I surprise myself with the honesty in my voice.
“Callum was… steady. Solid. He never doubted me. Never questioned my side of the story. He offered support without expecting anything in return.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I feel him looking at me.
“And the way he talks about his family,” I continue, glancing around the table, “about the Highlands… there’s so much love there. Even when he pretends to be annoyed.”
A soft laugh escapes me.
“I realized I wanted to be part of that world. His world. I know it sounds fast. Maybe even a little crazy. But sometimes… you just know.”
Silence follows—but this time, it’s different.
Maggie studies me with something close to approval. Even Isobel seems momentarily thrown.
Jamison arrives with the main course, breaking the moment. Plates of something… brown are set in front of us.
I stare at it, trying to identify what I’m looking at.
“Haggis, Jane!” Lachlan says cheerfully. “Do you know what it’s made of?”
“Lachlan,” Callum warns.
“What? She should know what she’s eating.”
He turns to me, clearly enjoying this.
“It’s a mixture of sheep offal—heart, liver, lungs—mixed with oats and spices, traditionally cooked in the animal’s stomach. Delicious, right?”
My stomach flips. Organs. In a stomach. Who decided that was appetizing?
“It’s a national dish,” Callum says quietly. “You don’t have to?—”
“No,” I cut in firmly. “I’m excited to experience Scottish traditions. All of them.”
I cut a piece and bring it to my mouth.
I’ve eaten strange things for roles—bugs for a survival commercial, fermented seaweed for a shipwreck film—but nothing prepared me for this.
And yet… after a brief internal scream (THAT’S LUNGS, JANE), I realize—it’s not bad.
“It’s delicious,” I declare, determined. “Spiced, but in a really good way.”
“Mistress Finley makes the best haggis in the Highlands,” Maggie says proudly. “Her family has prepared ours for three generations.”
“Then it’s an honor,” I say, bravely taking another bite.
The dinner continues like that—shifting between tension and unexpected moments of ease. I adapt as best I can, considering I’m eating sheep organs while being interrogated like a suspect onCSI: Highlands.
“And your parents, Jane?” Isobel asks as dessert—something with cream and raspberries—is served. “What do they think of this… sudden marriage?”
“My mother is thrilled,” I say easily. “She’s always had a weakness for British accents.”
“Scottish,” Callum corrects automatically.
“Scottish,” I amend, patting his hand like I’m soothing a grumpy child. “She’ll be at the wedding. My father, though… he hasn’t been in the picture for a long time.”
My voice shifts slightly on that last part. The first completely true thing I’ve said all evening.
