by Rebel Carter
“Thank you for coming to get me.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Delilah.”
“James,” he said, giving my hand a quick shake. Then he eyed the lone duffle bag slung over my shoulder. “Only brought the one?”
“Yes,” I said, fingers worrying the strap over my shoulder, “I like to travel light.”
I hadn’t thought much about outfits when I’d packed for the trip. My prized red dress, a few thick sweaters, a couple pairs of jeans and my sturdiest pair of boots had rounded out my packing. I’d opted to wear layers for the trip and the blast of winter air that hit me in the face as soon as James and I left the airport had me grateful for it.
I yanked my scarf tighter as we made our way toward James’s vehicle. A nice dependable, if tiny, two-door truck that looked capable of handling the snow falling around us. On my lengthy flight, I’d read that snow over the holidays was chancy in Scotland and that visitors might get the treat if they were lucky. I’d never seen snow before. It was a seasonal luxury most Texans only heard tall tales of. And now here I was in Scotland, experiencing it for myself. I was transfixed by the sight of it.
Magical. Or insane, but I guess that just depended on who was looking at it.
I smiled, holding out a gloved hand to catch a snowflake. It seemed that I was one of the lucky ones.
Not a bad way to start my time in Scotland if I did say so myself. Once we were settled into James’s truck, the cheery man wasted no time in making for Sithean. The ride was pleasant, with James keeping up a steady stream of conversation, of which I understood about half. I tried not to be annoyed with my lack of comprehension, considering there would be other truck rides. I was grateful for James’s kindness and openness. It made the two-hour journey pass easily enough, and by the time we arrived in town I felt both confident and excited for my adventure as an apprentice.
I’d done it. Truly. There was no going back now. What had started out as a bid to prove my siblings wrong, to reclaim some hope for the future, was now real. I was really, truly, in Scotland. I’d never so much as set foot outside of Texas, and now here I was (mostly) keeping up a conversation with a Scotsman I’d only just met.
I felt like I was in a fairytale. The wild scenery of Scotland had enchanted me: stretches of beautiful pastures interrupted by lakes and mountains, and stones so cruel and sharp-looking they made me think of teeth. Snow—real snow, a thing I hadn’t experienced until now—covered everything in a dreamy filter that made me giddy.
The Scottish countryside was ethereal in its untamed beauty. There was a rawness that made my soul ache, that whispered to me in a language I didn’t understand but wanted to chase after with all my heart.
“Och aye!” James threw up his hands in frustration.
Speaking of languages I didn’t understand...
We were sitting at a red light which had just turned a merry green, but an elderly woman crossing the street at a snail’s pace barred the way. I covered my mouth to hide the smile on my face when the woman turned and gave James the stink-eye. If anything, his impatience made the woman walk slower. She looked half-tempted to walk up to the driver’s side door and give his window a smack with her cane, until James gave her a placating smile and a forced wave.
I watched the quaint streets of Sithean roll past as James drove us toward the bakeshop. Like the other storefronts on the bustling street, it was brick with wide expanses of glass. Gold filigree lettering covered the windows and white stone columns framed the doorway, lending a classic look to it in harmony with the rest of the street. But unlike the other shops, delicious smells wafted from its door. I caught sight of the blonde woman practically bouncing with excitement on the sidewalk. She waved at us as James pulled up in front of Me, Myself, and Pie.
“Hullo! Delilah, is that you?” Agnes’s blue eyes moved over me.
James paused and shot me a panicked look. “Och,” he groaned again, and ran a hand through his hair. “Please tell meh you are the right lass.”
I laughed at the look of worry on James’s face. “Yes, I’m the right...lass,” I said, rolling the word around in my mouth like a new wine. Lass. I’d only heard it in period dramas on public broadcasting and l found I couldn’t get enough of it.
“Come here.” Agnes gestured to the spot in front of her and pulled on a pair of spectacles hanging from a cord around her neck. “Lemme get a look at you, then.”
