“You weren’t supposed to chug it.” She admonished, “it wasn’t a shot.”
“It just needs a chaser,” he said, as he nabbed her drink, tossing it back like it was nothing.
“Hey!” she cried out, as her empty glass joined the other on the bar top. It was hard to sound scolding through a giggle. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Impressed?” he asked, flicking thick dark brows up and down at her. He turned on his stool to face her straight on, striking a heroic hands-on-hips Superman pose.
“Hardly,” she lied.
She found it hard to keep her eyes on his face as he pushed his sleeves back to reveal thick corded forearms.
The name had thrown her off at first: Connie.
In her mind, this was a feminine name, and even though, as an optician, she had dealt with an extensive database of names, this was the first time she had encountered it used for the opposite sex. Then there was the unarguable fact that this guy was the definition of ‘man’—she could image opening a dictionary and finding a picture of Connie by the word, with that smirk of his, teeth twinkling with that cartoon sparkle.
He was handsome, in that rugged way that romance novels had invented, his male prowess emphasized by his height and the thick ropes of muscles that made up his robust figure. He obviously spent time in the gym but lacked the bulging excess of an iron-pumping gym-rat. Evie appreciated the way his sweater left some things to her imagination—she had a lot—and she had no trouble picturing the chiselled abs hidden beneath the knit.
And although all of this was breathtaking to behold—or the fact that any of it was especially interested in talking with her—it was his charming smile and bright eyes that threw her off-kilter. She wasn’t sure how much more interaction with the hunk she could withstand before she stopped talking altogether and just gawked, open mawed like a punch-drunk idiot.
A passing pub-goer thankfully interrupted, keeping Evie from falling victim to the predicament she had just envisioned. The Scot was drawn away from her into a congenial conversation, and Evie shook off the daze. She hopped down off her stool, discovering that the ground was a little further away than her foggy perception had anticipated. She grabbed the bar top to keep from visibly swaying.
It was a succinct reminder of just how many drinks she had polished off. The effort it took to add the number of drinks, left her with a stabbing panic, as she quickly recalled the fact that she still had nowhere to sleep tonight. A night on the town was one thing, but sleeping in the street was another that she wasn’t willing to stoop to just yet. With renewed conviction, the redhead made her way briskly to the other end of the bar, catching Rockstar Roy.
“I should really pay for the drinks,” she started as she reached into her purse for her wallet. As he obliged her by ringing up the tab, she leaned closer and asked, “I had mistaken this place for a hotel. Would there be somewhere nearby where I can rent a room?”
“You’re here, pussycat,” Roy chuckled, pointing one of his crocked fingers upwards in the air, “I’ve got rooms above. There’s a staircase to go up just there. Let me get you a key.”
Evie was both relieved and concerned about the idea of staying above a busy pub, but the spry elderly bartended produced a key even before her payment had gone through. The key that was handed to her was attached to a wallet-sized wooden toggle. The way it was labelled in permanent marker was even more disconcerting.
“How many nights do ya think you will be wanting?” he asked, pencilling the room number in a schedule pad as he asked for her name.
Evie agreed to take the room for two nights and thanked him. With the key in hand, she left the din of the busy establishment to investigate just what the hell she had gotten herself into. Thankfully, the raven headed Scot was still engaged in an animated discussion. It was the perfect excuse for Evie to slip away unnoticed before she really embarrassed herself.
The stairs led up to a narrow hallway, with three doors on each side and a window at the far end. She headed in the direction of her room, noting that the runner under her feet was well worn but clean and that the dark green striped wallpaper drew out the warmer tones of the wooden chair rail and panelling below. Rockstar Roy might be one hell of an amazingly flamboyant fashionista and a mind-reading liquor-magician, but his skills seemed to stop there. This place had not been touched in decades.
Room 5 was at the far end, and after jiggling the key in the lock, she was able to shoulder the sticky door open. The room was tiny, barely fitting a single bed and a small dresser. Still, it was clean, and the bed looked reasonably comfy.
The redhead flopped onto the mattress. It gave a spring-squeaking protest, and Evie wondered how long the bed frame had been in this ridiculously tiny room. Sixty years? Seventy? A century!
These idle thoughts were not comforting in the least, working to edge her anxieties back to the surface, so she took out her phone and checked the time. It was too early to turn in, and she was starting to feel hungry again, despite the four drinks—Good gracious, Evie! Four?! Really? It’s not even six.
Evie noticed that she had missed a call from her parents. There was no way she was calling them back. Not after all their fears had come true. She couldn’t face admitting defeat to herself, let along allowing them the satisfaction of being right. She swiped out of the app, seeing that someone else had been trying to contact her several times.
