EPILOGUE ~ ABBY ~ TWO MONTHS LATER
“Your downward-facing dog is really improving,” Fern says, toasting me with her green smoothie.
“You mean now that I can hold up my own body weight without my arms shaking violently?” I ask with a dry laugh.
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Progress is progress, right? I’m proud of you.”
As of the end of May, Fern is officially an Edinburgh resident and a paid yoga instructor.
She went back to Kingston with Drew and Brodie at the end of April, where she applied for a two-year UK visa and packed up her life.
Eager to help Ailsa get her yoga studio set up, she returned to Scotland a few weeks later, and worked behind the scenes while she waited for her visa to be approved.
“The first time I attempted downward-facing dog, I literally fell on my face,” Nancy says. “I thought yoga would be an easy way for me to get a bit more toned before my wedding, but I almost quit after the first day. Now I’m glad I didn’t, and you will be too, Abby.”
After meeting Nancy on her wedding day in April, I sent her our selfie on BeSocial, as requested.
She was thrilled to learn I was staying in Edinburgh with my hot Scot, and we became fast friends.
We meet regularly for coffee or cocktails, and we have a standing date to attend one of Fern’s Saturday morning yoga classes, followed by smoothies and a walk.
All that’s missing is Drew, but she and Brodie sold their house in mid-June, and will be arriving in Edinburgh tomorrow.
Nancy makes a sound of disgust as we navigate around a group of clueless tourists with their phones in front of their faces as they take videos.
Graeme has joked more than once that I’m on my way to being an official local because of my irritation toward tourists who walk slowly and have a habit of stopping in the middle of sidewalks to take pictures.
Every time it happens, I remind myself I was that tourist not so long ago.
It makes me extra aware of my surroundings whenever I stop to take photos, which still happens on a daily basis because I am obsessed with this city.
Fern, Nancy, and I part ways when we reach North Bridge.
I join the flow of foot traffic, letting it carry me along at a brisk pace.
There’s already been a huge influx of tourists during my time here, but I’m used to the bustle of a big city after living in Toronto for so long.
The funny thing is, while the hordes of people in Toronto were something I generally disliked about city life, and it often made me shrink into myself, it doesn’t bother me here in Edinburgh.
Graeme’s theory is that I was living in the wrong city, and now I’m where I belong.
He also pointed out the vast difference between a city like Toronto—a noisy, polluted concrete jungle full of skyscrapers—versus a city like Edinburgh, which looks and feels like something out of a storybook.
He predicts my rose-coloured glasses will come off somewhat next month when the population swells to its yearly high during The Fringe and the Military Tattoo.
He’s already promised we’ll escape to the MacKinlays’ house on the Isle of Skye for part of the month, which I’m looking forward to.
Even though I’ve visited the Highlands multiple times, my love affair with Edinburgh has extended to the rest of the country as well.
I let myself into MacKinlay Tower and start up the stairs.
After two months of climbing these steps and the hills of Edinburgh on a daily basis—plus regular hikes with Graeme—my thighs and butt are more toned than I ever imagined possible.
Graeme has developed a particular fondness for the sight of me in short skirts and has encouraged me to walk around the flat in nothing but my underwear.
I’m happy to oblige, especially when he joins me.
Morna is leaving her flat when I reach the second-floor landing. Her face brightens when she sees me, and she gives me a one-armed hug so she doesn’t crush the flowers I’m holding. “Hello, a nighean. Did you buy yourself flowers?”
“They’re for Drew and Brodie, actually,” I tell her. “Graeme and I have been collecting things for a little welcome basket of sorts, and I thought fresh flowers would be a nice touch.”
“A wonderful idea. I’m off to collect the messages, but I’ll see you and Graeme tonight for dinner.” She kisses my cheek and heads down the stairs.
I watch her go, smiling to myself. The first time she used that phrase with me, I asked if they didn’t get their mail delivered to MacKinlay Tower.
She explained ‘collecting the messages’ means running errands or going grocery shopping, and dates back to the days when ‘message boys’ delivered goods from the shops.
