Sparks in Scotland

by A. Destiny

  After all, it meant another day with Graham.

  Plus, it didn’t hurt that Graham’s dad was going to be in Glasgow all day and would check in with us this afternoon. So we weren’t stranded here alone without a parent nearby.

  Kylie slipped between me and Graham and shot him a flashy smile. She had on tight jeans and a black shirt that flattered her curves. She really was a lovely girl; several guys had shot appreciative glances her way since we’d arrived at the park. Not that she’d noticed them. She only had eyes for Graham. “We’ll go to a chippy after this, aye?” she asked him as she blinked those long lashes his way.

  He peered over her head to look at me. “You in?”

  “What’s a chippy?” I asked.

  Jamison laughed, and Kylie tittered. “A fish-and-chips shop,” Jamison said with a wide grin.

  “Oh. Yeah.” I should have guessed that—Mom had mentioned before that in Great Britain, they called french fries “chips.” My face flushed a bit, and I gave a stiff nod. “Sounds good.”

  I kept my focus ahead as we entered the museum. To my delight, the glass enclosure contained a lush garden. Graham, Jamison, and Kylie were talking about which chippy they wanted to go to, so I slipped away and strolled around the U-shape, snapping pictures of the well-groomed plants.

  “Ava!” Graham called out.

  I turned and took a photograph of the three of them, standing casual and familiar together.

  Kylie stepped closer to Graham and wrapped her arms around both guys. “Wait, I wasn’t ready!” she said with a mock pout. “Can ya take another?”

  I did, and then took a couple zoomed in on Graham’s face. It hadn’t escaped my attention that today was my last day with him. The fact that I’d even had these two bonus days was a gift, and I intended to make the most of it.

  And that included not being bugged by my jealousy of Kylie. Well, as much as humanly possible, anyway.

  I popped the lens on my camera and said, “Let’s go inside.”

  The museum was eclectic, packed with displays set up to show what Glasgow homes looked like in earlier times. We wandered with the flow of the crowd for an hour or so, moving from exhibit to exhibit. When a woman holding a baby tried to shove her way through our group, Graham took my hand to pull me out of the way. It was so hard to let it go.

  After we left the museum, we found a chippy. Our meals were wrapped in newspaper, which was a bit odd, but the fish was to die for. I devoured it and the chips, which made Jamison laugh.

  “I have a hearty appetite,” I said with a laugh. “And I’m not ashamed.”

  “Every lad likes a lass who enjoys food,” Jamison replied.

  I had to admit, the guy was really attractive. Something about the open friendliness on his face drew me to him and encouraged my own responding smiles. He made me laugh a lot, and I found him fresh and entertaining. But Jamison didn’t make my skin ­tingle, didn’t impact me the way Graham did.

  I liked him, but it wasn’t that kind of like.

  “Where to now?” Kylie asked as she dabbed the corners of her mouth. Every move of hers was delicate and feminine.

  “Can we find an art museum?” I asked them. “Or I’d love to check out a gallery.”

  “Wait, I know where we can go,” Graham said with a smile. He eyed me. “You’ll like it, I’m sure.”

  We tossed our trash and walked until we made it to the front of a large stone building with Grecian-like columns. The small set of steps leading to the entrance beckoned me.

  “The Gallery of Modern Art,” I read on a sign, and clapped with glee. I turned to him. “That’s perfect! I love modern art.”

  Kylie sighed. “Can we go shopping instead? I’m a bit museumed out.”

  Jamison shoved against her side and shot her a warning glare.

  I swallowed down my flare of irritation and gave her a smile that I hoped looked sincere. “I’d be happy to go shopping after we finish looking around here. Or if you want to go ahead, I can meet you when I’m done.” Because there was no way I was leaving without taking a peek in here.

  Her gaze darted to Graham, then back to me. “No, no, I’ll go with ya.”

  As we walked inside, Jamison said from behind us in a smooth voice, “Did ya know this building used to be the mansion of a tobacco lord? Since then it’s also been a bank, a library, and now it’s a museum.”

