Chapter 34
Lesson 33: Exciting new opportunities should be grabbed with both hands.
Bridget Jones Tally:
knowing looks—1,000
PDA—yes
silk robes—1
We staggered our entrance back, as if that would fool anyone. I went to the ladies’ room and did my best to make myself look
less as if I had just narrowly survived an encounter with a randy stag. I also did my best to wipe the dopey puppy-love look
off my face, to no avail. I looked in the mirror and gave myself a stern talking to.
AAAHHHH!!! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!
It didn’t help.
Walking back into the room, I saw that the band was taking a break. Several of the ladies turned their heads when I reappeared—each one, it seemed, with a knowing smile. I had tried to stop myself from looking at Robbie as soon as I entered the room. When my eyes finally made their way to his direction, I found him talking to his mom and Helena. But his eyes were glued to me. It was written all over his face, from his hair (messier even than usual tornado standard) to his slightly askew sporran and his sloppy grin and the love-lost twinkle in his big blue eyes. To anyone who was looking, it was clear to see.
I wandered nonchalantly to the Scottish Book Trust table for sign-ups and donations, deciding that it was probably the safest
place from prying questions. A little crowd had gathered at the table, including a very animated Flossie, empty champagne
flute in hand. She was leaning over the table in conversation with the volunteers, explaining how to do magic tricks. Adorable.
I sidled over and put my hand on Flossie’s arm to say hello without breaking her conversation. Next to her, an older man in
a kilt moved over to make room for me.
“Good evening,” he said. “It would seem we have a mutual friend.”
“It certainly would. I’m Alice—nice to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you, Alice. I’m Sidney. An old friend of Flossie’s. Are ya havin’ a nice night?”
“Oh, I’m having a spectacular night.” He had no idea.
“Is it your first ceilidh then? Or are you an old pro?”
“It’s my first. I’m surprised I haven’t stepped on your toes yet!”
“Ha! I take it you’re visiting from America?”
“I am. Washington, DC. What about yourself?”
Flossie’s voice rose. “Now, I’ve found that when you’re wearing almost nothing, the crowd hardly notices the rabbit.” I grinned.
Agatha was soundly asleep in a chair on the other side of the room. I was happy to see Flossie holding court and enjoying
herself.
The man leaned in. “I’m from up north. I’ve moved around, but I stay in Bonar Bridge now.”
A laugh burst out of me. I tried to cover it up with a cough. “Where?”
“And the saw is real. One-hundred-percent. But a good magician is always careful with a nice set of legs,” said Flossie.
“Bonar Bridge,” he answered. “Northeast.”
“ Boner Bridge?”
“Aye, that’s right.”
No. Surely it can’t be. I swayed a little and tried very hard to school my face into seriousness.
“Boner Bridge? Must be...” A very small river , I started to say. Thankfully, I stopped myself just in time. “...beautiful. It must be beautiful.” Either that or Flossie was right about the dachshunds and Dobermans! I started to laugh again, losing the battle. With any luck I’ll be finding out later tonight.
“Sid!” said a woman newly arrived on the other side of the table. “Would you look at this turnout?”
“I almost couldn’t believe it. Well done, you. Almost double what we had last year.”
“Well, we certainly couldn’t have done it without your help! Oh, just a second, Sid. I’ve got to grab Hector before he heads
home.”
Flossie had barely noticed I was there. She was having a grand time. I took the moment to extricate myself. “Well, it’s so
nice to meet you. I’m afraid I promised someone a dance.”
“Lucky someone,” the man said, and gave a gentlemanly little bow.
The tune changed, and I saw Robbie making his way over to me with determination. I rushed toward him laughing. I hid my face
in his shoulder as he pulled me in close and moved us toward the dance floor. We danced most of the other dances together,
spinning around each other like courting butterflies on a summer breeze, indiscreet now about what had probably been clear
to everyone else for some time.
The band asked Robbie to come up and sing and play a few more tunes. This time he sang “Ae Fond Kiss.” I danced with Berrta
and Madge and Flossie, who kept up remarkably well with the steps, oftentimes better than I did! It was curious how sometimes
Flossie seemed more present than the rest of us put together.
As the evening wound down, Robbie and I couldn’t help but send more and more frequent glances in each other’s direction—questioning and expectant. The way you do when your friend has half a slice of cake on her plate and appears to be full. My stomach flipped each time he caught my eye. After all this time of wanting something that we thought we couldn’t have, we finally understood each other, and we knew that the only thing left between us now was time. How much time was the question.
The ceilidh whipped itself into a climatic whirlwind finish with the Orcadian Strip the Willow. The entire party stood in
two long lines facing one another. The couple at the top would spin together, advancing down the entire line, stopping at
each new couple to take a quick spin with them before going back to their partner to spin down to the next couple. What this
meant was a hell of a lot of spinning.
The band started fast and then sped onward, relentlessly faster and faster, issuing a challenge, daring us to keep up.
