I'll See You Again: A Scottish rock star, standalone opposites-attract romance (Reigning Hearts Book 4)

by K. G. Fletcher

  “That’s fine,” she stammered, unsure of what he was up to. Mac put his arm around Drew’s shoulder and spoke softly into his ear as they strode across the dock toward the water’s edge. She could see the boy nod a few times before Mac opened his arms wide, and they hugged.

  Scrunching her nose to the side, she shifted her stance, pressing the clipboard against her chest and watched them turn around to come back toward her.

  “Sorry about that,” Drew uttered, holding his hands out to take back the pen and clipboard.

  “Oh. Here you go,” she replied, awkwardly handing the items back to him.

  “Drew here has the best rowboat this side of the Hudson River for us today,” Mac announced, slapping the boy on the back.

  Drew looked like a love-sick puppy, beaming at the famous musician. “Yes. Just… follow me, and I’ll get you taken care of.” He started toward the dock again.

  Mac picked up the picnic basket and offered his hand to Nicky. Before she took it, she muttered, “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell ye later,” he promised.

  Holding hands, they followed Drew across the weathered, gray boards of the dock to a row of bright red rowboats and canoes tied up.

  “Life jackets are under the two seats, and the oars are tucked in the sides. It’s about a two-mile trek to Bannerman Island to the left once you get past this cove. If you need me to come to pull you back later, I can tie the boat to my jet ski, no problem,” the teen stammered in complete adoration as if trying to prolong his meeting with Mac.

  “We’ll be alright. Thank ye for being such a responsible young lad. Don’t forget what we talked about.”

  “Yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Macpherson. You have my word.”

  Mac carefully stepped into the boat and set the basket on the hull floor. With his feet spread wide for balance, he held his hand out to Nicky and helped her aboard. The sun overhead was intense and hot, the light summer breeze a welcome relief as it grazed their skin. With her back erect and her hands in her lap, she watched Mac row away from the dock, his arm muscles bulging with each circular motion. Drew stood frozen in place on the edge of the boards and waved at them, clutching the clipboard to his chest. When he was out of earshot and nothing but a tiny dot on the horizon, Nicky licked her lips, ready to talk.

  “How do you think Drew recognized you?” she asked.

  Mac rolled his eyes. “I should have known better than to wear short sleeves. My tattoo gave me away.”

  “Your tattoo? Which one?” She took in the dark ink on the pale skin of his arms, not sure what to make of the many symbols and images.

  “It was the triskelion. The big one with the triple swirl,” he explained, gesturing his head to his right arm.

  Nicky leaned forward to search for the tat. It wasn’t hard to spot, prominently displayed on his right bicep. “He knew who you were because of one tattoo?” Flabbergasted, she waited for his reply.

  In the middle of the Hudson River, he propped the oars on the sides of the boat and grinned. The sound of water lapped against the wood, and they bobbed up and down in the current. “Aye. It’s the same image on the cover of my first album. That, and the pendant I wear. He must have put two and two together.” Fingering the silver pendant around his neck, his teeth grazed his lower lip.

  “What did you say to him?”

  Mac pulled his ball cap off his head and ran his fingers through his hair before putting it on again. “I told him I’d take a selfie with him when we got back, and send him two VIP tickets to our New York show once the tour starts on one condition – keep his mouth shut and not tell anyone he saw me in town until after I leave tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” she nodded, thinking his bribe was smart to keep the fans at bay. However, the thought of him leaving so soon made her shoulders sag, and he seemed to sense her disappointment.

  “Bonnie lass,” his voice rumbled. “I’ll do anything to keep the hounds at bay so I can spend uninterrupted time with ye.”

  Chapter Eight

  Mac’s last comment seemed to please Nicky, sending a wave of pleasure straight to his groin. With a look of pure determination, she offered him a dimpled smile and took over the small craft, grasping the paddles and easing them back into the river.

  “What are ye doin’?” he asked, perplexed by her actions.

  “I’m taking my guest to Bannerman Island.”

  Mac chuckled, impressed by her gumption. Leaning back against the upper corner of the small vessel, he tucked his arms behind his head and crossed his feet at the ankles, relishing the sun as it warmed his face. “Tell me when we get there,” he joked.

