by Gina Azzi
“Ah, so yer just fallin’ on yer sword then? Takin’ the high road? Ruinin’ any chance of havin’ somethin’ with this girl so you can protect her? From what, exactly?”
I clear my throat, not answering Roger since I know he’s working up to his point. He’s just going to irritate me by dragging it out.
“Or protectin’ yerself from finally feelin’ somethin’ for a lass?” He adds off-handedly, as if his point is a bloody afterthought.
“I’m not doing either. I’m just being respectful of our history, our family connection, of her.”
“What’s so different about her anyway?”
I sigh, grappling to find the correct words. “She’s… happy. She’s fun to be around, has an easy-going personality. She’s not angling for anything from me and when I’m with her, things between us are natural. And the fucking chemistry,” I groan, remembering how I pinned Daisy against the kitchen wall and kissed her recklessly, with abandon, on Christmas, “yeah, I want to take her home for the night. But what happens the next day when we see each other at work? Or the following week when I take a different girl home and see Daisy at some family event? It’s too complicated, too many messy emotions involved, and loose ends to tie up afterwards. It’s not worth it for one bloody night of good sex.” Mind-blowing sex. “Besides, I dropped her at her flat last night and she was cool, acting like there’s nothing between us except friendship. Like there never was.”
“Isn’t that good then? I thought ye didn’t want her to get attached.”
“I didn’t. Don’t.” I growl out.
Roger tilts his head, studying me far more intently than I’m comfortable with. I drop my gaze to the worn table before looking around for a server. “But ye don’t want her to get attached to anyone else either, huh? Is that it?” he asks finally.
I sigh, not bothering to refute his observation since it’s obvious he’s right. Yeah, I’m not going to take Daisy home. But it bothers the hell out of me to think of her going home with some other guy. Especially one she meets here in Edinburgh.
“So, make a move. Ask her to have coffee. Or lunch. Just see what happens between ye. It’s awfully presumptuous of ye to know what’s best for the girl.”
“I can guarantee that Daisy and me hooking up, having a one-night thing or a one-week fling, and then seeing each other at work every day, is not what’s best for her.”
Roger tilts his head, “Yeah, well, when ye put it like that, I see yer point. Why are ye limitin’ yerself to just one-night?”
“Come on, I’m not going to settle down and do the boyfriend thing and that’s not fair to her. It’s better to know where we both stand.”
Roger sighs. “Mate, Cassie was a one-off. Not ever girl ye meet is going to pull the same crazy shit as her.”
“This has nothing to do with Cassie.”
Roger smirks. “Really?”
“Daisy’s too young for me. She’s Sierra’s best friend. There’s a line of respect that needs to be maintained. I can’t just bang her and move on.”
“I didn’t realize ye were in the habit of disrespectin’ women.”
“That’s not what I meant, you bawbag.”
Roger holds up a hand in surrender, chuckling. “I know what ye meant. But I think this lass is deeper under yer skin than yer admittin.’ I’ve never seen ye this hung up on a girl before. Not even Cassie. Which means ye need to man up and ask her out or move past it and not stand in her way when she meets someone else.”
I nod once, knowing he’s right but not giving him the satisfaction of admitting it. “I could really use that pint.” I say instead.
Across from me, Roger flags down a server.
3
Daisy
On Sunday morning, I wake later than usual but feel alert and excited, completely over the jet lag. I’m ready to venture out, explore my neighborhood, and embrace my new outlook. Aiming for independent, confident, and self-assured, today feels like the first day of adulthood. For too many years, I’ve been the burden, the kid sister that needed protecting, the best friend that needed support. I’m ready to stand on my own and surge forward. Claim my future and write my destiny.
Peeking out the window of my living room, I glimpse the quietness of the street I live on. On Comely Bank Road, just a few streets south, I note the throngs of locals and visitors heading in and out of shops and restaurants. Finn assured me that I’m only a fifteen-minute walk from the center of Edinburgh but in this little corner of the city, I feel like I’m in my own neighborhood. Eclectic jewelry stores, coffee bars, and various bistros meld with charity shops for bargain hunting and traditional pubs. Charming stone houses dot winding side streets and a small stream runs throughout the area.
I dress quickly in a pair of jeans and a sweater. Sitting at the kitchen island for breakfast, I grin when Sierra’s face flashes across my phone screen. Gotta love FaceTime.
“Guid mornin’ to ye!” Sierra exclaims in her best Scottish brogue.
“I can’t believe you passed up on living here to be with Denver.”
She laughs, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
“I heard that,” my brother yells out from somewhere in their apartment.
Sierra and I look at each other and crack up. Just seeing her, watching as her dark eyes shimmer with amusement, transports me to late nights sipping wine and talking about nothing and everything until the sun would rise during our college days.
“I miss you,” I tell her before the moment passes. And because it’s the truth. With me preparing for my move and Sierra in the midst of wedding planning, organizing her art show, and being pregnant, the past few months have been hectic.
“Me too. I wish we could discuss your new life over wine.” She looks down at her growing stomach.
“Soon. So soon.”
“Tell me everything. First impressions?”
“Your city has a castle.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Especially at night. All lit up.”
