by A. Destiny
Water ran in a lazy river through the grounds below, occasionally speckled with small clusters of scrubby brush, and the sunlight dappled across the rich expanse of green grasses. There were numerous green-coated hills and mountains, as far as the eye could see, with several tops piercing a few low-lying clouds. It was almost unreal, the scene was so idyllic.
I stopped in my tracks and just . . . stared. My breath had locked in my lungs from shock at the view. Miles and miles of sheer beauty right before me.
“This is it,” Graham said in a low whisper right beside me. He was so close his mouth had to be just an inch or so from my ear, and goose bumps broke out across my skin in reaction to his proximity. “The place I was eager to show ya.”
“I can see why,” I replied in a rush. “It’s . . . just phenomenal. I can’t wait to finish eating so I can explore.” I wanted to photograph everything, to draw everything. My brain scrambled to capture the various shades of green and brown and blue and yellow. So much in front of me.
We laid down several blankets, courtesy of Steaphan, and everyone got food and began to eat. My sandwich was so good I took an extra one, and Tilda, seated beside me, threw me a wide grin.
I shrugged with a chuckle. “I’m a growing girl.” I’d never been ashamed of my healthy appetite.
Her grin grew wider, and she grabbed another sandwich too. “And I am growing as well.”
After we ate, I grabbed a pen from my backpack and a fresh piece of paper and asked for all of Tilda’s contact information so we could connect when I got back home. I really liked this girl and had enjoyed getting to know her so far.
Her face flushed in pleasure, and she wrote her address, e-mail, and social media information for me, then asked for the same in return.
“So . . .” She paused and seemed to think about her words. “Have you asked him yet about talking? When you are returning to America, that is?”
I swallowed as a fresh bout of nerves swept over me. “I’ve just been waiting for the right moment. Probably in another day or two, once we get closer to our time being over.”
“He will be saying yes,” she replied, certainty clear in her voice. “I know this.”
We cleaned up our trash and packed it back in the bag, and then I crammed that into the corner of my backpack. Around us, the others were doing the same as they finished their lunches.
Tilda’s mom waved at her, a friendly smile on her face.
“Oh, I promise my parents I will walk with them. We talk more later?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. Okay, have fun!” She headed toward them, and I saw my parents were sitting side by side on their blanket, oblivious to anything around them. Not wanting to disturb their romantic bubble, I made sure I was within viewing distance, then dug out my camera and began snapping shots. This would be another place to get a fun panoramic picture collage done.
I heard the click of a photo being taken behind me and turned around. It was Graham. And the camera was aimed right at . . . me. My heart stuttered a beat or two, then began a furious gallop.
He started walking toward me and put the camera down, an unusually open look in his eyes. I put my camera back in the bag and flung the strap over my shoulder.
“Why did you take a picture of me?” I asked him.
He gave a casual shrug, but the look on his face was anything but easygoing. In fact, intensity like I’d never seen poured from his eyes into mine. “This is my favorite scenic spot in all of Scotland. I wanted a photo of you here.”
My breath caught in my throat, and all I could do was stare at him. I could feel myself melting into a little puddle right here in the glen.
He moved closer until he was just inches from me again, and that crackling electricity rolled between us. There might as well have been no one else in the glen right now, because we only had eyes for each other.
Pulse hammering, I scrambled for something to say. “I can see why you love this place.”
He nodded. “Once you’re here, you understand.”
“It’s like a dream, a fantasy,” I gushed enthusiastically. “Almost unreal, in a way. So different from anything I’ve ever experienced in America. I’m glad I got pictures of this, but I already know I’m never going to forget my time here. Thank you so much for being a part of that.”
He blinked, and something seemed to drop between us, a kind of wall. His jaw ticked as he stood in silence for a moment. “Aye. I see.”
My chest lurched. “You see what?” Had I said something wrong? I’d just been complimenting his country and gushing about how beautiful it was.
Graham stepped back from me and exhaled. His eyes were shuttered now, unemotional. He stared at the glen. There was a disdainful scoff in his voice as he said, “You American girls, you always say the same thing.”
With a throat suddenly so tight I couldn’t speak, I spun around and left. My mind struggled to understand what had changed things between us like that. No way was I going to let him see the tears of hurt and confusion that had flown to my eyes with that dismissive comment, though.
I tugged my camera bag higher up my shoulder as I walked. Chin high, I swept the tears from my eyes, then gave a broad, fake smile to my parents and asked if they wanted to go on a hike. I needed to get away from him, give myself time to process this unwanted feeling of being totally lumped in with everyone else.
Stupid me. I’d thought Graham saw me as special and different, that he was as drawn to my uniqueness as I was to his. But he made it sound like I was nothing more than another shallow, cookie-cutter American girl to him. Unmemorable.
Just one in a line of girls he’d quickly forget as soon as I went home.
And the realization cut me right through the heart.
ChapterFourteen
The bus ride on Sunday morning for our day trip in Pitlochry went smoothly. We arrived in just under two hours, and everyone spilled off the bus. I waited for it to completely empty out before exiting and then darted right over to my parents’ side.