A.W 10:16 a.m. - Did you make it? How’s the weather? Bet it’s raining! Why did you move to Scotland again? The land of no sun…EVER! You’re going to be even whiter if that’s even possible.
A.W 1:23 p.m. – Hello? Did you bring an umbrella? Google says its raining. I win.
A.W 4:56 p.m. – Hope you like your new place. When you get wifi, we should chat.
A.W 5:22 p.m. – Miss your face:(
Evie wasn’t sure how she had managed to miss all four text messages. She checked the ringer, confirming that it was on, and then shrugged with indifference. She must have been so busy with everything else that went on that she just didn’t notice. She wasn’t sure that Rockstar Roy supplied wifi, but she didn’t feel like video chatting. Even though Andy was her best friend, he hadn’t backed her jet-set either. She sent him a quick placating response to hopefully appease his text-tornado.
E.M - I’ve landed and made my way into Edinburgh. Sorry, I didn’t get your texts, it’s been busy.
Evie closed the phone and stared up at the ceiling, as she considered what to do with the rest of her evening. If she went to sleep now, she would only prolong the jet-lag—or so several travel blogs claimed. She wasn’t especially exhausted now, despite the red-eye flight, losing her luggage in the airport black hole, and becoming homeless. She was thrumming with a restlessness that begged her to get up off the bed.
Evie cursed, wondering what else could have possibly gone wrong—and then nixed that notion altogether, not wanting to jinx herself.
Evie opened a web browser and started a search for another place to live. She started work in two days, so she had a very narrow window to right all of her misfortunes. She certainly couldn’t go to work in her hoodie and her geek tee. How long would her savings account hack living in a hotel—the redhead stopped and shut her phone.
Get it together, Evie!
Her vision gave an unpleasant little spin, and for a moment, Evie tried to decide if the culprit was the alcohol or her out of control OCD. No doubt, both. She could spend her evening dwelling on planning and back-up planning and back-up-back-up planning, but somehow that just seemed a waste. Evie had done all that, and it had fallen apart anyway. She couldn’t hack expending any more time and energy analyzing and overthinking her predicament.
It was her first day in another country for crying out loud! Evie wanted to be out exploring, spend some time and energy taking it all in, enjoying it.
It was ‘new’ time.
Evie stood up. She would go out and see whatever she could find. As she reached for the doorknob, there was a knoc
k from the other side that was so eerily fortuitous that it even made her alcohol flushed cheeks blanch.
Was it adventure knocking? Coming to take her away from her boring tediousness? Or…maybe something worse. A stalker?! She knew she shouldn’t have stayed in this creepy time-warped hotel!
Evie forced her whirring mind to go black. Blank. Reboot. She cleared her throat and tried to resemble a rational adult, as she cracked open the door.
“Yes?”
Her peek into the hallway was met with a vast expanse of chest, forcing Evie to look up into brightly coloured eyes high above her. She nearly squeaked. It was the Gaelic god—adventure really was knocking!
“Emm,” he stumbled for words as he shoved his hands down into the pockets of his jeans, “Hi.”
“Hello again,”
Evie leaned her shoulder against the door frame, opening it a little wider. Not inviting him in—she wasn’t that adventurous—but sending him a clear signal of interest.
Connie just stood there. Evie wasn’t sure what was happening. It was crazy to have shared the attention of such a gorgeous man earlier, but this second encounter was entirely foreign to her. “Did you…need something?”
“Well, ya see now, you just sorta disappeared…and I, emm, found out from Rockstar that you were going to, umm, ya know, stay for a wee bit…here.” The Scot rambled, gesturing wildly, “So, I just wanted to, ya know, come by and say that ya dinna have to pay for the drinks. I, ugh…”
“Your welcome.”
Connie stopped, and his teeth bit down on his bottom lip as his mouth turned up at the corners. His gesturing stalled, his hand still up in the air. He finally placed it against the door jamb, leaning his forehead against it, appearing almost weary.
“I’m really pants at this,” he wheezed, his gaze falling to the floor.
Evie gave a chuckle. Despite towering over her and taking up the breadth of the doorway, he was more adorable than intimidating. “At what?”
“This!”
“What is ‘this?’”
Connie paused, moistening his lips as his eyes came back to her face. They held her fixedly, as he slowly strung his intentions together, “Yer accent—ya aren’t from around here and…I was wondering …if you wouldnae mind seeing some of the city with me. Tonight. To make up for the drinks.”
Evie’s brain sputtered to catch up. Had this gorgeous hunk just asked her out? On a date? Maybe not a date, per se, but he did want to accompany her for the evening, take her around the sights of Edinburgh— Huh…it really is adventure calling.
