CHAPTER SIXTEEN ~ ABBY ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
Graeme told me the other day that he’d always thought of me as a ‘sunshine girl’.
I agree with his assessment now more than ever as I sit on a sun-warmed rock, eyes closed, and face tilted toward the sky.
There’s something extra special about Scottish sunshine, maybe because it’s been so rare and fleeting during my time here.
Today has been a perfect day, both in terms of weather and activities.
Over coffee and porridge early this morning, Graeme asked if I was up for a road trip.
My response was, “That’s clearly a trick question because you know I’m always up for a road trip, but especially in Scotland.
” He didn’t tell me the plan for the day, just that I should wear comfortable clothes and my hiking boots since the ground could be wet and muddy where we were going.
I soon learned the reason Graeme didn’t tell me the plan was because he didn’t have one.
He simply wanted to show me more of the Highlands, with plenty of stops for pictures, exploring, and snacks along the way.
We visited cute villages and towns; went for a long walk on one of the trails along Loch Lomond; and stopped at Kilchurn Castle so I could see the ruins on the shore of Loch Awe, since I’d been pointing it out in pictures and postcards for weeks.
It’s late afternoon now, and we’re at Loch Lubnaig after a visit to Callander, where my grandma was born.
We visited the small town briefly with the others during our first week in Scotland, but Graeme thought I might like to explore a bit more.
I couldn’t remember any specific stories Grandma told about her favourite places in town, but it was nice to think I was walking in her footsteps all these decades later.
We ended our visit with a stop at a bakery, and then Graeme suggested driving a bit further to sit by Loch Lubnaig and have a mini picnic with a view.
“You remind me of a sunflower,” he says now. “Face turned toward the sun, soaking it in.”
With a contented sigh, I open my eyes. My face hurts from smiling, my feet ache from all the walking, and my belly is full of delicious food.
I glance at Graeme, and my smile grows. He’s so beautiful it nearly takes my breath away.
The sun illuminates the dark auburn highlights in his hair and the stubble that’s sprouted on his jaw over the last couple of days.
His eyes are soft, and his full lips are curved in an affectionate smile that melts my heart.
When he looks at me that way, I wonder how I missed his feelings for me all these years.
I’d never had guy friends before he and Brodie came along, so it was a strange adjustment to suddenly have two close male friends...
especially considering I was attracted to Graeme from the beginning.
I felt a sort of brotherly love for Brodie, but it was always different with Graeme.
He was the one I’d sit up late talking to for hours.
He was the one I hung out with separate from The Crew.
He was the one who was affectionate and did small things for me that made me feel cared for.
From the start, there was something deeper between us, something unnameable.
Or at least it was unnameable until Fern introduced us to the concept of platonic soulmates.
“You and Drew are definitely platonic soulmates,” she’d said in that calm, confident way she had when she was certain about something.
Then she tilted her head and twisted her mouth to the side, nodding to herself.
“You and Graeme too, I think. What you have with them goes deeper than friendship or family. It’s a rare kind of love. ”
I’d blushed at that for some reason. The thought of Graeme as my soulmate, even a platonic one, pleased me more than I cared to admit.
I had no intention of telling him about Fern’s theory, but when she casually mentioned it at dinner one night, his eyes had brightened as they landed on mine, and the smile he gave me warmed me from the inside out.
And now our relationship has shifted from platonic love to romantic love. Was it always simmering away beneath the surface? Hidden, waiting to be excavated?
“Comparing you to a sunflower seems fitting, given your love of the colour yellow since you arrived in Scotland,” Graeme says.
“Daffodils and gorse and rapeseed, oh my,” I say, and he laughs.
“Aye. I never gave any of them particular notice before, but I’ll think of you every time I see them from now on.”
I feel a strange urge to apologize. I expect there’ll be a thousand little things that will remind us of each other going forward. There would have been anyway, considering we’ve been close friends for years, but the thought has a bittersweet tinge to it now, and likely will for a while.
“Well.” Graeme brushes crumbs off his hands and gets to his feet, stretching languorously.
I watch the shift and pull of the muscles in his arms and torso, letting my gaze dip down to the strip of exposed skin between his shirt and jeans.
