23. Chapter 23
Torin
Hogmanay (hog-muh-nee)
Translation: New Year’s Eve
Usage: To refer to one of the biggest celebrations in Scotland, often with fire, food, ceilidhs, and gifts
“Please tell me you’re wearing something under that kilt.”
I turn my head to see Freya standing a few meters away. It’s not polite to ask that question, but given that I’m standing on a ladder, she has good reason to check before approaching.
“Aye,” I say. “I knew your crew needed help stringing up the last of the fairy lights in the rafters, so I made sure nothing would be hanging out before making the climb.”
“Good,” she says, coming to hold the ladder while I return to my task. “But I’m sure you’ll want to be traditional when you’re playing the pipes later.”
I hum noncommittally.
“Maybe Beau can take your pants off for you.”
I jerk my head back toward her so fast the ladder shudders precariously underfoot. “Freya! Not while I’m up this high!”
“Fine, I’ll wait till you’re on the ground to ask about your little make-out session the other night,” she says with a shrug.
I wind the lights around the hook and scurry down the ladder, my face burning. “Keep your voice down,” I say, glancing around at the lingering crew. “People can hear you. And how do you know about that? Did Beau say something?”
“It’s fine, no one’s listening,” she says, waving away my concerns. “And of course he didn’t say anything. I’m sure he’s too much of a gentleman to kiss and tell.”
“Then how—”
“I got up to get some water that night and saw you. I’ve been dying to say something but haven’t had the chance to talk to you on your own.”
“Christ,” I say, putting my hands over my face. “Please tell me you haven’t said anything to him.”
“Much as I wanted to tease both of you about it, I didn’t. I’m not a total fanny.”
I sigh. “Good.”
“I have to say,” she continues, voice turning mischievous, “Beau looks good in everything, but he looked exceptional in that towel. Seemed like it was barely hanging on.” My face heats again, but Freya’s not done.
“And he’s so broad. I mean, that back!” She fans herself.
“Have you raked your fingers down it while he makes sweet love to you yet?” She wags her eyebrows, and I briefly consider putting a mouse in her bed.
“Okay, that’s enough. You’ve had your fun.” I grab the ladder and head to the next hook, trying not to picture Beau on top of me—sweaty, panting. Though it wouldn’t be the first time the image has crossed my mind…
“That wasn’t a no,” she says, smirking.
I sigh again. “No, Freya. He hasn’t made sweet love to me.
He’s not going to. We’ve kissed a couple of times, but I think he just likes the idea of a holiday romance,” I say, shrugging to show how very unconcerned I am about the situation with my gorgeous classmate.
“Once we get back to Edinburgh, things will go back to normal. He’s not into me, and even if he were, I don’t want the distraction.
You know how I feel about my studies. Nothing is more important. ”
“Wait.” She blinks. “You’ve kissed more than once?”
“Freya, there’s nothing there,” I say, ignoring her question. “This is just a bit of fun for him. He’s enjoying all that Scotland has to offer, and I’m the convenient option for a Highland fling. There is nothing long-term about what’s happening right now.”
Despite how much time we’ve spent together the last few days, Beau and I haven’t even touched since the night of our kiss. He’s helped around the farm, we’ve visited some more historical sites, and we’ve gotten ready for bed together, but he’s been all manners since the day we went to Inverness.
Freya comes to hold the ladder again. “How do you know he’s just having fun? Did he say that? Have you talked about it? Because I know you, and you’re only confident about your academics.” She hesitates. Then, “Ever since James broke your heart, you’ve doubted everything else about yourself.”
I tense, emotions roiling in my belly.
“Can we please not talk about James?” I ask, my voice frosty. “I’m over him.” I’m clearly not over him, given the pit in my stomach at the mere mention of his name. “He moved back to London,” I say, keeping my tone in check. “He got what he came for, and he left.”
He left the country. He left me.
“And you think Beau will do the same?” she asks. “You think he’s like James?”
No, I answer firmly in my head. Beau isn’t like James at all.
He’s better in every way, but the past few days have been…
confusing, and I no longer know what to think.
I want Beau, but I don’t know if he wants me, or if it’s just casual.
And I don’t do casual. I need to know he’s not going to use me and then walk away when it’s convenient. Like James did.
“Think whatever you want, Freya,” I say, brushing her off. “I’m not getting into this with you because there’s nothing to get into.”
“Fine,” she says, raising her hands in surrender.
“Freya!” I bark, grabbing the rafters. “Hands on the ladder!”