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” she laughed.

  The majestic mountains to the north were clouded over, the thick forest a bright evergreen in the lingering summer days. The steady sound of a train chugged along the shoreline heading east toward Cold Creek to pick up passengers more than likely traveling to the Big Apple. Mac listened intently to the hypnotic clickety-clack of the railcars over the stretch of track interspersed with the resonance of the river water surging around them. As the locomotive sounds tapered off into the distance, the water's lapping seemed to hush the grate and shrill of modern life. For a moment, he found himself dozing off to the gentle sway and rock of the boat, content to stay in a bubble of undeniable bliss. But his conscience got the better of him. Opening his eyes, he stared at Nicky from behind his dark shades, watching her effortlessly paddle the canoe to their destination. Her exposed, shapely arm muscles flexed and lifted with each circular motion she made. Her chin tilted upward, and the happy woman smiled as if taking in the beautiful scenery all around her. A few wisps of dark hair floated around her face, and her body pulsed to the rhythm of the rowing.

  “Aye, it’s my turn,” he insisted, sitting up and taking the oars from Nicky’s hands. The boat cut through the river, causing a gentle wake to ripple through the water behind them. He watched as Nicky leaned back on her elbows and mimicked his earlier position, lifting her face toward the sun. The American beauty was mesmerizing to watch. He was fascinated with the slight part of her dewy lips, and that smile with those dimples would be the death of him if he wasn’t careful. There was no need to carry on a conversation. The quiet simplicity of the moment set against the backdrop of nature’s imposing beauty made for a stunning paradox, and Nicky’s presence bound them together.

  “It’s straight-up ahead. You can stop rowing soon and let the boat cruise to the shore,” Nicky explained.

  As they approached the small island, Mac hoisted the oars back into the boat and watched as the shoreline got closer and closer, the craggy rocks and thick vegetation concerning. Besides a few other boats parked along the beach, this side of the overgrown island appeared desolate and uninhabited. As the bottom of the hull scraped along the shallow shore below the murky water, Nicky grabbed a thick rope from the bow and tossed it to the rocky stretch of beach. Before Mac could offer to help, she hopped out of the rowboat and pulled the rope taught, as if she’d been doing this her entire life, not even getting her shoes wet. The boat teetered as Mac stood too quickly, and when he started to jump out, he miscalculated the depth of the shallow water and ended up falling on his ass, sending a spray of water up and over his head.

  “Och!” he exclaimed, struggling to get up out of the river. By this time, Nicky was holding her belly and laughing hysterically. Quickly, she came to his aid, extending her hand and hoisting him up and out of the water. Drenched from head to toe, he flicked his hands with mouth agape and staggered to the rock-strewn shore. What an idiot.

  “Are you okay?” Nicky asked, holding back her giggles as she tied off the canoe on a large stump.

  “Only my pride is wounded. I’m fine, really, just completely drookit.” Sloshing back to the bow of the boat in his wet sneakers, he lifted the picnic basket and blanket out. “I’ll drip-dry, I suppose.” He offered her a reassuring nod as he stood on the shore, a wee bit uncomfortable in his soggy attire.

  Taki
ng the blanket from his hands, Nicky approached him and carefully wiped his face and beard with the corner of the fabric. “The sun will dry you out in no time. I promise.”

  Mac felt his breath hitch and chest expand with her in such close proximity as she patted his cheek, and he was tempted to press his mouth to hers.

  “Come on.” She turned, dismissing his little mishap as if it were no big deal, her flowery scent lingering in her wake.

  They headed toward a trail hidden under an awning of trees. Birds happily chirped around them, and the summer breeze fluttered the vibrant green leaves, making them whoosh with each gentle gust. Mac’s wet shoes squeaked, and his heart sank when he heard several voices up ahead. Even though one could only get to the island by watercraft, Nicky told him earlier there was a company that brought tourists in by the boatload, charging ticket fees for guided tours. Mac couldn’t help it; he was selfish, wanting the place all to themselves. Spending time with Nicky was a much-needed respite in his carefully planned schedule as a touring musician. As much as he loved being on the road with his cousin and bandmates, he was enjoying his time off with the gorgeous wedding planner.

