill.”
He studied me, his expression softening for an instant, and then he nodded. “Lachlan, will you run to the barn and turn off
my machines, lad?”
“Aye” came the boy’s quick reply, and he dashed between me and Graeme out the door.
Graeme shook out a T-shirt on the back of the couch and looked over at me. “I’ll drive ye.” And as if it were the most natural
thing to do after making such a statement, he pulled his wet T-shirt over his head.
After the tangle of emotions I’d experienced over the last twenty-four hours, adding such a sight to my psyche didn’t bode
well. Because I may have survived falling off a ledge and nearly drowning in a loch, but glimpsing Graeme MacKerrow’s fine
torso nearly slayed me on the spot.
Now, some gals may possess the ability to ignore an excellent male physique of refined muscles, tan skin, and well-placed
traces of chest hair—I was clearly not one of those ladies. In fact, my eyeballs must have been so glued to his mighty-fine
torso that his frown deepened to such a degree that his brows created a little V in the middle.
I cleared my throat and looked away.
For a second.
“Whoa, um... I think you need to... um... put all of that away.”
The V tightened the teeniest bit. “You can’t expect me to drive you to the house when I’m nearly as soaked to the skin as
you were.”
“I... I, well, of course not. But you can’t go showing off all”—I waved a palm toward his well-sculpted (not that I was
looking) self—“ that in public. Have you no pity for people’s eyes... or brains?”
Or walk with God.
The V completely disappeared from his forehead, replaced by something almost as dangerous as the perfect pectorals. A slow
and steady smile curved from one corner of his lips to the other, lighting his eyes in a way that sent my pulse into a mad
dash for the finish line. A red warning light went off in the back of my mind.
He looked around the room, which was as empty as my airway at the moment.
“Public?”
And he took a step toward me.
Have mercy. I was a goner.
“I mean... you are...” I swallowed the help-me-Jesus lump in my throat as my attention dropped back to his chest. “ Those are dangerous and probably distracting for... people.”
His hooded look ratcheted up my heartbeat into a sure-fire gallop. “Dangerous, are they?”
My stomach dropped to the octave level of his voice.
I should probably retreat. Dash back into the rain.
Seek the assistance of a passing adult.
But my traitorous feet refused to do anything but take another step back.
He slipped the dry shirt over his head as he drew another step closer.
And my back hit the wall.
I was living proof that a human could survive internal combustion of the emotions. I’d experienced almost all of them within just a few seconds.
And survived.
But with the heat scorching my skin, I wasn’t sure for how long.
My gaze dropped to his fully covered chest, and I nodded about three times. Maybe eight. “Good. Great. All... fixed now.” Was that my high-pitched voice? And
then my shoulders slumped with a sudden realization. “Oh man, but you realize, every time I look at you, I’m going to have
X-ray vision. Which means I’ll never get anything useful done in your presence for the rest of my days on Mull.”
Maybe for all eternity.
His smile only grew more breathtakingly threatening with each step.
And I was pretty sure I was nearing maximum hyperventilation.
Every bit of spice-leather-ocean yumminess of his scent wrapped around me in his next step, and my knees paid homage in protest
of gravity.
Thankfully, maybe, he caught me midswoon and drew me up against his now-shirted chest. But with my X-ray vision in working
order, I knew what hid beneath.
I swallowed and, like the complete glutton for punishment I was, I rested my palms against his chest. Those electric blue
eyes of his bore into mine, searching, waiting.
I raised my chin, all ability to verbalize as nonexistent as his shirt used to be. But evidently he saw whatever he needed
because his palm tightened against my back, bringing me flush against him at the same time his mouth captured mine. Every
muscle in my body joined in my knees’ revolt, and I gave in to the tug.
His firm lips knew exactly what to do. Caressing my shocked and dazzled ones to life... and response. My palms moved up
his chest to frame his face, fingers sliding over his ears in such a way that caused a deep sound to reverberate from his
very impressive chest into mine.
I should stop.
But he’d become my gravity. Holding me up. Keeping me afloat from the inside out. And the fact his body encapsulated mine
in this protective sort of hold while kissing away every thought in my head flipped something over in my chest.
A feeling I didn’t fully recognize branched through me, as if it had to travel so far to make it to identification. His warm
kiss. His strong hold. His scent and protection and rescue and humor, all twined together into the far-off feeling of...
coming home.
I pulled back, barely two inches, my fingers refusing to release their grip on his shirt. “Mrs. Lennox would not approve.
At all.” My whispered breath pulsed between us. “Not Edwardian. Especially the shirtlessness.”
The slightest twitch tipped one corner of his lips. “Do you think I’m concerned about Lennox, lass?”
Lass? The word left his lips and rammed right into my cracked heart. A simple, common word, but rumbled low from his throat
and paired with the searching sweet look of his, the combination of four letters declared war in my chest.
Fear.
Hope.
I shouldn’t have let him kiss me. It really was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever done (apart from the horrible decision
I made on a paraglider in Iceland), but in all honesty, I was under the influence of hot Scotness... or Scot hotness. That
was my only excuse for not running away as soon as his tenderness threatened to undo my carefully honed flight mode. Either
way, I shouldn’t be held responsible for the actions that happened next. Because, without one bit of consideration for Edwardian
appropriateness, I took his wonderfully bearded face in my much-too-eager hands and pulled him right back in for more.
Bad idea.
Very bad.
And I kept encouraging this very bad idea with a great amount of zeal.
Graeme didn’t seem to mind at all. He growled his pleasure and wrapped me in those massive arms of his as if I weren’t too
tall or too clumsy or too broken.
I was just right.
An amazing rush of heady happiness swirled up from my stomach to my brain as his lips claimed mine, taking over the kiss.
I gladly relinquished the power. Letting go had never felt so good, so easy.
Heaven, help me .
Kisses shouldn’t be this deadly. This consuming.
But here I was, snogging like one of the most appreciative snoggers in the whole world, without a care about what happened
when I stepped out of these strong arms and entered the real world again.
Was I intoxicated by a hot Scot?
Without a doubt.
Would I regret it once I sobered up in the light of day?
Without a doubt.
But just for this moment, this amazingly marvelous moment, I embraced the feeling of being protected and cherished and safe...
Of coming home.
“You realize I can never see you again, right?” The words rasped from me as we pulled apart again and I rested my head back
against the wall. “Because I don’t go around haphazardly kissing Scotsmen or butlers or anyone else.”
One of those dark brows of his took an upswing as he brought his palms to rest at my waist. “You think I do?”
I searched those eyes as they searched mine, and emotions began to gather in my throat at the answer I saw there.
A kiss like that wasn’t commonplace for him either.
“Probably not the ‘butlers’ part.”
His lips quirked, and he moved to breach the distance between our lips again only to stop at the slamming of a door.
“All done!” Lachlan called.
Graeme stepped back, releasing his hold around my waist, but not my emotions.
Oh no.
To use the local vernacular, my heart was in a fankle. Double-knotted. No return. Heartbreaking fankle.
And the realization didn’t stop me from wanting to kiss Graeme MacKerrow one more time.