I walked forward until only a foot or so separated us. It was then that I felt a wave of nervousness sweep over me under the weight of Agnes’s assessing gaze. Some of the excitement at a new place, at leaving my dependable, predictable life behind in Texas wore off under the clear blue eyes now regarding me, but the sunny smile Agnes shot me soothed my nerves.
“Yer bonnie!” Agnes clapped her hands and came forward, looping her arm through mine and dragging me forward with an unexpected strength. “A right bonnie lass all the way from America. I canna wait to show ye to Callum.” She turned and waved over her shoulder at James. “Send Callum ‘round, eh?”
“Aye.” James dipped his head and then took off down the street before I could tell him goodbye. I turned to look at Agnes who had begun marching forward, humming as she went.
“Wait, who?” I stumbled after her and into the bakeshop. “Who’s Callum?” My eyes drank in the warm and cozy interior, replete with burnished wood floors, a crackling fireplace near the entrance, and shelves and counters stocked with mouthwatering treats just waiting for purchase.
“Callum,” Agnes said again, as if that should make sense to me.
“Is he the owner here?” I asked, turning in a full circle, still taking in the inside of the bakeshop. I couldn’t wait to get to work, which I assumed would happen the sooner I met the boss. I stifled a yawn and shook my head at myself. Maybe I could get in a nap before Agnes brought me to Callum…
“Och, no,” Agnes laughed with a wave of her hands. “I own the shop. Callum runs the Sithean Press just down the way.” She gestured out the door with a jerk of her chin.
“Oh, okay…” I frowned, trying to understand why she would think my meeting Callum was important.
“He’s a right handsome lad, that Callum MacDougall,” Agnes went on with a laugh, and my brow furrowed at her words. I might not be fluent in Scottish yet, but I understood that. He was handsome. And Agnes wanted me to meet him.
Huh.
At my confused look she hitched a hip against the counter and gave me a wry smile. “Dinna fash. I mean no harm, lass. There are not many young folk about with all the book festivals over for the year. Ye’ll be glad to meet him now.”
“Oh.” I nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, and then gave Agnes a wry smile. “Do you make a habit of buying American women first-class tickets to your town to meet this Callum?”
Agnes blushed and ducked her head. “Yer the first, to be sure.”
My mouth dropped open at that. I hadn’t expected Agnes to answer me seriously...but at least she was honest. I hoped, anyway.
“I thought this was for an apprenticeship. Not a dating show.” I crossed my arms.
“And it is, it is,” Agnes assured me, tucking her hands into the sweater coat she wore. “I just like to be efficient at my talents, is all.”
“Which are?”
“Matchmaking and baking.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What?! Matchmaking?” I spluttered, fingers tightening in the straps of my bag. New was one thing, but this wasn’t just new, this was nuts. I had showed up wanting to learn the trade of baking and get an inside look at owning a bakery, not to be matched with a MacWhatsit.
“Aye, matchmaking,” Agnes sighed and held up a hand. “Now get that look of yer face. I’m going tae teach ya so many tips and tricks of baking that ye’ll not ken what tae do with it all.”
“I didn’t come here to date anyone,” I insisted, already calculating the quickest way back to Edinburgh. I backpedalled toward the door as fast as I could while keeping an eye on Agnes.
&
nbsp; What the hell had I been thinking? I left my home in the early hours of the morning to run away to Scotland, and no one knew where I was. I was going to end up on a milk carton in Texas while my family spoke of me in hushed tones, and all the while I would be married off to some hermit Scotsman whose name I couldn’t even pronounce while I was forced to bake for the rest of my days.
How has this happened? Oh, right, I had been seduced by a first-class ticket.
“I think I should go.” I pointed over my shoulder at the door and kept walking backward, keeping my eyes firmly trained on Agnes.
“Och, lass, now just listen. I ken that ye think it odd but the fey folk told me to bring ye here and—”
“The fey?” I stared at Agnes like she had just sprouted an extra limb. “Like the little sparkly guys?” I didn’t know why I kept talking to her rather than bolting from the bakeshop as fast as my jet-lagged legs could carry me. What had I been thinking?