  I blinked and turned to face him. “How did you know all that?”

  He held up his phone, opened to a browser page, and shot me a wink. “The World Wide Web,” he declared.

  With a laugh, I shook my head. “I should have thought of doing that. Good idea.”

  We made our way inside and moved through the exhibits. When we saw one that was a precarious pile of colored chairs and purses, sitting in the middle of a black-and-white tiled floor, we stopped in unison.

  Kylie tilted her head. “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea,” I murmured.

  “I’m not sure it even matters what it means,” Graham said in an offhanded tone.

  Kylie shot him a strange look and moved toward the cluster of chairs.

  As she and her brother circled the exhibit, I turned to him. “Why do you think it doesn’t matter?” I asked in a quiet tone.

  He pursed his lips, deep in thought. The bold dark-green shade of his long-sleeved shirt made his eyes pop, and I could smell that fresh-soap scent coming off him. I took a step closer and let myself breathe him in.

  “Art is so personal, so intimate,” he said on a soft exhale, and I swallowed in reaction to the soft cadence of his words. “Meanin’ can vary by person—even vary by day, depending on yer mood.”

  “That’s true. I guess there’s no sense in trying to label something when each person is going to give the work of art their own label.” I crooked a smile his way. “Are you into art?”

  “Me? Nah.” A dimple popped out in his left cheek. “But music is similar. I love songs that take risks, that challenge us.”

  My chest warmed, and I nodded. “Me too. I love it when art makes you think. When it isn’t safe or predictable and can’t fit in a neat little box. My friend Corinne, she’s in an art workshop this summer with an amazing African artist. I’d been tempted to sign up for it, but I decided not to. Now I’m glad I didn’t.” A slow burn crawled across my face when I realized what I’d said.

  “Why are ya glad?” His eyes seemed to bore into mine, and the soft noises around us faded away.

  I swallowed as my stomach gave a nervous lurch. Did I dare tell him the truth? What did I have to lose, really? “Because if I had taken the workshop, I wouldn’t be here in Scotland walking around with you.” My pulse pounded hard in my ears, and I felt a slight tremble in my hands.

  Graham took a step toward me, numerous emotions flickering through his eyes. We were so close I could practically feel the crackle in the air between us. “I’m glad yer here, Ava. I said it before—I’ve had a lot of fun getting to know ya.”

  “Me too.” I bit my lower lip. Graham was full of layers, an intriguing puzzle, and I wanted to pick his brain more.

  His eyes darted down to my mouth, then jumped back up again, and I saw his jaw clench for a moment. What was he thinking about? Kissing me? I’d give anything to know what was going on in his head right now.

  My phone buzzed, and I gave an awkward laugh as I dug it out of my pocket.

  Hey, honey! Having fun? Where are you guys? :-)

  “A text from my mom,” I said to him. “She probably wants to make sure I’m still alive.” I took a picture of the chair and purse exhibit and sent it to her, along with a brief description of what we’d seen in Glasgow so far.

  “Graham?” Kylie said from behind us. “Check out these paintings over here. They’re just stripes and patterns.”

  I followed behind and watched
him and Kylie talk. His body language with her was different than it was with me. Was that bad? Or was it a good thing? I kept getting these vibes from him that made me think he wasn’t only interested in being my friend.

  The last thing I wanted to do, though, was read a message that wasn’t there—or make it have more meaning than it actually did. Being burned so badly with David had made me cautious.

  Jamison grabbed my elbow and, with a smirk, nudged me up behind Graham and Kylie. We stared at the two large paintings mounted on the half wall in front of a row of columns.

  “Seriously,” Kylie declared, “I don’t get how this is art. It’s just patterns.”

  “To some people, patterns are art,” I replied. “There’s beauty in the repetition.”

  She shrugged. “I guess.” It was obvious by the look on her face that she wasn’t trying to be rude or insulting. She genuinely didn’t understand.