  When they came into a clearing, Mac stopped short and set the picnic basket on the ground, his eyes panning the enormous broken down façade of the famed ruins. It was remarkable how the buildings, docks, turrets, garden walls, and moat were all in the style of an old Scottish castle. The brittle century-old walls were crumbled, the remnants of a Scotsman’s fortress overgrown with vines a familiar sight. Tourists in more appropriate hiking attire navigated the roped off terrain, exploring and pausing to take pictures in front of the more solid castle walls intact, held upright with massive steel braces. Images of the magnificent Scottish castle ruins of his homeland against the green glens and blooming crocuses filled his heart with longing.

  “What do you think?” Nicky asked, eyeing him with her hands on her hips. The sun disappeared behind a big cloud muting the brightness around them.

  “It’s wonderful. Reminds me of home in many ways.”

  Pressing her teeth into her lower lip, she nodded and motioned with her hand for him to follow. “Come on. We can come back here later to see if the live music is still happening, and get some pictures of our own.” She pointed toward the sky. “Hopefully, the rain will hold out, and those dark clouds looming in the distance will go away. I know a great spot off the beaten path where we can eat our picnic in private.”

  Mac followed her to another trail, his sneakers still squishy with river water. With each step he took, an undeniable squeaking like that of a baby’s toy could be heard coming from his feet. Rolling his eyes, he shook his head, embarrassed by the annoying sound. Here he was trying to woo a beautiful princess with his gallantry, and yet he somehow felt more like a court jester, bumbling like an idiot among the castle ruins. Oh well, at least the day was still young, and there was ample time to redeem himself. When Nicky glanced over her shoulder at him, her dimples were on full throttle as she attempted to stifle a wide grin, the unmistakable squeak of his shoes hard not to notice. Smiling back at her, he attempted a seductive wink but remembered his eyes were shaded by his sunglasses. He trudged on in quiet self-admonishment. What a glaekit Scot he was for sure.

  “A smolder does not count if she cannot see yer eyes, eejit,” he mumbled to himself, his confidence wavering. Mac the Rock Star had no trouble scoring with women. But right now, Reid the Ridiculous was showing up and showing out.

  “Say again?” questioned Nicky as she stopped and turned around.

  “Oh, just a wee hungry for that lunch, is all,” he replied with a smile. Nicky nodded and turned to walk on.

  They continued to climb over fallen branches through the underbrush, the primitive trail nearly disappearing in front of them. But Nicky was a diehard local and seemed to know where she was going. Mac didn’t question her, and even though his soggy attire made it hard to keep up, he was content to enjoy the sight of her fine ass outlined in her skin-tight leggings as she pushed forward. A guy could certainly get used to this view.

  “We’re almost there,” she announced over her shoulder.

  They forged up a steep incline before the greenery opened up to a rocky summit on the north side of the island, revealing a breathtaking view of the bay. Mac inhaled sharply, taken aback by the glorious display of the rolling hills, and the Catskill Mountain ranges beyond the Hudson River.

  “Och!” he muttered under his breath as he swiped his sunglasses from his eyes to take in the full, panoramic view.

  “Pretty amazing, huh?” Nicky took the blanket from him and whipped it open in a billow of fabric.

  Mac inhaled again, shaking his head. “Now I really feel like I’m back home. This is incredible.”

  Setting the picnic basket on the ground, he eased his clammy body to the blanket, thankful for the warm breeze drying him off. Hooking his sunglasses over the neck of his t-shirt, he lifted his hat off and ran his fingers through his damp hair. “What can I do to help ye?”

  “Nothing. Just sit back and relax. I got this.”

  Nicky pulled their portions from the wicker basket and laid them out before him. As they ate chicken salad on croissants and sipped refreshing lemonade from a shared thermos, he could hardly take it all in – the scenery, the food, the scent of the earth in the air, and the gorgeous girl with green eyes who held his undivided attention. It was the most romantic setting he’d ever experienced.

