CHAPTER FIFTEEN ~ ABBY ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO #2
She gives me a wry smile. “You’d be doing me a favour. I can never resist shortbread, even though it goes straight to my arse.”
“I happen to love your arse,” Cam chimes in, winking at his girlfriend as his hand lands on the aforementioned body part.
She smacks his arm, but doesn’t attempt to remove his hand or move away. “I know you do, you cheeky wee bugger.” With another smile in my direction, she offers me the box once more. “Go on, then. We’ll each have one more, and then these two can fight over the last one.”
Cam plucks a cookie from the box and takes a large bite before shoving the rest in Graeme’s mouth. “Problem solved.”
Graeme sputters and laughs. Isobel slaps Cam’s arm again and shoves him to start walking. “What am I going to do with you?”
Amusement dances in Graeme’s eyes as he loops his arm around my waist and we follow his friends. “At this rate, you’ll be feigning sickness or injury before dinner tonight.”
“Never,” I assure him. “They’re great.”
And they are. Running into them was the best thing that could have happened.
Despite Graeme’s reassurances last night, I was nervous about meeting them.
Having it happen this way has taken the pressure off and shown me how welcoming, funny, and playful they are.
I’m still a little worried about receiving the ‘if you hurt our friend, you’ll have to deal with us’ talk from one or both of them at some point, though.
Graeme has told them we’re close friends, but I’ve noticed Cam’s gaze straying to where Graeme’s hand holds mine, and Isobel’s keen eyes haven’t missed the kisses Graeme has been sneaking when their backs are turned.
Graeme slows as we approach a farm stand with fresh produce.
“Look at those tomatoes,” he says, practically salivating over the selection of tomatoes of every shape, size, and colour.
“I’m thinking a tomato salad of some sort should be on tonight’s menu.
” He scans the rest of the stall, his eyes lighting up when they land on a sea of berries a few feet away.
“And cranachan for dessert? Unless you’re tired of raspberries? ”
“Never,” I repeat. Before coming to Scotland, I liked raspberries well enough, but could ultimately take them or leave them.
I swear Scottish raspberries are juicier and the flavour is more intense.
Graeme finds it so amusing—or ‘endearing’ as he claimed—he’s started keeping fresh raspberries for me at the flat, and has bought nearly everything raspberry-flavoured we’ve come across, including jam, snow cakes, and Empire biscuits, among other things.
He swoops in and plants a kiss on my cheek. I tilt my face up, admiring the way the sun glints off his hair and makes his beautiful eyes even bluer. The way he looks at me, with love shining in his eyes, is as addictive as Scottish raspberries.
Graeme goes back to perusing the produce, murmuring to himself about the menu for tonight.
The others join us after a few minutes, and Isobel asks if I’d like to keep exploring with her.
She links her arm through mine as we begin to walk, and I smile to myself because it’s something Drew always does.
“I have a very important question for you," she says.
I brace myself. Is this where she warns me about being careful with her friend’s heart?
Or am I being paranoid? I suspect my wariness stems partly from a guilty conscience.
Graeme and I already know how this will end and that we’re both going to be hurt when I leave.
We’ve agreed this time together is worth it, but I wouldn’t expect anyone else to understand.
And as temporary as the situation is, I’m also feeling guilty for keeping this secret from Drew.
The thing is, I know her better than anyone, which means I’m certain she’d push for Graeme and me to be together.
She’d tell me I should move here or Graeme and I should do long distance.
She’d remind me the MacKinlays are ‘big rich’, as we discovered on our first day here, and Graeme could fly to Canada any time he wanted.
It’s not that simple, though. Graeme and I briefly discussed the merits of a long-distance relationship, and decided it wouldn’t work.
We’re both in a liminal space right now, and once I leave, we’re going to be busy starting completely new lives.
We already knew maintaining a long-distance friendship would be hard enough, but add in a brand-new romantic element we’ve barely had time to explore, and it seems too complicated.
Isobel squeezes my arm, drawing me back to the present.
“How would you feel about ditching the lads and hanging out with me for the day? Graeme mentioned you love a kirkyard, and St. Cuthbert’s isn’t far.
Fancy having a wee wander and then getting some lunch and going from there?
We can let the lads do the shopping and cooking, and arrive in time for dinner. What do you say?”
I think I love her already. “That sounds perfect. Will you tell me stories about the three of you growing up on Skye?”
“Will I?” She lets out a hoot of laughter that makes me giggle. “Just try to stop me! You can fill me in on your adventures in Canada with Graeme, and I’ll tell you about the misadventures of our childhood, how’s that?”
We continue through the market, stopping wherever samples are available, and chatting with stallholders and fellow marketgoers. When Isobel sees me eyeing a raspberry and honey whisky candle, she insists on buying it for me, despite my protests.
“To commemorate your time here, and the beginning of our friendship,” she says, handing it to the owner to wrap and put in a small paper bag. “I doubt you’ll need many reminders, but you can think of bonnie Scotland and a certain hot Scot whenever you light it.”
My cheeks heat, which makes Isobel’s smile grow.
The guys find us a few minutes later, and we tell them our plan for the day.
Graeme offers to take the bag with my candle, his face lighting with pleasure when I tell him it was a gift from Isobel.
He gives me a peck on the lips, which leaves me stunned for a moment since it’s something he’d never do in front of our group of friends.
“Have fun, love,” he says. “Don’t believe anything Isobel says.”
“Believe everything she says, and then I’ll verify it all tonight,” Cam says. “With a few tales of my own for good measure, of course.”
As Isobel and I walk away, still arm in arm, I glance over my shoulder to see Graeme watching us with a fond smile that makes my heart flip.
It’s so easy to imagine this as my life: Saturday mornings with Graeme at the market; hanging out with friends; day trips around Scotland; wandering around Edinburgh and stealing kisses wherever we go.
Then evenings spent in a pub, lingering over drinks and live music, before returning home to be alone and do all the things couples do.
I can picture it so clearly—cooking dinner together, snuggling on the couch, exploring each other’s bodies, falling asleep side by side.
I tell myself to stop thinking about it, but the images continue to flash in my mind’s eye, as clear as day.
As Isobel and I enter St. Cuthbert’s Kirkyard a few minutes later and walk among the graves, I realize it’s impossible to bury my feelings for Graeme.
And, honestly? If I’m already in for a world of hurt when I leave Scotland, what’s a little more heartache if it means living in such a beautiful fantasy?