Oh, right, I hadn’t been.
I’d been impulsive, and now I was trapped in a bakeshop with a woman talking about fey folk and matchmaking. All I’d wanted to do was learn to bake and exercise a bit of freedom.
Agnes scoffed. “You think they’re little and sparkly? Then you dinna ken about the Highland fey folk. Little devils they are. Evil, even.”
I swallowed a groan at her description. How that made it worse, I didn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t more inviting than my assumption she had meant tiny sparkly things with wings. “And these evil devils told you to bring me here for Callahan?”
“Name’s Callum,” a gruff voice sounded behind me, and I jerked around in surprise to see a man standing just inside the entrance. James was beside him, and I scuttled to the side, seeing that the two ginger-haired men blocked exit. My eyes moved of their own traitorous volition over the newcomer to see that he certainly didn’t look like a stereotypical hermit. He was lean-hipped, broad-shouldered, and muscular. Tall too, much taller than my 5’9, and I felt an unexpected shot of adrenaline go through me at the sight of him. I was one of the tallest in my family and had often felt like a giant with only my father and oldest brother standing taller than me.
Callum was easily more than few inches taller than me, and I bet he could drop his chin right on the top of my head without a fuss. He wore jeans that looked worn and soft, and a grey henley that had been rolled up to his elbows. I willed my eyes to move away from their perusal of his muscular forearms, which were inked with the bold lines of a tattoo I couldn’t quite make out from where I stood. Maybe if I went closer, I thought for a hazy second, before I mentally slapped myself and jerked back.
Nevermind this man’s chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, or head of unruly ginger locks which had my fingers itching to run through them. It didn’t matter that I’d never seen anyone with eyes like his—emerald, the color of fresh cut grass and warm summer days.
I had to get my head on straight and not be done in by a pretty face, no matter how ruggedly handsome.
“No,” I hissed at myself, but only earned raised eyebrows from the room. I almost rolled my eyes at them. Considering the current circumstances, I felt my little outburst was warranted. Clearing my throat, I met the forest green eyes of the man in front of me. “You’re, ah, Callum?”
He nodded at me, sending curly red locks over his brow. “Aye. And ye are?”
I cleared my throat and offered him a tight smile. “I, ah, I’m Del.”
He tilted his head to the side. “A what?”
“Delilah,” I sighed. “My name is Delilah.”
“She’s my new apprentice,” Agnes interrupted with a bright smile. “You know, the one I asked you to put a listing out for. Our little Del here answered.”
I bit back the urge to sidle toward the door at Agnes’s response and met Callum’s eyes as they slid back to me.
“You managed to find that ad?” he asked, no small measure of surprise in his voice.
I nodded. “I did.”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Agnes clapped her hands. “And isn’t she bonnie?”
Callum grunted, hands going to his hips and mouth pressed into a thin line. “Reckon it’s something like tha’.”
I frowned and assumed a position that mirrored Callum’s. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, lass.” Callum scrubbed a hand over his jaw and gave me an up-and-down look. “Guess you’ll be wantin’ to see the flat, then.”
“Flat?”
“Apartment,” James offered with a warm smile. “More than enough space tae feel at home.”
I paused in my plans to make a run for it. I’d never lived on my own. My living situation had always been with my family. None of us had strayed far from the sprawling house our parents had built in anticipation of a large family. My personal space extended only as far as my room’s four walls, and even then it was suspect at best with my siblings barging in at all hours. I’d always welcomed it, but my own space would be nice...freeing even. Sure, my vow to strike out on my own and in as irresponsible a manner as possible was only twenty-four hours old, but a vow was a vow, and I was no quitter.
I winced, thinking of my family’s surprise when I turned up again, bedraggled and with nothing to show for my first and only foray into the real world without them. A reckless vow was still a vow. I could do this. Even if my host was going on about demonic fey folk talking to her and matchmaking. After all, she had sworn to show me everything she knew about baking. This trip to Sithean wasn’t without its perks.