  They sat cross-legged, talking about their upbringings in places strikingly similar – his in Scotland, and hers in Cold Creek. Mac loved the way she wrinkled her brow when she concentrated and listened. She asked occasional questions about his humble beginnings as a pale, gangly ginger growing up in the shadow of his strapping cousin, James. He was quick to explain how he was raised by his uncle, James’ father. James was more than a cousin to him – he was his brother.

  “Growing up, we sang in the local church together. That’s where I learned to read music.”

  “When did you start playing guitar?” Nicky asked, handing him a raspberry button cookie. He was thankful she didn’t ask about his parents.

  Taking a bite, Mac leaned on his bent elbow. The clouds rolling in hid the brightness of the sun, and he could keep his sunglasses off. “I was probably four or five years old. It wasn’t until I hit puberty that I started writing terrible love songs.”

  Nicky giggled. “I doubt your songs were terrible.”

  “Believe me – terrible!” he reiterated, running his hand down his beard, flicking off errant crumbs. “All the lyrics rhymed, and the melodies were the same awful three-chord progression. I was about thirteen at the time, coming off my very first crush. Her name was Claire. I believe we held hands one time, and I was a goner. It was all very innocent.”

  “How sweet.”

  “But then came the devastating blow. She had her eye on another bloke and broke my heart. Told me she couldn’t hold my hand anymore.”

  “Oh, no,” Nicky lamented, tilting her head with an endearing smile.

  “Thank god for my cousin, James. He helped me through the soul-shattering experience.”

  “Soul-shattering? You were thirteen,” she interrupted.

  “Aye. A formative time in my young life, for sure. To cheer me up, James and I started collaborating, writing songs together. We eventually started to record some of our work and independently released it. The real kicker was the internet. We posted shots playing our music on YouTube, and our fan base expanded. We even received some praise from Elton John—”

  “No way! Elton John?” she interrupted. “Sir Elton John?” Her eyes filled with excitement, tiny gold flecks in her green irises glinting in the muted light.

  Mac sat up. “The one and only. We gained some mainstream attention when one of our songs reached number three on the iTunes chart without any promotion or label. We sold 10,000 copies in a week.”

  “Oh my god, that’s incredible, Mac. I had no idea.” Biting her lower lip,
Nicky leaned forward as if anxious for him to finish his story, hanging on to his every word.

  “We put on a massive show in London for the fans, and three months later, we were signed to our label. Now we play sold-out venues, getting ready to play the stadiums and tour the world.” For dramatic effect, Mac swung his arms open wide, taking in the panoramic view. Mac the Rock Star was back; he felt like king of the summit again.

  Nicky shook her head. “Wow. You’re incredible.”

  Mac chuckled and brought his hands down to run the length of his damp denim thighs, cocking his head to peer into her shaded face. He hoped his story hadn’t changed the way she perceived him. “I’m still the same Scot with my own soul-shattering past like the rest of the world.” Picking up her delicate hand, he wove his fingers through hers. “What about ye?”

  “I think you’ve already learned all there is to know about me.” She blushed, looking at their hands entwined together. A subtle pink flushed her features as the summer breeze fluttered the wispy strands of hair around her face.

  “Nae. Have ye ever had yer soul crushed?”

  Nicky hesitated, her expression clouding over like the sky above them. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  Chapter Nine

  Nicky hated talking about her ex, Eric. But it was only fair since Mac opened up to her about some of his life stories. In the four years she dated Eric, she always thought they’d somehow end up together living on the outskirts of town in a tidy house with a white picket fence. Often, she’d envision a big dog cantering through the thick, green grass in the front yard as two children, a boy, and a girl, hung off a tire swing near a minivan parked on the driveway. The couple talked about moving in together, usually after one cocktail too many, Eric adamant they look for their own place in the city. He teased her incessantly about how she lived with her parents – well, technically, she lived next door to her parents in the renovated loft of the barn. Still, it was too close for comfort for the guy who didn’t really get along with Marjorie and Adam Sinclair, her parents too “touchy-feely” as he put it. The distance he wanted to put between her family and hometown should have been a red flag from the very beginning.