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The slightest bump, and we’d touched down.
Now that we’d reached the ground, the terror left my body like it’d been exorcized. My rational brain took the reins again, and I laughed softly as if the anxiety had just been a little inside joke.Oh, Molly, terrified over flying. What a silly goose.
Definitely wasn’t the time to think about how this silly goose would tolerate the return flights in almost two weeks.
The Edinburgh Airport didn’t look much different than SeaTac in the United States. Rows of sad plastic seats, a carpet of indeterminate color and pattern, gates with minimally friendly airline employees—I might have been anywhere. A bit of a letdown, really. I’d expected to be greeted by men in tartan kilts tossing cabers and playing the bagpipes, but maybe that was only for special occasions. Possibly a food cart lurked somewhere in the airport waiting to dole out haggis, steak and kidney pie, and all the other organ-based dishes I’d heard about, but at first glance it struck me as ordinary.
After going through customs, I ducked into a bathroom to change out of my rumpled clothes and then perked up with a quick breakfast of coffee and eggs with toast. I turned my phone on and found a text from Jill: a picture of her newborn baby Olivia sleeping next to my old pug Shatner, basking in a slant of golden sunlight. The two cuddled in a bliss that had obviously been staged but still managed to coax a heartfeltAwwout of me.
Honestly, I still hadn’t gotten used to the idea my best friend had become a mother. At thirty-eight, I’d seen plenty of friends marry and have children, but nobody I’d been so close with. Nobody who’d shared every last horrifying detail of her delivery and its aftermath. But also nobody who let me hold her daughter to my heart’s content so I could breathe in her clean baby scent like some weird aromatherapy treatment.
The photo came with a message.
Jill: Have fun on your first day adventuring! Kick some mountain butt!
I chuckled over that. At first, I’d thought a tour group sounded too much like something my parents would do with their retired friends.See the world from the comfort of your Rascal!Just because I was nearing forty didn’t mean I was ready to slide into old-womanhood like a baseball player stealing third.
But Hold Onto Your Kilts’ itineraries covered everything from mountain climbs to island bicycling to castle views to whisky tastings. They included all in-country transportation, and although the accommodations weren’t luxury, we wouldn’t be in hostels, either. Kayaking, hiking, and biking my way across Scotland didn’t sound too old womanish. I could do this. I would.
Next, I listened to the message from my mother. She either sent a one-line text or she would fill my voicemail with her musings, she had no in-between.
“I’m sure you got in just fine. You know there’s nothing to worry about. Flying is perfectly safe, I’ve tried to tell you. You deserve this trip, honey, after everything with Sean. Oh, that man! He wasted four years of your life just dragging his feet. Remember—one man’s ‘I’m not ready’ is another man’s ‘Hell, yes.’ You’ll find somebody for you, a good man who knows what he wants and won’t be afraid to go after it…”
I clicked it off. I could listen to the rest of her dreams for my love life when I wasn’t already exhausted. She’d been coaxing me toward dating apps since I’d broken up with Sean, and never failed to voice her disappointment I hadn’t acted on the advice. She’d threatened to create a profile for me, but as far as I knew, hadn’t done it yet. I could just imagine how that would read.
Molly, 38, loves dogs, seeks man ready to make beautiful grandchildren. Don’t delay!
I had half an hour before I needed to meet up with my group in the airport car park, and I’d probably take all that time just to find them. Wandering through the terminal, a small shop caught my eye, and I skidded to a stop, my rolling luggage clattering against the backs of my knees. I didn’t need the pile of tartan-clad bears, but I could do with anI Heart Scotlandkeychain. And T-shirt. And vinyl sticker. Give me all the hearty Scotland merch.
And a generous helping of chocolate bars for my troubles.
While I fidgeted in line, I caught the man next to me raise an eyebrow at my haul. Taller than me and ridiculously broad, his head was shaved bald, but he more than made up for it with his full gray beard. I could have cast him as one of the older motorcycle riding heroes in the romance novels I read if he swapped his black fleece jacket for a leather version. His blue eyes shone as he gave me a once-over that sent unwelcome tingles over my skin.
“Tell me you’re a tourist without telling me you’re a tourist.” His rolling accent called him out as a local, but his smirk called him out as a first-rate Scottish jerk.
All the swoony tingling going on inside me cooled. I cut him a hard look. “It’s good for the economy.”
A terrible comeback, but the best I could do after hours of fitful Valium-induced sleep followed up with a Shaky-Shack landing.
He chuckled. “You’re single-handedly keeping the country afloat.”
I shoved my goodies toward the cashier and frowned at the judgey man. “I’m probably due a medal.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for the ceremony.”
His smile still held traces of that smirk, but it brought the skin tingles out again, anyway.Ugh, no. You are not attracted to the brawny, snarky man, no matter how delightful his Scottish accent sounds.Didn’t matter anyway, I could tell already this man was not my type.
I’d never been into beardy, tough-looking men who chatted up women in airports. My type usually centered on the glasses-wearing IT guy who took months to build up the courage to ask a coworker out to dinner at a chain restaurant. This man…was definitely not that.
I scanned my credit card and stuffed the souvenirs into my crossbody bag. As I tucked my things away, the man stepped forward to put his extra-large water bottle on the counter.
“Enjoy your visit to Scotland.”
His accent twisted something in my belly, a weird, visceral response that completely ignored his smirking lips. Which I should also ignore. Definitely needed to stop looking at his mouth.
“Oh, I will.” I started to walk away but looked back over my shoulder. “I heart it.”
His low, rumbling laughter carried me through the airport. I would just have to pretend that getting teased by a local would bring good fortune on this trip.
