“The woman we’re going to see…a word of advice?” he hedges.
“Shoot.”
“Don’t stare. Patty says she doesn’t mind, but I think it gets to her.”
I wait, but he doesn’t continue. “You can’t say that and not explain.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you can put into words,” he says vaguely, pulling into another long driveway not too far down the road. It ends by a small white house tucked into the trees.
A small woman hobbles through the front door using a cane, her back bent nearly in half as she cranes her neck up to look at Gavin. How is that difficult to describe?
“Och, but I canna get it to flush! I’m having the worst time of it.” Her eyes fall on me and her face lights up. “You must be the American.”
“Hello,” I say, careful to look her directly in the eye. “I’m Callie.”
“Come in.” She waves me forward. “Have a spot of tea. Gavin knows what to do.”
She’s right. He shuts the trunk and carries a bag of tools into the house.
“Just call me Patty, hen,” the woman says, hobbling into the kitchen with the use of her cane. A hot pot of tea is already prepared with three cups and a plate of what looks to be cookies. “Sit with me while Gavin takes care of the issue.”
I follow her to the table. “I would love that.”
She pours tea for us as Gavin tinkers in the bathroom. “Shortbread?”
“Is it homemade? Someone recently told me I need to try homemade shortbread while I’m in the country.”
Patty’s gaze shoots toward the open bathroom door, pink bleeding into her pale cheeks. “That rascal. It’s nothing special.”
I bite into a rectangular, buttery cookie, and it melts on my tongue. I have to agree with Gavin. “This is amazing.”
Her blush deepens. “You Americans say that about everything.”
“Not true. We dumped a lot of your tea in the ocean once. I doubt anyone thought that was amazing.”
She snickers. “Wrong country, but I’ll forgive you. How long are you here for?”
“Three weeks.”
“Och, our Gavin is a lucky man,” she sing-songs.
I cough, shortbread lodging in my throat.
“What do you plan to do while you’re here?” she asks, either pretending or oblivious to my reaction.
“Actually, I have a bucket list, but I’m waiting for my sister to get here so we can do most of it together.”
She nods. “Family traditions.”
Should I correct her? Luna is helping distract me more thananything else. Keep my mind off the overwhelming anxiety that creeps up every time I think about returning to my life in California. Not that Luna knows this, of course.
No, I’ll let Patty think what she wants.
Gavin joins us in the kitchen, setting his bag on the floor. He washes his hands in the sink. “All taken care of. I presume some of that shortbread is for me?”
“You’ve been telling stories about it, I hear.”
“They aren’t stories when they’re the truth.” He takes the seat beside me, bringing the prepared cup to his lips and sipping the hot tea. “This is Callie’s first visit to Scotland. It wouldn’t be proper to let her enter our lands and not eat the best shortbread we have to offer.”
