In his logical, reasonable brain, Landon knew this was not a date. So why did it feel like one? Butterflies rustled in his stomach. “For what?”
“You’re not getting me to give away my secrets that easily,” she quipped, stuffing each carefully chosen item into her backpack.
It was still pitch-black when the glass doors released them back into the early morning. A few windows showed signs of life, occupants waking to head to work or school. But for the most part, Landon and Rose were the only two people foolish enough to willingly leave their beds. Landon could just make out the craggy peak in the dark, the dormant volcano rising high above the apartment and university buildings. “So how strenuous is this?” he asked. He didn’t consider himself out of shape, because that would imply that he’d ever beenin. With legs as long as his, Landon had always been able to fake it to a certain extent.
“It’s not bad,” Rose said. “We can take our time, stop as muchas you want.” Landon decided he would fake it as hard as he ever had. Date or not, he wanted to make a good first impression. This was his chance.
The sky turned from black to gray as shops and residences gave way to Holyrood Palace, its turrets silhouetted against the lightening sky. “You know the history?” Rose asked.
Landon had seen the palace advertised in brochures at the hostel, the cost of high tea in the courtyard staggering to him. “Not really,” he said.
“Mary, Queen of Scots lived here.” Rose’s voice picked up a singsong quality that was so lively, the corner of Landon’s cheeks rose. “This is where she watched her husband murder her secretary, right in front of her. Of course, there’s speculation that she loved him, and that’s why her husband stabbed the man fifty-six times. Legend says the blood that seeped into the floorboards left a stain that’s still there, if you know what you’re looking for.” She laughed. “The height of romance.”
“Jesus,” Landon said. “Fifty-six times?”
“I’m just repeating what I’ve been told.”
“They charge eighty pounds per person for high tea at a haunted castle?”
“This entire city is haunted. That’s part of the charm.”
“You believe in ghosts?” Landon couched his question innocently, but it was anything but.
“I don’tnotbelieve in them,” she said.
“That’s not really an answer.”
“Do you?”
Landon was a rational man, often to a fault. But as he’d grown older, he’d found too many things unexplainable not to entertainthe notion. Then there was the matter of the ghosts in the house when Rose left. He’d felt them, clawing at the door of his bedroom when he couldn’t sleep at night. “Yes,” he said.
“You’ll fit right in, then.”
Rose and Landon fell into a companionable silence. The trail was damp, the ground slick with dew. Landon’s sneakers had almost no tread, and he hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of himself—falling from his height was always more dramatic than he liked. At times, he found uneven steps carved into the rock that helped him on his way. They were crusted with frost, though Landon hadn’t thought it cold enough yet for such a show.
Higher up, with nothing to block it, the wind seeped through Landon’s fleece. His muscles were stiff and toes frozen. “You okay back there?” Rose called.
Landon gave her his best approximation of a jaunty wave. “All good!” he yelled. By the time they reached the summit, their faces were burned red, their breath white from the cold. But the wind had died down enough they could speak without shouting.
“I did this hike every morning all summer,” Rose said.
“It must have looked different.”
Rose pointed to the shrubby flowers scattered along the hillside. “The gorse was in full bloom. Everything was bright yellow. They’re on their way out now.”
“Sounds beautiful.”
“This is beautiful, too,” Rose said, sitting down on the frosty ground. She opened her backpack and pulled out the champagne and orange juice. “And what did I tell you? Seven a.m. on the dot.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Landon said, cringing.
Rose riffled through the backpack, pulling out the pastries, cheese, and fruit. “I forgot cups.”
“We’ll manage.”
She eased the cork out of the champagne bottle with a pop, shrieking with delight when the bubbles sprayed and stuck to her face. “A make-your-own-mimosa bar.” She took a long sip of the champagne and cracked the top of the orange juice, tipping it back and adding it to the bubbles in her mouth. Then she shook her head furiously and swallowed. “Ah!” Rose breathed. “Perfect.”
Landon did not want a mimosa but knew that was just himself talking. “My turn,” he said, grasping the champagne bottle in one hand and the orange juice in the other. He tipped both into his mouth, the sticky juices running down his fleece. He would smell like champagne until he found his way to a laundromat, but it was all worth it for the look on Rose’s face. He could take one thousand life drawing classes and never accurately capture that joy.