Graeme finds it amusing that I’m charmed by these things. He also proved how well he knows me when he gifted me with a beautiful notebook for me to keep a running list of Scottish sayings and slang, along with Scots and Gaelic words and phrases.
On the next landing, I let myself into Drew and Brodie’s flat to make sure everything is in order for their arrival tomorrow.
Over the last few days, I’ve put clean sheets on their bed and filled the fridge and pantry with essentials.
In a strange way, this place feels like it’s mine, even though I never ended up staying here like Drew suggested.
When I decided to stay in Edinburgh rather than return to Kingston with the others, Graeme assured me he was fine with wherever I decided to stay.
I told him after spending so many years apart, I didn’t want to waste another second, and so with his enthusiastic approval, I moved my meagre possessions from the spare bedroom into his room that night, and now it’s ours.
I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Drew and Brodie’s flat, though.
The MacKinlays rented it out fully furnished since getting furniture up and down the curved stone stairwell is a nightmare, but Drew tasked me with decorating the place and making it feel homey.
When they put their house up for sale, they sold and donated a lot of their things rather than attempting to move all their earthly possessions across the ocean.
Decorating their flat has been good practice for me in thinking about my own tastes and preferences.
For weeks, Graeme kept reminding me Scotland was my home now, and the flat was our home, which meant I should add any personal touches I wanted.
While selecting cushions for Drew and Brodie’s couch, I picked out some for ours too.
I’ve also bought a few cute knick-knacks, some dishware, and a few paintings, all created by locals and sold in small, independent shops.
After one last walk through Drew and Brodie’s place, I lock up and continue to the top floor, eager to see Graeme. When I enter the flat, I’m greeted by the scents of freshly brewed coffee and the raspberry candle I bought the other day.
“Perfect timing,” Graeme says, popping out of the kitchen as I round the corner into the main hallway. “The Dundee cake has been out of the oven for about twenty minutes, so it’ll be cool enough to eat.”
I discovered Dundee cake—a traditional Scottish fruit cake topped with whole blanched almonds—in a small café while on a recent road trip to Inverness, and Graeme promised to make one for me.
He steps further into the hall, and I snicker as my gaze drops to his apron, which is covered in cartoon Highland cows. I bought it one day as a joke, but Graeme wears it with pride whenever he’s baking.
“Hiya,” he says, cupping my face in his warm hands. He lowers his mouth to mine, and I make a little hum of surprise when our tongues touch.
“You taste like whisky,” I say.
He chuckles against my lips and kisses me again. “Granny’s recipe calls for whisky-soaked raisins, with more whisky brushed on top to tie the flavours together. I may have had a little taste—y’know, for quality control.”
“Right, of course,” I say with a laugh.
I follow him into the kitchen and sit at the table, pushing my laptop out of the way.
The tiny table isn’t the ideal place to work, and I don’t do it often, but I answered a few time-sensitive emails last night while Graeme made dinner.
I can’t officially get a job yet without a visa, but I’ve found a work-around of sorts by doing freelance editing for Samantha and a couple of her author friends who were looking for an editor.
I’ve been enjoying the work and the freedom of time it allows, and I think I could build a sustainable freelancing business.
I’ve also been researching Scottish publishing houses, especially the ones that focus on stories told by Scottish writers.
I love the idea of working with and championing local talent in a country that’s made me feel so welcome.
I’m not entirely sure what my next steps are work-wise, but I know I’ve missed the feeling of believing my work matters, and I want that to be a priority.
“What do you want to do after we visit the market?” Graeme asks, setting two plates of cake on the table and sitting across from me.
I ponder Graeme’s question as I dig into my cake, doing a little happy dance as the flavours burst on my tongue.
We usually head to the Edinburgh Farmers Market first thing every Saturday, but Graeme convinced me to stay in bed this morning.
It didn’t actually take much convincing once he started kissing my neck.
The things that man can do with his mouth and fingers made it worth almost being late to yoga class.