“Thank you. That sounds wonderful…”
“But…?” Connie interjected, his hands still out, his body tense.
“But?” Evie repeated, looking confused. She shook her head. “No, but. Just…well, yes. Just yes. I would love that.”
“Ah…great!” the man said, clapping his hands together loudly, his entire body animated again. He repeated the sentiment, this time low and quiet, as he thrust out his elbow for her to take.
Evie’s eyes went wide in surprise. An elbow? Had she ever been offered an elbow before? Nope. Her previous boyfriends had held her hand, tried to hold her bum, but never so gentlemanly offered her to take their elbow before. She slipped her hand into the crock of his arm appreciatively, as he led her out of the building.
The rain was still coming down. It had shifted from pouring sheets back into a mist that still required some protection. Connie did not seem to have a coat, let alone an umbrella, so the girl happily reached into her purse to pull out hers. The transparent top of the umbrella sprang open, and Evie was careful to keep the temperamental thing well away from her face and glasses this time. Then she held it up, noting that her counterpart’s height forced him to duck down to take advantage of the protection.
His big hand slid over the top of hers as he took the handle from her. As he stood up straight, he stopped and admired the round face that looked back at him.
The Scot gave Evie a skeptical glance. “There’s a cartoon cat on this brolly.”
The redhead inwardly cringed. She had forgotten all about succumbing to the kawaii cuteness of the umbrella, but she could hardly take it back now, and her sweater was certainly not waterproof.
Evie shrugged her shoulders. “Hey, take it or leave it.”
Connie transferred the umbrella to his left hand so she could retake his elbow, and sheltered close together out of the misty wet, they walked.
They caught a bus to the Castle, a hulking form that dominated the fading light of the skyline, and although it was closed for the evening, they explored the outside grounds and gatehouse. Connie proved to know more than just local knowledge about the old city and the architecture, going into great historical details. He talked about the fortress and its successes and failures, pointed out statues of William Wallace and Robert the Bruce from the gateway.
They meandered down the Royal Mile, checking out the old training grounds and the witch’s well. They made their way through the University grounds to the Floral Clock, and then the strikingly high Scot Monument, a towering structure that thrust upwards into the sky like a raised sword. They rested their feet at a pub in Old Town and sampled a variety of Scotch, dancing to pumping fiddle jigs played live.
Evie had not felt this carefree in a very long time. Her mind was clear of all the usual cluttering distraction. She focused on the here and now and the feel of it. She enjoyed it for what it was, instead of wondering what it could or maybe should be.
Connie was vibrant and gregarious and reckless in his unabashed patriotism. The presence he held in the pub when she had first seen him was contagious. It leeched out and affected her. Somehow, in some way or another, she felt stronger and more confident, just being near him. He was not afraid of anything or anyone. He said what he liked and was unfailingly witty and charming about it.
Evie, for once, put it all out there and did not care a lick. She didn’t care that she had little to no make-up on or that her hair was still tied back in her aeroplane-travel-appropriate-braid. She didn’t care that she was out on the town, an ocean away from what she knew, in just a pair of jeans and a hoodie. And Connie did not seem to care either.
At one point, when she had been attempting to toss back the last of her scotch like Connie did, he laughed that deep belly chuckle that seemed to reverberate out of him like an infectious guitar strum, and he grabbed her up in his arms, propelling her into a hair whipping spin out onto the dance floor that almost looked professionally choreographed. Mid-spin, Evie was laughing, loving the way that her body moved with his direction through the spin. Instead of ending up in a gangly heap on the floor, she felt herself moving with precision, her leg pointing in her flats as she stopped.
Their eyes met, that split second before he brought her spinning back to him, their bodies suddenly close. He held her in a gentlemanly couple’s dance position, the hand on the small of her back beginning to guide her into a quick-paced two-step. With Connie at the helm, hell, even she could dance! And she felt like they looked damn good at it too. They laughed, and they moved, and they had fun! The kind of unabashed amusement that makes you crave more and more of it.
They danced away the evening, trading one pub for another, each more fun than the last. Connie seemed to know everyone, no matter where they went like Edinburgh was just another small town where everyone knew everyone else. It made her feel more welcome here than she ever had in Edmonton. She high-fived those who guessed her accent right, and they taught her all manner of new lingo to get her by in a Scots world.
The night became morning, time slipping by effortlessly. Everything blurred into a warm fuzzy concoction of memories and moments, punctuated by the deep thrum of Connie’s infectious chuckle and the lingering heat his hand left around hers. It was freedom like she had never experienced before. It was amazing. He was amazing.
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