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It was the mantra I had repeated to myself as I’d subleased my apartment to Savannah and had packed my meager belongings into several boxes that were now in storage at Carlo’s condo. It had almost been too easy, really, to get up and go.
Had I had one foot out the door this whole time?
Still, Scotland had never been on my list of places to move. In the cold Boston winters, I had often dreamed about moving south, perhaps to coastal South Carolina or maybe the Keys to gaze over sparkling turquoise waters while I cooked. An international move felt so…adult. Adventurous. Like the type of thing that all those influencers and digital nomads did, showcasing perfectly staged videos on their TikTok and Instagram feeds, while seemingly never having to worry about money. A luxury that I’d never known. I stared at my image in the tiny mirror in the tiny bathroom of the tiny room I’d rented for the week and laughed. Dark circles smudged my eyes, my face was as shiny as an oil slick, and my hair sprung out around my head in a riot of frizzed and tangled curls.
Turns out—I don’t sleep well on planes.
Having only ever flown once before, the entire experience had been overwhelming, exhilarating, and nerve-wracking for me. I’d quickly learned that I kind of hated not being in the know, so I ended up asking a lot of questions of my kindly seatmate—a grandmotherly sort who had instantly seen the fear in my eyes and had taken me under her wing—and once I’d understood the basics of what to expect on our flight, I’d quieted down and watched a movie on the little screen in front of me.
I’d been delighted to find that wine was included in the price of the ticket, which MacAlpine Castle had provided a more than generous budget for, and two glasses with dinner had sent me right to sleep for the rest of the flight after we’d finished eating. I’d only awoken when the grandmother had nudged me, and it had taken me a full minute to remember where I was.
After a harrowing taxi journey along narrow roads in the murky twilight, a trip I wasn’t hoping to repeat any time soon, I’d been deposited at the door of a cheerful bed and breakfast in downtown Loren Brae. I suppose I couldn’t really call it a downtown, as it seemed to be more of a small village, actually, but I planned to explore more in the morning.
My decision to come to Loren Brae early fell in line with the mantra that I kept repeating for myself.You don’t have to stay.Silly, maybe, as I understood at any point we could up and change our lives, but still, I clutched that reminder close to my chest like the little heart locket I wore. I wanted to scope Loren Brae out before meeting people at my new job so I could get an unencumbered view of the village to see if this was really the place where I wanted to start fresh. I knew myself well enough to know that as soon as I was shown the kitchen at the castle, I’d jump in headfirst to designing a menu and wouldn’t look up for years. Which is kind of what had happened at Suzette’s. Although I was extremely proud of what I’d built there, it had also consumed my life. Damien’s takeover, and his subsequent betrayal, had hurt me as badly as if I had owned the restaurant myself.
“You care too much,” Dad had cautioned me through the years.
But I’d never been able to separate myself from my work. I put all of my love into the dishes I created, and that spilled over into the restaurant. If I wasn’t passionate about what I did, where I worked, well, then, the food would reflect that. Customers know when a chef loves what they do. And it wasn’t just passion that drove me, either. Although my family had shown me a lot of love growing up, the kids at school hadn’t done the same. I’d been bullied for years for not being able to afford school sport, for wearing thrifted clothes, and for not being able to join any of the costly, special field trips. Kids were ruthless, and I’d been an easy target.
I’d left high school and had never looked back. There was no fond reminiscing on the good ol’ days or where my prom date had ended up. No, I’d neatly shut that door, and aside from a few nightmares that would arise occasionally, particularly the one where the popular cheerleader had torn my only jersey in half in the locker room, I was an “eyes forward” type of girl now.
Running my hands under the tap, one of those faucets where the hot and cold handles were separate, I squirted some hair gel into my palm and mixed it lightly with the water before finger-combing my curls. After I’d tamed most of the beast, I patted a lightly tinted moisturizer across my face and smudged on some eyeliner. That was about the extent of my makeup routine, but at least I looked a bit more presentable.
