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“Your enthusiasm is endearing.”
I cut him a stern look. “You didn’t answer the question.”
Tenderness lit his eyes, and my stomach dipped, swooped, soared.
“I came here to reconnect with my heritage, but I think you’ve done a better job at connecting with Scotland than I have. Believe me when I say it’s endearing.”
Well. I could accept a compliment like that.
He leaned forward and pulled an iPad from his backpack. Calling up a photo gallery, he passed it over to me.
“You asked about my company.” He nodded at the tablet. “You can scroll through photos of some of our renovations. If you like.”
I took it and opened one of the gallery folders. The first few photos showed a nice but outdated home that, from my experience with BBC TV shows, seemed vaguely British by its prominent radiators and the washing machine in the kitchen. The photos after showed a total refurbishment of the kitchen and dining rooms, giving the home a new yet vintage appearance.
“These are beautiful.”
He smiled at the praise. He knew his work was good. I loved that confidence he had, the sense of self that saidI’m damn good at this and deserve to be complimented.
I opened the next folder and found similar remodels of outdated homes Duncan had beautifully upgraded. I happily swiped through the photo galleries, making little comments now and then about the dramatic results. He had enough fodder for several seasons of an HGTV show.Reno Addict: London.
“Do you want to see some of my work?” I asked. “From when I was on my own?”
“Please.”
I pulled my laptop out and opened a folder I’d left untouched for years. I showed him the sum total ofMolly Clarke Designs, from the light and airy branding and design elements I’d created for a custom paper goods shop, to the dark and broody work I’d done for a local brewery. It wasn’t a long trip, but wandering down memory lane dragged into the open something I’d tucked away and forgotten.
Pride and satisfaction swirled through me, along with a stark thread of regret.
“These are good, Molly. You have talent.”
“I had fun while it lasted, anyway.” I snapped the laptop shut and put it away. “I tried to create something special for each client, but I don’t know how much of a difference I made.”
“Trust me—in a world where cookie cutter work is cheap and easy, true skill will always be valued.”
I smiled at that. He could have been talking about himself, too.
“Well…the paper shop closed not long after I did, so they might have wished they’d chosen cheaper cookie cutter work.”
He shook his head at my self deprecation, but I looped my hand around his arm. Resting my head against his shoulder, I watched the views go by out the window. “I will keep your point under consideration.”
We stopped in Glencoe for lunch and to stretch our legs. The hill walk wasn’t much more than wandering around for an hour, but the views still stunned. A heavily wooded lochan sat tucked away among the imposing hillsides, and we traced its outline on a gravel path. Lewis told the tale of the massacre at Glencoe, when unsuspecting Highlanders were slaughtered by the English military they’d hosted in their homes.
He sure knew how to kill a mood.
I stood with Duncan on a little pier that jutted out over the lake, trying to take everything in. A single brown mountain peak loomed above the treetops, appearing in hazy reflection on the lake’s surface, and a light breeze blew across the water, sending waterlilies bobbing.
The last day of my trip would have been bittersweet on its own, but the curling, stretching feeling in my heart went beyond regret. Whatever I’d thought this vacation would be, I hadn’t expected it to feel like this—as though everything I wanted waited on the other side of a door I couldn’t open.
I nuzzled against Duncan, and he wrapped his arms around me. I bit back my thoughts, afraid of saying too much or too little, everything and nothing. Time pressed in on us like a tangible force—I had twenty-four hours left in Scotland.
It seemed Duncan could read my mind. “Is there no way to extend your trip?”
I choked back bitter laughter. “I’m expected at work on Monday, if not sooner.”
He pulled me as close as he could, resting his chin on the top of my head, his whiskers tickling my scalp. “I hear Seattle is nice in autumn.”
I smiled into the softness of his fleece jacket, holding him tight. Even if I couldn’t come back to see him anytime soon, maybe he would visit me. That was amaybeI wouldn’t mind holding onto. “I’d love to show it to you.”