“Damn girl. You already saw that castle at night? Don’t wander the streets alone after dark.”
I give her a look, and we both laugh again.
“Okay, I sound like my mom,” she admits.
“Your natural mothering instincts are kicking in,” I assure her.
“Don’t wander the streets at night,” Denver hollers out.
“I’m relocating.” Sierra stands from her spot on the couch and a moment later, she’s settling onto her bed. “Your brother is so nosy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, you saw the castle?”
“Just in passing. Finn picked me up from the airport and gave me a ride to my new apartment. We passed through the city center and he pointed out a few of the sights. Today I’m going to explore more in my part of town.”
“Stockbridge?”
“How’d you know?”
Sierra rolls her eyes. “Finn.” We both say in unison.
“He wanted to make sure you’d be comfortable. Plus, my mom worries about you like you’re me.”
I tilt my head, the sweet sentiment, the concern from someone else’s mom, warming me up from the inside out. “Well, that’s my plan for today.”
“Oh, you’re going to love it. There are so many cute little bistros and coffee shops on the high street.”
“The high street? Look at that Scottish speak slipping back in.”
“The main street.” Sierra laughs. “Hey, I did live there for a good chunk of my childhood.”
I hold up a hand in surrender. “I know, I know. It’s actually amazing you don’t have an accent.”
“It’s because I dormed with you. That Southern twang snapped the brogue right out of me.”
I snort. “It’s a drawl, babe.”
“Whatever. Show me your place.”
I flip the phone screen around, giving Sierra a quick tour of the main living area, lingering over the fireplace. “Finn pulled strings, didn’t
he?”
“Totally. So, he picked you up from the airport?”
“Yes. It was completely unexpected. Did you ask him to?”
“No. How are things between you guys?” Sierra peers closer into the screen.
“Confusing. He dropped me off at my new place and carried up my bags and then, we had this, moment.”
Sierra quirks an eyebrow, waiting for more.
“Nothing happened. But it could have. It’s like he was debating whether or not to kiss me. I don’t get it. After Christmas when he straight up rejected me –”
“He didn’t reject you. He said things couldn’t happen between you guys.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Is it?” My best friend angles her head to the side. “Daisy, I think he just doesn’t know what to do with you. He knows he can’t treat you like any other girl because I’ll mess him up.”
I roll my eyes, making a circle with my finger for her to wrap it up and get to her point.
“Seriously, he likes you. If he didn’t like you, he would have slept with you already.” She explains as if it’s obvious.
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Doesn’t it though?”
“Oh my God.” I laugh. “When did you start asking these rhetorical questions?”
“I’m practicing for when the peanut is a teenager.” She grins, looking down at her baby bump again.
“Whatever.”
“He likes you. If he didn’t, you’d already be a one-night stand, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter, because I’m taking the advice you gave me at Christmas and doing me.”
“Good.”
“It’s my Year of No Fear.”
“Be bold, go forth, and conquer?”
“Exactly.”
“I like the sound of that, bestie.”
“Me too. Now tell me about your wedding plans before I go immerse myself in the greatest accent on the planet.”
“We have the greatest accent on the planet.” Denver shouts out from the background.
I roll my eyes at Sierra and she giggles. “So, I need your opinion regarding flowers for my wedding. I really want to do lilies, but everyone keeps telling me they’re death flowers. I don’t want my wedding to be reminiscent of a funeral. Thoughts?”
“Can you do calla lilies? Or water lilies?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee. Shifting my weight in my chair, I give Sierra my full attention as she launches into an explanation regarding her floral preferences. Which definitely include a variety of lilies.
After my conversation with Sierra, I head out to explore my new neighborhood—that’s right, I’m a Stockbridge local, well, kind of—and am pleasantly surprised to see shopkeepers outside, sweeping in front of their stores, despite the frigid cold. The “high street” as Sierra called it is the main street filled with colorful boutiques, quaint store fronts, and dotted with bistros. Side streets shoot off Comely Bank Road like tiny glimpses into the past, complete with cobblestones and narrow passages. The houses on these streets look like they were once shops, with large windows out front. I stop at a coffee shop for a hot chocolate to sip as I enjoy my walk and peruse the windows.
Even in the cold, the delicious aromas wafting out of bakeries is mouth-watering and I wonder if I should just buy and eat a loaf of sourdough bread for lunch? Between the freshly baked scones and the trays of sticky toffee pudding, I want to lose myself in all my new city has to offer.
And then, I come across the greatest sight. Ever. A market. Not just any market, but a Sunday market. Bright yellow and white tents are stark against the grey sky as vendors greet customers, selling everything from homemade soaps to jewelry to macarons to fresh vegetables. I nearly squeal with excitement, remembering the farmer’s market Carter used to take me to on Sundays. For a brief moment, a memory from my past collides with my present and I feel warm from the inside out. And not only because my hot chocolate is scalding.
Stepping into the market, I take a lap, checking out the various tents. There’s a table loaded with freshly baked goods and breads which obviously captures my attention. Another vendor is showcasing original artwork with bright colors and abstract concepts. There are families milling about and children playing hide and seek in between the tents. Older women stand in clusters, chatting and swapping recipes. The loud laughter of men ribbing each other, and trading weekend stories rings out.
