— Music, for one. I have a fairly large collection of classic jazz. And photography. I even have a darkroom in one of the castle wings.
— You? A photographer? she says, turning toward me. Let me guess—perfectly framed landscapes with technically flawless exposure?
— Not only. I also like capturing spontaneous moments.
— Callum McGregor, a fan of spontaneity. That goes against everything I thought I knew about you.
— There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jane Carter.
The words slip out before I can stop them, and I feel the tension settle between us. Jane looks at me with an unreadable expression, then turns back to the window.
— We’re almost there, I say, breaking the silence. Ten more minutes to the starting point.
True to my prediction, exactly eleven minutes later—thanks to a slight delay on the road—I pull the Land Rover onto a small grassy patch at the base of a hill. The mist has lifted, revealing an unexpectedly blue sky for this part of Scotland.
— Our lucky day, I comment as I step out. Perfect weather.
Jane gets out on her side, scanning the horizon with a hint of apprehension.
— That’s… impressive.
Before us, a trail winds gently upward through the heather, climbing toward a ridge that seems to brush the clouds.
— Don’t worry, I reassure her, slipping on my backpack. The path is well-marked and the incline is gradual. Even an escalator-trained American can handle it.
— Very funny, McGregor. You’d be surprised how determined I can be when my pride is at stake.
— I don’t doubt it, I reply with a smile. I saw that determination when you got back up after the kilt incident.
She flushes instantly.
— We agreed never to mention that again!
— No, you decided that unilaterally. I never agreed.
— For a man whose kilt was nearly ripped off in public, you seem oddly comfortable bringing it up.
— Scottish men learn early to live with the risks of wearing a kilt. It’s practically a rite of passage.
— Oh, so I did you a favor? Will you thank me in your wedding speech?
— Absolutely. “I’d like to thank my wife for nearly undressing me in front of my grandmother, thereby proving her eagerness to consummate our union.”
Jane bursts into laughter—bright, spontaneous, and infectious—and I can’t help but join her. It’s an unexpectedly pleasant sound, our laughter blending in the crisp morning air.
— Come on, I say, handing her the walking stick. Adventure awaits.
Against all expectations,Jane turns out to be a more capable hiker than she let on. Yes, she stops often to catch her breath, but she moves forward with a determination that commands respect.
— You’re doing well, I tell her after half an hour.
— Don’t sound so surprised, she replies, slightly breathless. I spent three months running on a beach for a lifeguard role. Granted, it was mostly about looking sexy in a swimsuit, but it still counts as cardio.
— Absolutely. And I’m sure you were very convincing.
— Is that a polite way of saying I was half-naked and useless? Because that’s exactly what the Los Angeles Times critic wrote.
I grimace.