I could sense Graham’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I knew he’d see the emotions clear on my face. The harsh reminder I’d gotten yesterday about being nothing more than a paying customer, a generic American tourist, had resonated with me all afternoon and evening. I’d been avoiding him since the glen and had spent my time with Tilda or my parents.
Last night in bed, I’d stared at the ceiling in the dark, wondering what had gone so wrong. The only thing I could think of was that American girl he’d mentioned from last year; I must have reminded him of her somehow.
Still, that didn’t excuse him for being so . . . cold. So dismissive, like I was just a random, nameless person who didn’t matter. After all these days getting to know each other, I thought we’d become closer than that.
It hurt to know I was wrong.
I stuffed my emotional soreness back in my chest and turned my face to smile at my parents. Whatever. Counting today, we still had three full days of this bus tour, and I wasn’t going to let some guy ruin it for me.
Even as I thought that, I knew he wasn’t just some guy. That was just my embarrassment and pride speaking.
Steaphan gathered us in our usual semicircle. Graham was by his side and whispered something to Tilda, who stood to Graham’s other side. Sunlight shone on their faces. I hadn’t told her what had happened between me and him, not wanting to dump my woes on anyone else right now.
People filtered by us, giving our group welcoming smiles and waves. It was pretty obvious we were tourists, given that we were right by a tour bus, but like everywhere we’d been, the locals were friendly and kind.
“Welcome to Pitlochry!” Steaphan said with a giddy grin as he spread his arms wide. We were currently parked just off a main street filled with bright, perky buildings and bustling local businesses. “I love this wee town. It’s fun and
has a lot to offer visitors. There’s shopping, art galleries, beautiful gardens, plenty of places to hike, and more. Oh, and don’t forget the golfing. Speaking of, I’ll unlock the bus storage so we can get yer clubs out.” He gave my parents a wink.
Ah, crud. They were golfing again—how had I missed that? Oh, right—because I’d run out of breakfast right onto the bus, and then put my face in a book to avoid having to see or talk to Graham. I hadn’t seen my parents pack their clubs back in our room. Nor had I heard much of anything else this morning; I’d been too stuck in my own head.
But as I thought on it, I remembered Mom mentioning at the beginning of the bus tour that she and Dad were going to golf in Pitlochry, and I could rent clubs and play too. At the time I’d agreed, even though I wasn’t a golf fan.
Right now, though, I wasn’t feeling it. Maybe I could talk her into letting me hang out with Tilda instead, and we could explore those galleries or the gardens.
“Meet back here at eight, please,” Steaphan told us all. “No later than that, because we’re driving to Inverness, and it’s a long, long walk back.”
The adults chuckled. Tilda’s eyes met mine, and we both rolled them good-naturedly. Steaphan was a great guy filled with lots of knowledge about his homeland, but he could be a little corny sometimes.
“Now, off with ya!” Steaphan shooed us all away. “Enjoy this bonny day. It’s supposed to stay sunny and warm.”
Mom and Dad got their bags and tucked the straps over their shoulders. “Okay, let’s head to the course,” she said to both of us.
I drew in a breath. “Um . . . would you mind if I stayed around town instead while you guys golfed? And we can meet up afterward for lunch or something? I just . . . don’t feel in the mood for it today.”
Mom frowned and eyed my face. “You okay? You have seemed a bit off since yesterday. What’s wrong?”
I waved away her concern with the biggest smile I could muster. “Oh, I’m fine. I promise. I just don’t really feel up to golfing. I’d rather explore the town instead. I’ll see if Tilda can hang out with me so I’m not alone. And I have my phone, and Steaphan is staying in town too, so—”
Mom laughed and held up her hands. “Whoa, slow down. First off, I think your friend Tilda is with her parents today—they’re already heading down the street.” She nodded past my shoulder, and I looked. Sure enough, Tilda was talking rapidly with her parents as they headed to a cute clothing store.
Well, there went that plan.
Dad shook his head. “I’m not comfortable with you hanging around here by yourself, princess. Sorry.”
My stomach sank. I couldn’t fault them for wanting to make sure I was safe. “I guess I can just walk around with you guys, even if I don’t play.”
My face must have been miserable, because my mom just laughed. “Well, don’t flatter us so much into thinking you want to hang with us, Ava.”
“I’m sorry.” I gave her a hug of apology and let the sincerity show in my eyes. “It’s not you, I swear. I just find golf so boring.” I sighed.
Mom pursed her lips. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Since Steaphan will be in town, I’ll let you stay here.” My hopes soared, only to sink when she continued, “But only if Graham is with you.”
Well, there went that. I shook my head.
Mom’s brow furrowed. She leaned toward me. “Everything okay? I thought you’d jump at the chance to spend more time with him.”
I bit my lip, then said, “I don’t know what he’s up to anyway. He might be busy with his own plans.”
“Graham’s not busy at all,” Steaphan said from behind us, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure he’d be happy to escort ya around town. That’s his job.”
The reminder only served to rub a bit of salt in my wound. But I gave him an appreciative smile I hoped looked sincere. “That’s very nice of you to volunteer him, but—”
“I insist. We pride ourselves on meeting all customer needs, and Graham loves Pitlochry. He’d be thrilled to show ya the sights.” Steaphan squeezed my shoulder, then released it. “I’ll be back in a moment with him.”
