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The simple question came with a bittersweet aftertaste. The answer I would have given even a few years ago felt beyond my grasp now. I’d witnessed firsthand Jill’s three-year struggle to get pregnant with Olivia and didn’t have any false hopes that I might have an easier time of it if I were to start even later.
“Honestly? I thought I would have had kids by now. I want a family. But I never met the right man to marry, let alone have a child with, and I don’t think I’m the kind of woman to do it on my own. I like the idea of partnership.”
Going solo had looked even less appealing since I’d seen Jill and Ed in action taking care of Olivia. I would salute all the single moms out there, but I wasn’t prepared to dive into that life intentionally.
“It’s certainly easier with two. Sometimes when I have the girls all to myself, I feel like I’m barely keeping afloat. Summers, I run them to sports, camps, birthdays, and all of that. I’m more delivery man than dad.”
“Don’t discount the delivery man. I’m half in love with the guy from the Indian restaurant down the street.”
“Oh, my girls don’t see it that way. Lately, every time I get us takeaways, I wind up with a lecture about how their stepdad makes such amazing dinners. ‘Not from a box,’ they tell me, pointing their little fingers in my face. ‘Not from a menu.’” He exhaled a laugh. “Of all the reasons to be jealous of another man, his cooking skills are a new one for me.”
“I don’t know, a man who can cook is pretty appealing.” I played up the word, imagining Duncan at work in the kitchen. Oof, I liked that idea too much.
Jester hat totally optional.
“Don’t take their side, I’m already outvoted as it is.”
“I’m sorry, but I always side with food.”
“Molly, we have got to sort out your priorities.”
I laughed, ready to tease him about the importance of high-quality food, when something out the window caught my eye.
I gasped and clutched at his hand. “That’s it.”
Massive stone pinnacles stood out against the hillside, making the harbor town below look tiny. The Old Man of Storr. My breath stalled out and I couldn’t do anything but stare. I’d had no idea it was so…prominent. From the pictures, I’d always thought we would have to hike to it, search it out like hidden treasure. But the stones loomed over Portree like sentinels from another age.
Giddy laughter bubbled out of me. We’d finally made it. The reason I’d chosen this country, this tour for my big vacation.
He squeezed my hand. “It’s a sight, isn’t it?”
At this distance, it really did look like a giant man out there in the clouds, towering over the town. “Is there a place we can stop to take pictures?”
The road didn’t even have a shoulder, let alone a place to park.
Arnav turned around with a bemused look on his face. “We’re hiking to it tomorrow. You’ll take plenty then, I think.”
The view dwindled the closer we got, until The Old Man of Storr was completely obscured by the hillside, and ultimately, the town. I hoped Arnav was right about the pictures tomorrow, because I already felt a little sick I’d missed capturing that view.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
twenty
I’d knownthe Isle of Skye made for a popular summer destination, but Portree was absolutely stuffed. The streets teemed with people pointing at everything—the buildings, the boats in the harbor, the plethora of gift shops. Tourists had flocked to the shores of Loch Ness, but here, the village felt cramped with so many people wandering around. I’d goggled at the towns we’d passed just as obviously, and I resolved not to look like such a blatantly obvious tourist in the future.
Even if I was currently riding in the most blatantly obvious tourist bus around.
We checked into our accommodation, a cute bed and breakfast a few blocks from the harbor. It looked small from the outside, and I had my doubts it would have space enough for all of us. We passed a cozy but minuscule sitting room before climbing narrow stairs to the upper levels. Lewis handed out room keys and disappeared to help Arnav shuttle some of the gear inside.
Harlow opened our room door and burst into laughter. I peered over her shoulder to see what was so funny.
The room was not just boutique, buttiny. After seeing the rest of the guest house, I wasn’t sure what else I’d expected, but this room took it to the extreme. Even the two twin beds were narrower than usual. This may have been a trick of the eye due to them being so very close together—the beds could not have been eight inches apart—and graced by a single king-sized headboard.
“If you squint, it looks like one bed,” I said.
“I’m a little afraid I might roll out of this.” Harlow sat down on one to test its width.
“You can’t roll out. You’d just roll onto my bed.” Pretty sure we could spoon without leaving our beds.
