Page 82 of False Flag

A full belly laugh erupted from her, and he joined in, the sound as beautiful as his singing had been. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.

Their laughter faded, and she released him. She pulled her phone from her pocket. “Earlier, I downloaded a book of Robert Burns’s poetry. Do you have any favorites?”

He took her phone and scrolled through the table of contents, which, she knew from scanning it earlier, was about a mile long. His search took several moments before he finally nodded and tapped a link. “This one is appropriate.”

He took another drink from the quaich and then read the title. “‘A Red, Red Rose.’”

He glanced at the phone, then met her gaze and recited the poem.

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,

That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Luve’s like the melodie

That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

* * *

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry.

* * *

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run.

* * *

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!

And fare thee weel, a while!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho’ 'twere ten thousand mile!

He finished and handed her phone back to her without a word.

Staci had flushed the moment she realized what he was reading. She’d expected to hear a poem about brothers. Or grief and loss, but he’d chosen a love poem, after stating it was appropriate. And he’d recited it as much as read it.

It’s just a poem. And a rather famous one at that.

Jake’s choice didn’t mean anything. It was a poem he had memorized.

Yet it felt romantic, the way he held her gaze and said he’d love her until the seas went dry and the rocks melt with the sun, as they sat surrounded by sea on a massive weathered rock while the sun disappeared and the sky lit with color.

Her throat was dry, so she took a sip of scotch, which was a mistake because it burned.