My body was one big line of tension as I stood there awkwardly for a moment, struggling with how to fix this mess. Well, when he arrived, I’d simply tell him the services weren’t needed.
And then he was right there, peering down at me, and I saw a number of emotions sweeping through his gaze, hard and intense. He turned to look at my parents. “I’m happy to show Ava the gardens.” His voice reflected sincerity, tinged with something more resonant.
“It’s really okay,” I told him in a quiet whisper as I shook my head. “You don’t have to do this.”
He locked eyes with me again, and this time I could see remorse in them. “I want to. We need to talk.”
Obviously he wanted to discuss what had happened yesterday, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear. Still, I didn’t want to be a total jerk, so I gave a quick nod of agreement.
Mom and Dad gave him a grateful look, and then Dad crammed some money in my hand. “Here. Go have fun, princess. We’ll plan to meet you in a few hours, okay?”
I watched them walk away and stood there for another awkward moment before finally saying, “Well, let’s head to the gardens then.”
We made it to the entrance in no time, and I paid for our tickets. Graham had protested, but I reminded him he’d bought my castle ticket in Loch Ness, so we were even now. Rather than easing this tension between us, my words seemed to make it stronger. Maybe because like me, he was remembering how fun and effortless that day had been.
As opposed to today, which was stilted and uncomfortable.
“Erm.” He cleared his throat, and we walked in. “So, the garden is divided into different regions, each reflecting a part of the world where Scottish explorers found unique plants and seeds to bring back here.”
The gardens were a bit beyond their ideal June bloom, but they were still stunning with their lush richness. There were multicolored plants everywhere that I hadn’t seen before. I let their warm summer beauty move me out of my uneasiness into that place where art tapped my soul, opened my eyes. Petals of all shapes and shades, green fronds and leaves and trees pushed against the edges of the path.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, just looking around.
“Ava,” he finally said in a low, fervent tone as he touched my arm and drew me to a stop. He pulled me to the side and looked at me, and I could see shadows of regret on his face. “I’m sorry. I feel . . . so terrible. Because what I said came out wrong, and I just want to explain—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupted, then stopped. I’d told myself I was going to let him explain it if he wanted to. I could give him that courtesy at least. Maybe show him not all American girls were whatever he thought we were. “I’m sorry, please continue. I didn’t mean to cut you off.”
He reached over and took my hand in his, and my heart thrummed in response to the soft, cautious touch. Everything about him right now was careful, tense, nervous. His back was hunched over, and his eyes looked a little tired.
“Can we sit for a moment, please?” he asked as he nodded toward a nearby empty bench, cast in light from the bright morning sun.
We made our way there and sat down, and he still didn’t release my hand, keeping it captured in his.
Graham took in a deep breath, and his hand seemed to shake just a bit, which made my heart soften and wobble. “Ava, I . . . That was so unfair of me to say. I’ve been kicking myself for it because it was wrong, and I overreacted.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “As I mentioned before, an American girl had done our Highland bus tour last year.”
Oh. I’d suspected as much—that the girl had been involved in this somehow. Seeing the lingering edge of sadness in his eyes made my heart hurt for him. Obviously she’d caused him pain. He hadn’t wanted to ta
lk about any of this back in Oban, yet he was opening up to me now.
Why?
“She lived in California and was here with her family on holiday,” he continued. “We spent a lot of time together, and she seemed enchanted with Scotland. With me.”
My heart felt a small pang of jealousy, and it was hard to push it back. “Go on,” I encouraged him.
He pursed his lips for a moment, then exhaled in a loud huff. “We got to know each other over those days, and she kept talking about what a dream Scotland was, how it wasn’t even real.”
Ah, now it was all clear. “Obviously this didn’t end well,” I said.
He shook his head. “She left, and I was broken up about it. But she’d told me she was online. So I found her a week or so after she returned home. Along with a post-Scotland picture of her kissing her boyfriend, some handsome older lad.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. That had to hurt a lot.” I couldn’t imagine how angry and pained he’d felt about that.
“I felt stupid, like I was just a holiday boyfriend for her. Took me a while to stop feeling crushed about it.”
“Do you still . . .” I couldn’t finish my question.
He shook his head. “No, I don’t like her anymore, if that’s what yer askin’.” He seemed to shake off that shadow, then looked at me and squeezed my hands. “But yer words, they triggered that emotion, and I was afraid. . . .”
“No, I totally get it. I can see how that made you remember what had happened.” I looked down at our hands, fingers threaded together, his larger fingers woven through mine. It looked right. It felt right. And my chest ached for this guy who was so generous and kind and had been hurt by someone who had used him.
I was filled with fresh anger about her. I looked up at him. “We’re not all like that, you know.”
“Aye, I do.” Regret poured from his blue eyes. “And I’m so sorry I said that.”
“It’s okay.” I sucked in a breath through my nostrils and then explained a bit about my own personal heartache, how my ex had crushed my heart. As I talked, I could see his jaw tighten in sympathetic anger for me, which warmed my chest.