We walk our bikes off the ferry, as far from Cluaran as I’ve ever been without either my parents or grandparents. We didn’t often go to the mainland, and I’ve definitely never done it by myself. But there’s a small restaurant called The Bakehouse that sits just on the quay where you can watch the boats come in and out, and that’s our destination.
Lunch on the quay with my best friend. Just the two of us. It’s not like it’s a date… but it feels like one.
We lock up our bikes just outside the old stone exterior and the smell of fresh baked bread wafts around us, mingling with the soft scents of the sea and the flowers spilling out of the baskets that hangon either side of the door. Avi begins bouncing up and down on her toes when we walk inside and see the bakery case. It’s overflowing with croissants, danishes, sticky buns…
It’s a baker’s dream, and I wish I could take a loaf of bread back to Gran and Grandad for us to have with dinner tonight… but that would give away our secret. I should’ve just told them, but they would’ve told the Campbells.
“So, which one will it be?” I ask Avi.
She’s practically salivating over the selection. “The Baklava danish. Definitely. You?” She turns and we’re nearly eye to eye. She grew several inches this year, and while I also grew, I’m only just taller than her at the moment.
“The maple pecan danish… and pizza.”
“Well, duh.” She knocks me with her shoulder and I restrain myself from wrapping my arm around hers again.
After we’ve ordered a pizza to share—they make all their dough in-house—and our danishes, we head for a table outside that overlooks the water. Boats putter about in the harbour and people mill around, enjoying the beautiful weather without a cloud in sight… At least for the moment.
“Don’t you miss this?” she asks, looking past me to Skye in the distance.
“Aye. Parts of it.” I’m only looking at her.
“Which parts?” I feel her gaze like a brand as it lands on me and moves up my torso, finally resting on my face. I definitely don’t need a sweatshirt with the heat I feel from just that look.
“My grandparents mostly… and you.” I swallow. That was probably too much. “I mean, I know I don’t see you during the year anyway, so nothing’s really changed, but it feels different. Doesn’t it?” I ask, wondering if she feels the distance too.
“It does.” She nods. “Do you think we could talk? During the school year? I just mean…” She trails off and bites her lip. Why is it so cute when she does that?
“Aye. I’d like that,” I reply, excited by the prospect of having a way to contact her outside of these six weeks each year.
“Okay, cool. Me too. Like, I know phone calls are expensive, but maybe we could email or something. It doesn’t have to be all the time, but maybe just to talk about school, or friends, or whatever.” She’s rambling and it’s even cuter than when she bites her lip.
“Email would be good, but I don’t want to think about going back yet. I just want to enjoy being here. With you.”
My leg brushes hers under the table. She doesn’t pull it away and I feel that twinge again—wishing I had broken things off with Cat at the end of the school year—because I’d really like to do more than brush my leg against Avi’s, and I know that I can’t.
That beautiful weather we were having… Yeah, that disappears in a puff of grey clouds that move in quick and dark.
We’re only about halfway back to Armadale on the ferry when they open up in a downpour. We can’t even get to the protected interior of the boat before we’re soaked through to the bone. We start out laughing, pushing our way to a couple of seats, drippingwet. But as we sit, cold and huddled together for the remainder of the ride, we grow more and more concerned with the time. We caught the last ferry that would get us home by dinner, but we didn’t account for the rain continuing to pound the exterior.
And it never lets up, so when we disembark on Skye, we know it’s too wet to ride the bikes home—too likely we could lose traction and crash. So, we start walking…
As we approach the inn, I spot Gran standing in the front window watching for us, and I know Avi’s grannie will be waiting for her as well. We’re late. Now we just have to hope neither of them has any reason to question where we’ve been.
“We were at the castle all day,” I say to Avi, watching a drop of water slip down her nose, “and when the rain started, we thought we’d wait it out at the café there. But it didn’t let up, so we decided to walk home in it. Thus the soaking clothes and why we’re late. Okay?” I ask her as we get closer and closer to the farmhouse.
“Okay.” Her teeth clatter together and her perfectly styled curls hang limply, dripping down over my sweatshirt.
“Get a hot shower and warm up, yeah?” I nod toward her house.
“Y-yeah. I’ll come over after dinner if Grannie will let me.”
“Okay.” I want to hug her. I want tokissher. But I don’t think I can even get away with the hug right now, let alone anything more. Not with our grandmothers staring us down from their respective porches.
She rounds the hedge on one side and I go to the other.
“You’ve got some explaining to do, Jameson,” Gran says as I walk up the steps. “You’re absolutely soaked. Get yourself to the cottage to clean up and then meet me in the kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her disappointed scowl zaps all the fun out of today in an instant, and I don’t even bother arguing.
