“I do.”
“Doesanyoneactually love this song?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the side, his pale blue eyes locked in on me. “Everyone does. Same with Mariah’s ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You.’ If they weren’t bangers, people would stop playing them.”
“Fair point.”
He’s settled in his seat, doesn’t look like he’s planning to leave. I take this as a win. He gestures to the waitress and she brings him another drink. “You’re from the States,” he says.
“Yeah, California.”
“Are you prepared for these Highlands? You might get a wee bit of snow here.”
“Bring it on. I’m so tired of my beautiful, sunny, warm weather. I can’t wait to freeze like an ice cube under sixteen layers of thermal underwear.”
William Wallace shoots me a side-eye.
Something tells me I can be honest with him; I don’t have to guard myself entirely. He’s a total stranger, so the things weighing on me, the things I’m too nervous to share with the people closest to me, can have a break from being so tightly guarded. He has one of those trustworthy faces, like a golden retriever. The kind that inherently makes you tilt a little to theside and want to give them what they ask for. He might be movie-star handsome, but he hasn’t come on to me at all. I’ve had to do all the work.
Besides, after tonight, I’ll never see him again. “I really am glad to be here, despite the cold. I’m still in grad school and it’s been…challenging. There’s a teacher who doesn’t like me, and if it wasn’t for the years I’ve already invested, I would leave.”
William Wallace’s face turns stony. He swallows, his throat bobbing, and reaches for his drink. “That’s tough.”
“It’s so hard. I want to be out in the workforce already, but I can’t. At the same time, I’ve been in school for five years, and I’m over it. I don’t know if I can handle another five. The idea gives me hives. Add five years of dealing with this woman and I just…” I look up at his wide eyes and an awkward laugh breaks through my lips. “You don’t want to hear about this. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that,” he hurries to say, pivoting slightly on the seat so his knee presses into my leg. “I’ve never been very good at comforting others.”
My gaze falls to his lips. His mustache isn’t overgrown at all. In fact, it’s perfectly trimmed, like the rest of his beard. I can think of a way he could offer comfort. I shrug, pushing my mostly finished plate away to indicate how ready I am to leave, in case he wants to offer to walk me home or something. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no solution anyway. I just have to suck it up and see it through.”
“See through five years of it?”
“Four and a half, if we want to be precise. I was exaggerating by a few quarters of school.”
His voice is deadly even. “Oh, good. That’s much better.”
A laugh spills out of my mouth, bubbling up from my chest, and he matches it. His smile reaches his eyes, knocking me in the chest. He stands, stretching his back, the full height and breadth of his shoulders very much what I imagine a Viking would’ve looked like. A strong, burly Highlander in a thick long-sleeved shirt and jeans is just as attractive. I think my earlier musings were correct. This man must be cut straight from the cloth of the ancient Scottish kings and warriors.
“Shall we?” he asks, nodding toward the door.
Play it cool, Callie.“Sure.”
We gather our coats and layer up. The cozy heat of the pub follows us outside momentarily before dissipating, the cold chasing out any wisps of warmth.
We walk a few steps toward my hotel. I tuck my shoulder-length hair behind my ear. “So, where can I find this amazing shortbread?”
“Homemade is best,” he says. “Get your hands on some of that while you’re here.”
“I’ll do my best. My family has some Christmas baking traditions. Maybe our Scottish hosts will humor us with shortbread, too.”
He glances at me. I can tell he wants me to stop walking, so I do. Does he want to ask where I’m staying? Get my number? It’s a shame I’ll be an hour away from here, or we could have planned to meet up again.
When I face him, I’m in his space a little, but I don’t step back. He smells like sandalwood or cedar, something woodsy and earthy. It’s clean and grounding. Craning my neck back, I look into his eyes, sending the message that I want to be thoroughly, Scottishly kissed.
William Wallace—I still don’t know his real name—watches me with uncertainty, so I make it clear. I put my hand against his firm chest and lean against him, the steady rhythm of his heart thudding beneath my palm. Tilting my head up to look in his eyes, my neck bends back. He’s tall, so I start up on tiptoe, my hand sliding up as I go?—
“Och, woah, uh…” William Wallace leans back, a stricken look taking over his brow.
I start to fall forward, but he catches me, holding my arms until he’s certain I’m not going to faceplant on the pavement.
