Chapter 3
DINNER
Lizzie nearly tackles me when I leave my bedroom the following morning.
“Lena! She’s lucid, really, really lucid!” she squeals.
My breath gets caught in my throat, and I can only manage a nod before Lizzie dashes off down the hall again. Excitement brims in my veins; hopefully, I can get answers from her now.
I grab the picture of my parents out of my room before tracking Gran down in the drawing room. She’s seated in her favorite wingback chair before the windows, sipping her tea. She glances up at me; her blue eyes are clear; she’s still lucid.
I haven’t missed her this time.
Relief lightens each step as I walk towards her and kneel at her side.
“Good morning, Gran.”
She tracks my every moment and pats my cheek. Her expression is solemn.
“How long was I gone this time, Lena?”
“You were in and out for a bit,” I answer. “But you’re here now.”
I hope my smile is comforting enough to ease her worries.
Gran’s smile is tinged with sorrow; she sees right through my foolhardy attempt. “Was it bad?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle; it’s okay, I promise.” The lie comes easily.
I pull the picture out. I don’t really want to ask right this second, but I don’t know how much time we have before she’s gone again.
“Gran, does this look familiar?” I ask, holding the photo out to her.
Taking the picture from my hand, she rolls her eyes. “That’s your mother and father; of course, it looks familiar.”
“Obviously,” I tease back. “But look at her necklace.”
I point to the medallion perched on my mom’s chest. As she studies the picture, I pull out the necklace that I tucked behind my charcoal sweater.
Gran’s eyes flit up to me, noticing the necklace. She gasps. “Where did you get that?” Her head whips back and forth between the photograph and my necklace.
“Lachlan gifted it to me, but he bought it at an antique shop. How did it get there? Did she give it away?” My questions ramble together.
That’s the only thing I could think of happening. Maybe it’s only a piece of junk my mom donated because she didn’t want it? But why am I so drawn to it? Even now, I can feel a slight pulsing from the medallion, like it’s emitting a dull electric current.
“No, she wouldn’t have done that.” She looks back down at the picture of my mom. “But I can’t say any more about it,” she finishes, abruptly.
I stare at her quizzically, my mouth slowly parting in surprise, but she begins staring at the necklace clasped around my neck. Gran reaches out to touch the medallion, but drops her hand, clasping her fingers together in her lap.
“I wouldn’t lose it, though, if I were you,” Gran mumbles, nodding to herself.
“That’s a bit ominous,” I trail off. “Do you know more about it and won’t tell me? Or do you not remember at all?”
Her brows pinch together momentarily. “It’s like my mind went blank. I know it’s important, but I can’t tell you more.”
“Ahh, I see.”
My shoulders slump in defeat.
She suddenly changes the subject. “So what did I miss?” A smile brightens her tired face.
I begin filling her in on the last couple of days, starting with the birds, and she laughs loudly at my story.
“It was really on my shoulder? Like a pirate?” she asks through her giggles.
“Yes! You scared the hell out of me, talking to it and everything!”
She chuckles, and her eyes sparkle. “If there were two, then it was just Odin, dearie.”
Gran has always had a healthy respect for the Gods. But at times, she talks as if they’re old friends.
We spend the rest of the day connected at the hip, having given Lizzie the day off. We take walks through the grounds, hand in hand, while I fill her in on everything else I can think of, including my growing affection for Lachlan.
The day is a haze of tea, laughter, and cherished moments.
The peace has reinvigorated my mind. Time rushes past, even though I do my best to absorb each new memory we make and hold on to it tightly.
I hope tonight goes just as well. Gran glances at the clock on the mantle in the parlor before not so suddenly eyeing my casual attire.
I roll my eyes before saying, “Yes, yes, I should probably get changed. I hear you.”
I fake a frown.
Gran trills from the parlor. “Wear something pretty.”
“Alright, you can give it a rest,” I call over my shoulder as I trudge up the stairs.
Alone in my room, though, I begin to pace as the anxiety slowly starts slithering into my chest. Something has shifted for me with Lach, and now nothing in my wardrobe seems suitable for the occasion.
I want to impress him, for him to look at me with the same wanton expression I struggle to hide from him.
I open the window to allow some fresh air into the room before I slump onto the floor; my head rests against the settee’s cushions. I do a round of mindfulness to pull myself together. It really has been the most useful of tricks for dealing with my anxiety.
I need to properly thank Torin for finding an easy solution.
Closing my eyes and opening up my senses, I focus on the rustle of the breeze through the vines below my open window and the distant chattering of the birds.