It was sheer insanity. The burly men in the line did their best to lift their partners and spin them fast enough to get their
feet off of the ground, which was equal parts terrifying, exhilarating, and sexy as hell. Most of the time I couldn’t even
see straight enough to find the person who was spinning me next, but they didn’t wait to come grab me by the elbow and spin
me before passing me back to Robbie to be spun again, who rather than spinning me at an elbow’s distance would grab me close
around the waist, lifting my feet off the floor, while making me feel secure and tightly held. He had deliciously strong arms
and a firm grip, which I was very grateful for, because I was dizzier than a wino on a Tilt-A-Whirl.
I was exhausted and elated. I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun. Everyone clapped and yelled and whistled, and we did the same, panting from exertion, our heads still whirling. Robbie turned to me with a wild grin on his face and planted a celebratory peck full on my mouth for God and everyone to see. It was a surprise, and I didn’t know if it was the danger of being caught by the others or the thrill of not caring, but the electricity it generated curled my toes.
A little bit sweaty, messily attired, and hair suitably tussled, our group found one another afterward, laughed and yelled,
and clinked glasses. Some of the women, like Doris, had sat out the faster dances and looked as if they were exhausted just
from watching us. Some, I noticed, were still carrying on conversations with a few of the dapper older gentlemen who were
circling around. After all, what is a ceilidh if not a place to flirt and meet people?
I helped Doris up from her chair. “Well! Percy and I are going up to our princess bedroom to get some kip. We’ll need to sleep
for a year after this!”
Helena grinned. “Be careful. You may need a kiss from a prince to wake you up.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Hmph. Only a frog would kiss that face,” said Agatha. Doris hooted and clapped her on the back, much to Agatha’s chagrin.
There were hugs all around, including a long, warm hug from Isla, who asked me to come back to Edinburgh soon so she could
take me to lunch in the gallery gardens.
They all peeled off to their respective bedrooms, laughing and singing and recounting incidents from the evening. Robbie and
I began to make our way back, walking like our shoes were soled with honey.
“So,” he said.
“So,” I said.
He grabbed my hand as we strolled slowly, lacing his fingers with mine. This was a particularly intimate gesture for me, one
I reserved for long-term relationships, but from him somehow it felt as if we’d been holding hands for years. Its warm comfort
unfurled in my center and stroked gently at the fire in my belly.
“So,” he said again.
When can we make out again? I asked myself. How about now?
“Can I walk you to your door?” It was a gentlemanly offer, one that I hoped would lead to more making out. Can I ask him to carry me to bed instead?
“Of course, but I don’t have any money for a tip. Would you accept a buttock grope or an abdominal fondle in lieu?”
“Mmm... that all depends. Would I be on the giving or receiving end of this transaction?”
“Oh, I’d be open to negotiations. For instance: two grabs for a fondle, or one pinch for three nuzzles, or a tweak for a grope.”
“Interesting. I believe your currency conversion may be off. You see, here, one good winching would be the equivalent of—”
We were at my door, and I cut him off by pulling him against me and kissing him like the world was about to end. Everything
else floated away from me, and my mind went quiet, meditating devoutly on the shifting points of contact between Robbie’s
body and mine. His tongue, his teeth, his breath, his hands, his hips, his arms, his thighs. My body was ringing with the
intensity of it. So sweet and intoxicating. A longing almost to the point of pain.
He slowed and pulled away slightly, giving enough distance so that he could talk. I opened my eyes, and when he finally opened
his as well, they were dark and hazy. He spoke so closely that his lips moved against mine when he finally said, “I think
I should probably let you get some sleep.”
I was in shock. Sleep?! Aphrodite after a few margaritas would be more interested in sleep than I am right now!
I stayed silent for a moment to give myself some time to think. I didn’t want to be pushy. Maybe he wanted to wait. Maybe
he was tired. Maybe he was worried that we’d had too much to drink. Although every inch of his body was telling me he was
ready to take me to bed immediately before he lost his patience and decided the hallway was an acceptable alternative.
“Alright,” I heard myself say sweetly from a long way off. You idiot!
“I’m just... I’m just down the hall if you need me for anything.”
He kissed me again, tenderly, sweetly, but reining in the passion. I wanted to cling to him. I wanted to wrap my legs around
him. I wanted to consume him body and soul.
But I didn’t. I kissed him back, and then I let him glide away, the heavy wool kilt swaying down the hall to his bedroom.
I opened my door with a shaky hand, and the decadent luxury of the interior failed to even take my notice. I paced. Then I
brushed my teeth while I paced. I took my dress and stockings off and paced some more. My mind was in a hazy blur trying to
grasp at a strategy for getting him back. I pinned my hair up into a messy bun and hopped into the shower. I stood for a few
long minutes under the hot cascade, steam swirling around me and fogging up the room.
Then I shut the water off with a decisive swipe. Before I could stop to think, before I could question myself, I got out and
looked for something to wear, grabbing a satin robe in a soft ashy rose shade, glenapp castle embroidered on the breast. It could have been a paper bag or a giant piece of aluminum foil for all I cared. I covered my
body with it and tied the knot around my waist as I raced from the room, leaving the door open behind me: barefoot, wet, and
with single-minded intent written in every line of my body.