Not Instagram-worthy, but passable.
It was still light out, though the clock told me it was half past nine, and I hoped the pub would still serve food. If not, maybe a corner store would be open. Loren Brae was small enough that I worried most things would be closed already, and I suspected UberEats was not a thing here. Quickly, I changed into jeans, a black, fitted long-sleeved shirt, and pulled on my favorite black leather jacket. I’d already Google-mapped the nearest pub, and it looked like it was on the same block as the B&B. I shouldn’t need anything else except for my purse and room key.
I slipped quietly down the stairs, as the entire house seemed to be silent, and I didn’t want to wake anybody. Easing the front door open, I made sure it was pulled tightly closed behind me before I turned and gaped at the loch.
Loch Mirren, I reminded myself.
I’d barely had time to process its beauty what with trying not to get carsick from the driver acting like the taxi was his own personal race car.
The loch stretched out, the soft evening light dancing across its calm surface, the mountains behind it reflected in the water. I took a deep breath, and then another, steadying myself against the rush of emotion that hit me. I’d been moving so fast, for years now, that I’d barely taken a vacation or looked up from my work. And when I did? It was a night out in the city. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been away from the thrum of the city, honking cars and hurled insults my background playlist, and now the stillness of the village settled on my shoulders like a comfortable blanket.
Who would I be here?
The thought rose, unbidden, as I continued to stare at the loch, unable to tear my eyes away from the beauty of the dusky light mirrored on the still water. I knew who Boston Lia was. I was firmly rooted there, entrenched in the city and the way of life, but would I know myself here? Perhaps this was a chance to reinvent myself. Lia 2.0. Maybe life was just a thousand opportunities to step into different versions of ourselves. Perhaps it was like trying on new shoes. Eventually, we’d settle on something fresh and new, while still returning to our old favorites over and over again.
Shaking my head at my thoughts, I turned away from the loch and wandered up to the pub. Already, I could hear music and laughter from inside, and tension eased from my shoulders as I stopped at the door and read the hand-carved wooden sign.
The Tipsy Thistle.
I approved of the name. Catchy. The pub was set in a good location, and I imagined it was likely the heart of the town. Most pubs were, if they were run right, and I felt at home as soon as I stepped inside. Years of working in the service industry had me taking in every last detail, as I walked through the stone passageway with a low ceiling and stepped into a proper Scottish pub. The owner hadn’t missed a trick. A round wooden bar dominated the center of the room, and rough-hewn stone walls were covered in vintage bar signs and local art. A huge fireplace sat in one corner, with no fire lit tonight, but I imagined it was quite cozy on a colder evening.
The hottest man I’d ever seen in real life turned from where he stood at the bar and smiled at me.
My mouth went dry.
My heart danced.
Heat licked through my stomach as my ladyparts suddenly seemed to remember that I hadn’t had a proper date in years, andlook, here was a tall muscular Scot who could probably throw you over his shoulder and carry you across the field to his cave and have his way with you. I don’t know why it was a cave he was having his way with me in, it just seemed to fit with his rugged good looks and uber-masculine vibe. Honey-gold hair, lively blue eyes, and broad shoulders completed the package. I stopped in my tracks.
“There’s a bonnie lass on a slow night. What can I get for you, darling?”
I gaped at the man who spoke behind the golden god in front of me. Although he stood behind the bar, he was just as tall as the man who surveyed me from curious blue eyes. Why was he looking at me like that? Was it my hair? I thought I’d tamed the beast. Awkwardly, I patted my head while I moved closer to the bar, giving the hot Scot a wide berth. Men like him terrified me. Okay, that was being dramatic. More like men such as him, with sureness of their existence in the world, chafed at me. I’d had to fight for everything while people like him probably just glossed through life, doors opening left and right, women falling at his feet. Yeah, he was definitely one of those. Mind made up, I turned to the bartender.
Damn, but they grew them sexy here.