And then there was Callum.
Handsome, rugged, and intense Callum, who didn’t look pleased in the slightest at my presence. I crossed my arms and met Callum’s eyes. Too bad, MacWhatsit, I wasn’t going anywhere. At least not before Agnes showed me how to bake Scottish shortbread. Squaring my shoulders, I nodded at Callum.
“I’d like to see the flat. Please.”
Callum blew out a sigh and then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “This way, then.”
I hesitated, unsure if I was meant to follow Callum alone, but Agnes swept me toward the door with another of her bright smiles. “Go on, then,” she encouraged, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Callum will show you to the flat and get you settled. Won’t you, dear?” She leveled a look so full of meaning that I could practically hear the Or Else unsaid behind it. Callum gave a stiff nod and held the door open for me.
“As ye like, Auntie.”
My eyes widened. Auntie. So they were related. I guess that demoted Agnes from self-proclaimed-fey-talking-matchmaker to simply meddlesome-fey-talking-auntie, which seemed somehow I found more palatable.
“I can see myself there if you tell me the way,” I tried, but Callum only gave me a quick shake of his head as the bakeshop’s door shut behind us.
“I’ll take ye,” he said, hands going to his pockets as we walked.
“I can see myself there really.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“But—“
“Yer staying over the way with me, Delilah.”
“What?” I nearly tripped over an uneven piece of pavement. Callum’s hand came out to steady me, and I sucked in a deep breath at the warm sensation of his hand through the fabric of my coat. Apparently I hadn’t worn enough layers, considering I was buzzing like a live wire under the Scotsman’s touch.
“What do you mean I’m staying with you?”
Callum sighed and withdrew his hand from my elbow. “The flat is above my print shop.”
“Oh, okay, so not with you with you?” I asked, making him squint at me like he was trying to understand what planet I had come from. After a beat, he gave a short nod.
“Not with me with me,” he said, and then he was off and walking again, making me roll my eyes and charge after him. It was hard to match his long stride, and by the time I caught him at the end of the street I was out of breath. This wasn’t simply the walk of a tall man; this was the walk of a man who didn’t want me following him. I narrowed my eyes and stepped in
front of him before he could cross the street at a speed only professional power walkers were capable of.
“You don’t want me here, do you?” I asked.
“I dinna ken what you mean,” he replied with feigned innocence, but I saw right through it.
“Don’t you dinna me, buster.” I jabbed a finger at him. I had deduced dinna was the same ballpark as didn’t or don’t, so I countered and kept moving forward. “You dinna want me here. Admit it.”
The corner of Callum’s mouth turned up in a smile that warmed me through for the split second it graced his handsome face, but it vanished so quickly I almost thought I imagined it. And I might have done so if it hadn’t been for the look in his eyes—one of interest. The look of a man who wasn’t put out but intrigued by what he saw.
“Auntie Agnes can be enthusiastic. She wanted shop help for the holidays,” Callum finally said.
I nodded, building a timeline to the events that had brought me here. “And that’s when you put up the ad?”
Callum shifted and looked away. “Aye.”
That one-word answer shot straight through me and to my toes in a way I hadn't anticipated. I liked an accent as much as the next woman, but living where I did and living my life didn’t allow for many opportunities to hear a Scottish brogue, and the effect was heady. I swallowed and wrapped my arms around myself in a bid to get some distance from the caress of Callum’s voice. It was rough, rich, and smoky, like the whiskey I enjoyed with my father.
Would Callum taste as smooth? Make me forget myself like the time I had finished the majority of a bottle on my own after a particularly awful day? I’d paid for it the next morning but that night was still marked in my memory as one of my favorites. Something told me Callum MacDougall was capable of the same dizzying effects, replete with inducing god awful hangover symptoms. I took a shuffling step away from the big man in front of me.
“You put the ad somewhere obscure and you didn’t think she’d ever get an answer, didn’t you?”