The sight of his firm skin and the trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband has me tempted to jump in the loch to cool off.
As if reading my mind, Graeme says, “Ready for a dip?” At my scoff, he simply raises an expectant eyebrow.
I scoff again, and it turns into a disbelieving laugh. “You’re not serious. The water must be freezing. And is it even safe? You can’t just swim in a random lake, can you?”
“Loch,” he corrects, and my lips twitch despite myself. “And aye, it’s called wild swimming, and it’s a popular pastime in Scotland.”
“But I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“You’re wearing a bra and knickers, aren’t you?
” His eyebrows waggle as his gaze sweeps over me, eyes narrowing as if he can see through my clothes.
When all I do is nod, he says, “That’s hardly any different from a swimsuit, is it?
Hell, jump in fully-dressed if you like.
My parents keep spare clothes and towels in the car. ”
I give him my best skeptical side-eye.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says with a laugh. “They’re big wild swimmers.”
“Your parents? Morna and James MacKinlay?”
“Aye, they love it. They’ll take any excuse to strip off their kit and jump in a loch. Mum’s even been known to skinny dip when we’re back in Skye visiting family. Thankfully, tales of that have reached me second-hand rather than me seeing it for myself.”
Laughter rolls out of me. “Your mom is an icon. I want to be her when I grow up.”
“No time like the present to channel your inner Morna MacKinlay.” He steps closer to me and holds out a hand. “Come on, Pumpkin Spice. Live a little.”
The challenge in his tone has me gripping his hand and pulling myself to my feet. He lets out a triumphant hoot and gives me a smacking kiss on the lips. I shove him away playfully, and he uses the momentum to turn and jog toward the parking lot, calling over his shoulder that he’ll be right back.
While I wait, I peel off my sweater and kick off my boots, leaving me in a tank top, jeans, and socks. I gravitate toward the water’s edge, mesmerized once more by the sight of the ancient mountains and evergreen trees in the near distance, and the way the sunlight shimmers on the dark water.
The sound of shifting rocks behind me signals Graeme’s return. “You look like you belong here,” he says quietly, coming to a stop beside me.
I’m unable to give voice to the thought looping through my mind on repeat: I feel like I belong here.
He sets the towels down, and I watch as he grips the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion.
I’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times over the years, although this is the first time since we became more than friends.
The sight of his broad, hair-dusted chest has me biting my lip to keep from salivating.
He catches my eye and gives me a knowing look that makes my skin heat.
“Your turn,” he says, his voice low and laced with suggestion.
I grip the hem of my tank top, prepared to pull it off, but my confidence fizzles and dies under his hungry gaze. “Don’t watch me.”
With a soft chuckle, he turns around and continues undressing. I remove the rest of my clothes, shivering slightly despite the warm air.
“Okay,” I say. My skin heats again as Graeme takes me in.
My plain white bra is nothing special, but his eyes linger there anyway before dipping lower.
When he first suggested swimming, I instantly regretted my choice of underwear for the day.
The amused light in his eyes, paired with his pleased chuckle, has me rethinking that.
“Well, aren’t you a sight?” He’s still smiling, but his quiet tone is almost reverent. “I approve of your choice of knickers, although they’d be even better in the MacKinlay tartan.”
“This was the best I could do, unfortunately,” I say, motioning to the blue-and-white plaid. Drew and I bought matching pairs as a joke during our first week here, and I was pleased to discover they’re surprisingly well-made and comfortable.
“I suppose the colours of the Scottish flag are the next best thing,” Graeme says. He hands me a pair of water shoes, which I take gratefully. I was imagining slip-sliding or hurting my bare feet on the small, loose rocks that make up the shore.
“Now, the water will be cold, and it’ll be a shock to your system at first. Let your body adjust, and tell me if it’s too much. We’ll only stay in for a few minutes this time, and we can work our way up to more another time.”
His smile dims slightly, as if he just realized what he said. He’s made a few off-hand comments about things we’ll do together in the future—we both have—and it hits harder as our time together grows shorter.
At the edge of the loch, I bounce on my toes and shake out my arms, trying to psych myself up while dispelling some of the nervous energy coursing through me. “I think I hate you for this,” I tell him.