“Oh—right.” She catches it again with a sheepish grin. “But one last thing?”
“Out with it.” I’m so ready for this conversation to be over.
“It’s just…” She hesitates. “The way Beau looks at you, the way he treats you… It doesn’t seem like a fling to me.”
My heart soars at her pronouncement, but I work to keep it in check. I can’t get my hopes up only to have them dashed.
“Mum and Dad have noticed, too,” she says, and heat floods my face, knowing my family have been talking about this.
“Please just give him a chance, and more importantly, give yourself one. I know James downplayed all the wonderful things you have to offer, but he was wrong. I know that. And I think Beau does, too.”
She gives me a moment to consider her words.
“Promise me you’ll think about it,” she says, “and I’ll drop it for now.”
I sigh again. “Fine. I’ll think about it.” And I will. Despite the quiet voice in the back of my mind reminding me how easily hope can turn into humiliation.
“Promise?” she asks with a grin.
“Promise.”
After finishing with the lights, I run over to the house to change clothes.
I’ve always worn a kilt the whole day of Hogmanay, but the one I wore to hang lights was a more rugged option. Now it’s time to get dressed properly for the ceilidh.
And shed my boxers.
The room is chilly when I step inside, the evening air creeping through the old stone walls, but my heart warms as I hear Beau singing off-key in the shower while I suit up.
Some American country song, I think, but it’s hard to tell when half the lyrics are replaced with enthusiastic humming.
I shake my head, smiling, as I begin buttoning my shirt.
He really is adorable. The memory of him in a towel, droplets of water sparkling on his massive frame, slide into my mind uninvited.
Makes me wonder if I should put those pants back on after all.
I wrap the kilt around my middle, admiring the deep Ramsay blue checked with black and subtle white stripes as I secure the inner apron before fastening the outer buckles.
I’m fighting with my bow tie in the bedroom mirror when there’s a knock at my door. “Come in,” I call.
Beau steps into the room, fully dressed for the event.
I catch his reflection before he realizes I’m looking. His eyes on my legs, open-mouthed. When our eyes meet, he recovers quickly, clearing his throat and snapping his jaw closed, giving me a smile.
“You look incredible,” he says, dimples showing.
I blush. I can’t help it.
“So do you,” I say, looking at him properly now. “Very dapper.”
He’s blended his own culture with the dress code in a way that somehow works perfectly—cowboy boots, dark jeans that hug his thick thighs, and a crisp white shirt. Over it all, he’s thrown on the green tartan blazer he bought in town, serving as a nod to Scotland.
“Thanks,” he says.
We stand there awkwardly, his eyes flicking back to my legs again.
“Need some help?” he asks, nodding at the tie in my hand.
“No, I’ve got it,” I tell him. “It’s just been a while.”
In truth, I’ve been struggling to get the knot right for so long that my arms are getting tired.
“I’m bad at asking for help,” he says, stepping forward, “but I do like to give it.”
He takes the tie and then his hands are on me, my body sparking for the first time since we last kissed. He turns me gently toward the mirror and gets to work.
We don’t speak as he reaches around me, my back pressed lightly against the solid wall of his chest. In the mirror, I watch his large hands move with intention and dexterity, folding and looping as he works.
His breath brushes the side of my neck, and my pulse quickens.
The knot takes shape, and he stays close as he tightens it, hips shifting behind me. He’s as turned on as I am.
He turns me back toward him and straightens it. Then his hands brush down, land on my pecs, and remain there.
“There,” he says. “You look perfect.”
But he’s not looking at the bow tie. His eyes are locked onto mine. Between the sheer blue of his irises and his hands on my chest, I can’t think of a thing to say.
My gaze drops to his full lips, his tongue darting out briefly to wet them, and I lean toward him, drawn forward by instinct, needing to kiss him again.
“You lads about ready?” Freya calls up the stairs.
Shite. For all the encouragement she gave me earlier, she’s picked a spectacular moment to interrupt.
Beau’s mouth curves, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Yeah, we’ll be right down,” he calls over his shoulder, not looking away. Despite the look in his eye, I begin to doubt myself. Had he leaned toward me, too, or had I been the only one trying to make out just now?
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my jacket off the bed. He gestures for me to lead the way, and I walk ahead of him, buttoning my waistcoat.
“Oh, almost forgot,” I say, clicking my fingers. I turn back to grab my bonnet and see his eyes flick from the back of my kilt up to my face again. I’m pretty sure he was just checking out my bum. He doesn’t even try to hide his devilish grin.