  “My friend back home is the same as you,” I offered. “She prefers classical art and paintings to modern works. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having particular art tastes, for what it’s worth, so long as you have respect for other art. It doesn’t mean you have to like everything. I think good art challenges us to think outside our regular world and view things differently.”

  Her eyes flicked to me, and she gave me a brief but warm nod. Her demeanor relaxed a bit when she apparently realized I wasn’t going to insult her. “Yeah, that’s a fair point. Thanks.”

  We continued walking through the gallery, and as Jamison took Kylie over to a brightly painted canvas on a creamy beige wall, Graham stepped to my side.

  “That was nice of ya,” he said. His hand brushed my lower back for the briefest of seconds.

  My pulse fluttered. “Oh, uh, thanks.”

  “She’s a kind lass if ya get to know her,” he offered.

  “How long have you all known each other?”

  He and I strolled around the perimeter of this room, pausing before each painting. They consisted of thick slashes and blobs of rich-colored paint splashed across large canvases.

  “A long time. Since I was a young lad. We live in the same neighborhood.” The fondness ringing clear in his voice and eyes made my heart sink a touch, and I instantly chastised myself for the reaction.

  Graham’s arm brushed mine. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I’m startin’ to think she has a wee crush on me.”

  I bit back a barking laugh. A “wee crush” to say the least. “Yeah, I think you’re right about that.”

  As he pulled back to look at me, his lips twitched. “It’s obvious to you, eh?”

  Like I could blame the girl for how she felt. I had a crush on him too. I couldn’t hide from my feelings anymore, even if they’d happened crazy fast. I’d known this guy for a few days, but already he’d started working his way under my skin with his charm and wit and intelligence.

  I stared down at my feet, unsure what to reply and suddenly feeling like my emotions were on display for him, for everyone in the gallery to read. If I could sense Kylie’s crush, surely others could sense mine.

  He nudged me with his shoulder, and I looked up. “She and I are just friends, yanno,” he said quietly. “It’s not like that.”

  My heart jumped to my throat. I nodded in response, though the gesture was wooden. They might only be friends now, but that didn’t mean it would always be that way. “Do you, uh, have a girlfriend?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “Do ya have a boyfriend?”

  I shook my head, and we both gave awkward chuckles.

  “Kinda surprised ya don’t,” he said, and I could hear the ­earnestness in his tone. “Yer a bonny gal.”

  Oh wow. I bit my lower lip and felt my cheeks start to burn. I shrugged. “Just been waiting for the right person.”

  His eyes seemed to pierce right into me. “Me too, Ava.”

  ChapterSeven

  The soft late-afternoon breezes swept through the streets as we made our way to the park after wandering in and out of quaint local shops. Jamison had heard there was a dance troupe performing at the park tonight. We’d checked in with Steaphan first to let him know our plans, and he said he’d pick us up at nine to take us home.

  Something had changed in our group dynamic in the art museum. As we’d wandered through the exhibits, Kylie had begun to relax and stopped being so uptight, and as a result, more of her natural attitude began to shine through. We’d giggled over some of the stranger exhibits on display, wondering what the artist’s inspiration was. She’d even bought me a bottle of water when I’d mentioned I was thirsty.

  It made me feel even guiltier about liking Graham as much as I did. The longing gazes she threw his way when he wasn’t looking were almost painful to see, especially now that I was starting to enjoy her company.

  “What’s Ohio look like?” Jamison asked me.

  Our group approached the east end of the park, and as we walked, I described Ohio’s eclectic scenery—the tree-covered hills, the flat farmlands with rows of corn that stretched as far as the eye could see, the bustling big cities and quaint small towns.

  “It’s awesome. I’ve lived in the Cleveland area my whole life, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” I explained with a smile. “There’s little that can beat Ohio in the fall, when all the leaves are brilliant colors on the trees. I wish I had a picture on my phone to show you.”

  “Sounds quite bonny,” Kylie said. “The Highlands are unlike anything ya’ve ever seen too.”