Taking a deep breath, I inhale the scent of the clematis and wisteria spring blossoms floating in my room.
My pulse begins to slow, and I do another round of breathing and mindfulness before I’m finally calm enough to pick myself up off the floor.
My mind is clear, and my confidence is back in place. I grab the only dress I have, a black tea-length cotton dress with straps that tie into little bows on the shoulders. But right as I’m shutting the bathroom door, the faint whisper of wings can be heard over the sound of the door clicking shut.
With my dress on, hair curled, and face painted lightly with rose blush to match the gloss I applied to my lips, I descend the stairs. Each step is carefully placed as I grow accustomed to the small kitten heels I wear instead of my usual flats.
The doorbell rings, and I loudly call, “I got it!”
But the door swings open before I can grasp the handle, and I’m met by the most staggeringly handsome man.
Lachlan is dressed fashionably in a black sweater with a white collar peeking up from beneath it, charcoal-tailored pants, and black wingtip boots. I take a moment to eye him up and down, appreciating the graceful elegance he’s exuding.
My eyes slowly make their way back up to his face, and I notice the surprise lighting his eyes. His partially parted lips kick up into a breathtaking smile.
“Ye are stunning,” he breathes.
His eyes simmer with something unreadable. I grin while twirling in place so he can get the full effect of the dress. He chuckles, jostling the load I hadn’t even realized was in his arms.
“Thank you!” I beam before reaching out to him. “Here, let me help you with those.”
But he breezes past me. “Nae, I got these,” he responds, heading towards the kitchen.
The bag is unceremoniously dumped onto the kitchen island, and Lachlan begins unloading it. Arugula, olive oil, balsamic glaze, bushels of grapes, a lemon, prosciutto, burrata, and basil leaves are unloaded onto the island.
“Are we having a fancy salad?”
He waves a large loaf of ciabatta bread that he pulls from the paper bag. “We’re having fancy sandwiches.”
His sarcasm causes me to giggle.
“If you can’t cook, we could’ve just ordered something,” I tease.
“Ach, I ken how to cook, but I dinna ken if ye were still a picky eater. Besides, everyone loves sandwiches.”
I roll my eyes. “I haven’t been a picky eater since we were kids!” I huff.
But he crosses his arms. “Ye took the tomatoes off the pasta last time.”
I grumble to myself about nosey busybodies. Gran walks in on Torin’s elbow. Her eyes are brightened by the sage green pantsuit she’s wearing, the gold buttons gleaming from the kitchen lights.
Torin’s tanned skin glows, complemented by his dark green sweater and khaki trousers. They’re both dressed rather nicely and almost match, in a way. Lachlan and I look to have coordinated on purpose with our black ensembles.
Torin brings a bouquet of wildflowers out from behind his back, where he had hidden them, and extends them to me.
“These are for ye.”
The bouquet is a dainty mix of creamy white primrose and rich purple violets. Taking the flowers in both hands, I bring them up to my nose and inhale their delicate fragrance.
“Oh, these are lovely; thank you so much.”
My eyes sting with unshed tears as I track down a vase to place them in.
Memories of my parents flood my mind. My dad would often pick wildflowers, and my mom would weave them into a flower crown for me.
Lachlan breaks through my sadness, though, with a jab at his dad. “Way to upstage me, old man.”
“Dearie, the boys put together a bit of a surprise.” Gran gestures to the two men. “Torin, would you like to show us?”
Gran’s mischievous smile thoroughly strokes my curiosity, and I follow them. When we walk out onto the terrace, my eyes widen.
Oh Gods.
Thousands of twinkly lights are wrapped around the trees near the house and stretched to the roof. The entire terrace is illuminated with thousands of tiny lights, like walking through the stars.
“How?” I ask, spinning around to absorb the display of the magical lights against the darkening sky.
“Apparently, we took our time getting ready, and Lach’s crew managed to throw it together while we were distracted,” she answers, standing beside me.
The back door creaks open, and Lachlan comes swaggering our way, holding four glasses of white wine in his hands.
“This is incredible.” I smile broadly at him as he hands off glasses to Gran and Torin before facing me.
“I ken ye had a hard week, so I wanted it to be special.” He shrugs and hands me a glass of wine, clinking the top of his glass to mine.
“If ye two would ha’ a seat. We’ll be right back with your meal,” he says to Torin and Gran, nodding to the outdoor table and chairs, which have been moved directly under the crisscrossing lights.
“Key, can ye give me a hand?”