I stop in the center of the market, twirling to take in the delicious aromas, the bold colors, the palpable contentment of this community enjoying a Sunday afternoon. A wave of tears I’m unprepared for bubbles up inside as I feel both connected and separated from the moment. It’s a strange sensation, almost an out of body experience, as I aim to reconcile my emotions with the happiness unfolding around me. Because while I’m excited to start this chapter in my life, delighted to have discovered this market, there’s also a part of me that feels isolated, like I don’t quite belong.
“Look out!” A man’s voice rings out nearby. Too near.
In the next moment, I’m flattened to the ground, my hot chocolate flying out of my hand.
“Oof.” My breath leaves me in a whoosh as I lay flattened, my back pressing into the cold, damp ground. Staring up at the grey sky, a handsome face comes into view above me, his expression one of horror.
“I’m so sorry. Are ye alright?” His large hands reach down, clasping around my wrists, and pulling me upright before I have time to register what is happening. Around me, a small huddle forms with concerned expressions and echoes of the man’s questions. “Do ye need something? Are ye hurt?” he continues, his hands leaving my wrists to pat my shoulders. He bends at his knees, his eyes kind and wide, his mouth thin with worry.
I manage to nod, my breath coming back slowly. I clench my trembling hands into fists and stuff them into my pockets. Looking up at him, a swell of irrational laughter bubbles up from my throat as I take in the group now formed around me. Just moments ago, I was lamenting my isolation and now, here I am, the center of attention at the Stockbridge market. Really, the entire thing is ridiculous.
An unattractive snort escapes my nose as I crack a smile. “I’m fine. Thanks.” I tell him and his shoulders drop in relief. The group around me cheers and jokes, patting my back and ruffling my hair like we’re all old friends sharing a joke.
Someone presses a hot cup of coffee into my hand. “Drink this. It’s bloody freezing out today.”
“Thank you.” I say, looking around for the kind gift-giver. But just as quickly as the group assembled in my time of need, they’ve dispersed.
It’s just me and the man who ran into me and…
“Dais? You okay, love?” Finn.
The man standing across from me widens his eyes in surprise before biting his lower lip, stifling a chuckle.
“Finn?” I turn around, knowing his voice anywhere. Apparently, even in the aftermath of my being tackled.
His bright blue eyes blaze with worry as he comes next to me, his hand cupping my cheek. He scans my face closely and the brush of his thumb across my cheekbone sends a shudder through my body. Closing my eyes, leaning into his touch, I remember Friday night. And the almost-moment.
He sighs, his breath warm as it fans across my mouth. “I didn’t think Gerry would throw the ball so erratically.” He explains and I open my eyes, my brow furrowing in confusion.
“Sorry, miss.” A sweet voice pipes up from beside Finn and I look down, smiling at the boy of eight or nine years standing with his shoulders hunched, his expression contrite.
“It’s okay.” I tell him, kneeling down so we’re on the same level.
“I was playin’ catch with Uncle Roger and Finn and told Uncle Roger I could throw farther then him. I didn’t mean to throw the ball all the way into the market.” He looks up then, a smile playing over his lips as he whispers, “But I did throw the ball farther.”
I grin, dropping my voice to whisper back. “Then you
did really good.”
“Sorry Uncle Roger plowed ye down.”
I hold up my hands, the hot coffee still clutched between them. “I’m all good.”
“But ye lost your hot chocolate.” He points to the discarded paper cup on the ground next to us.
Finn bends down to retrieve it and jogs over to a nearby garbage bin to toss it.
“It’s not a big deal. I can get another one. Do you like hot chocolate?” I ask him, before looking up at his uncle.
The man who collided with me, Roger, smiles at us, nodding.
“I really do.” The boy says and I laugh.
“Okay then. How about we go get some to warm up? I’m Daisy.” I stick out a hand and he shakes it firmly.
“Gerard. But you can call me Gerry. All my friends do.”
“Sounds good, Gerry. Do you know where we can get some good hot chocolate around here?”
“I do. Come on.” He slips his hand in mine and gives me a tug. “The lads’ll follow us.”
I laugh, glancing over my shoulder at the surprised and amused expressions on Roger’s and Finn’s faces as I follow Gerry out of the market and down a small, winding side street to a hidden pub that has the largest mugs of hot chocolate I’ve ever seen.
4
Finn
Daisy’s eyes literally shine with merriment as she laughs at whatever rubbish Gerry is telling her. The wee scunner is turning on the charm when it comes to wooing the most beautiful girl in the pub. Chuckling at his antics, I can’t help but allow him his fifteen minutes of fame.
Her laugh rings out, a delicate hand coming up to cover her mouth as her eyes widen at whatever Gerry’s saying. His hands are moving almost as quickly as his lips, his eyes flashing, his smile genuine.
“She’s good with him.” Roger comments next to me, looking in Daisy’s direction.
“Yeah.” I agree, remembering how great she was with Livvy at Sierra’s graduation from ASU. Daisy’s good with everyone, it’s impossible not to fall a wee bit in love with her.