  “I can’t wait. The photographs are so beautiful, and the real thing has to be even better.” I sipped my water, and we found a place under a shade tree to sit and wait for the dance troupe’s performance in a half hour.

  Though it was already late afternoon, the sun was surprisingly warm, and I stripped off my jacket and tucked it under myself to sit on. Graham was on my right, Jamison on my left, and Kylie beside Graham.

  We talked about everything and nothing as we waited. I learned that Jamison was an excellent long-distance runner with aspirations to try out for the Olympics someday. He and Kylie had an easygoing relationship, interrupting each other and poking fun, but none of the antagonism you sometimes saw with siblings.

  While we talked, Graham was quiet, just watching us all, only chiming in here or there. He seemed content to sit back and let us chatter.

  “I’m dying of thirst,” Kylie proclaimed. She jumped up and dusted off her backside. “Anyone else fancy a drink?”

  “I’m quite thirsty myself,” Jamison said and stood as well. “We’ll go find sustenance and be back.”

  “Graham, care for anything?” she asked him.

  “Nah, I’m good, thanks.” He gave her a polite smile.

  The two of them walked off, with Kylie shooting him a quick look over her shoulder before they crossed the street toward a shop.

  A comfortable silence settled between the two of us. I stretched my hands out along the grass, and my fingers brushed against his. With an awkward laugh, I jerked away and tucked my hands in my lap.

  “So, what else do ya do in yer free time?” he asked me. “Other than art and traveling to beautiful countries, that is.”

  I kept my gaze on my sneakered feet so I wouldn’t stare into his eyes. “Well, I like to swim laps. I practically live in our neighborhood’s outdoor pool during the summer. I’ve learned how to knit, and I’ve started making the world’s longest scarf. And I go to our school’s meditation club—”

  I heard a low chuckle and stopped talking to look at him. His right eyebrow was straight up in the air. “Meditation club?”

  “Yeah, it’s to help us relax after being all stressed out after a rough day at school.” I grinned. “We drink tea, talk for a ­little bit, then sit in silence and release our worries into the atmosphere.” Sometimes I was even able to convince Corinne to join me,
though she was usually too busy doing homework.

  “Sounds lovely.” His lips quirked, and a dimple appeared in his left cheek. “We don’t have anything like that at my school. What do you worry about that requires you to meditate?”

  “My grades, especially English and math. Those are my weak spots. Not to mention trying to figure out what colleges I want to start checking out, and when I should look for a job . . .” I shook off the familiar knot of tension that started to build in my stomach and nudged him with my shoulder. “And what do you do for fun? Other than drumming and dancing around the Highlands in a kilt, that is,” I teased.

  In the middle of the grass in front of us, a few members of the dance troupe arrived, clad in green-plaid kilts, dark-green vests, and kneesocks.

  Graham looked them over, then turned his attention back to me. “Well, I work with my da sometimes on repairin’ cars. He has an old hot rod we’ve been fixin’ for a coupla years now.”

  “That’s cool. Do you think you’ll get to drive it when it’s fixed?”

  He paused, and his back stiffened for a second or two, and an expression flitted across his face that I couldn’t quite name. ­“Probably not,” he finally said to me. “Look, Jamison and Kylie are back.”

  Okay, apparently Graham didn’t want to talk any more about this. Why would the car be such a big deal to him? Was he not eager to drive, or was there something else at play here?

  My heart fluttered, and I forced a broad smile as the siblings took their seats once again.

  “The dancers are warming up,” Jamison said to me in a low whisper. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small red package. “I brought ya somethin’.”

  I peered down at the wrapper and read the text. “Butter shortbread rounds. Are these cookies?” My stomach gave a low grumble in anticipation.

  “These’re only the best biscuits around.” His grin was wide. “Give ’em a try.”

  I opened the bag and breathed in the rich scent, then took two out and handed him one. We both bit into them at the same time, and I groaned at the delicious buttery-sweet goodness. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding. This is the best cookie I’ve had in forever.”