I ate a mini chocolate bar and drank a pint sized plastic bottle of milk, hoping that would fill me up further, and called it good.
Not exactly healthy, but any day that started with chocolate was a good day in my book.
By six a.m., I was restless. After collecting my purse, I took the elevator to the lobby and almost burst into song when I smelled bacon.
God bless bacon.
And sausage.
All breakfast meat.
I followed my nose to the bar then noticed a double door that opened into a smaller room. When I pushed it open, the sight of pastries lining one wall brought a tear to my eye. The mouth-watering scent of bacon was strong and overpowered the slight scent of maple syrup. Yogurt, oatmeal, all sorts of wonderful things surrounded me. I was in breakfast heaven.
Have I mentioned that I love food?
I love food.
“Can I help you, Miss?” An older gentleman bowed slightly, offering me a warm smile.
“Yes. I’m a guest here at Hotel Indigo.”
“Of course, are you here for your morning meal?”
“Yes.” I nodded eagerly.
“Please, won’t you follow me?” He gestured to a table and even pulled out a chair for me. “I’ll be right back. You’re American, are you not? Would your preference run toward coffee or tea?” he asked, his tone noticeably English, not Scottish as I had expected.
“Can I have… both?” I asked, not caring if I sounded greedy.
“Of course.” With a nod he left.
Breakfast left me breathless because I ate an unholy amount of sausage; two different kinds; one spicy and one regular. They offered me these potato pancakes that were a heavenly version of the hash browns from the McDonald’s drive-thru, then add eggs, ham, yogurt, and oatmeal… the only thing that threw me off were the baked beans.
Apparently it was a custom in the UK.
No, thanks.
Aside from the beans, I was in breakfast Nirvana and had to waddle my way to the front desk. I determined where to exchange my money, and decided that after the copious amount of calories I had ingested, I needed to walk.
The walk to an RBS bank took me past an old Catholic cathedral. The stones were worn in the center, as if hundreds of years’ worth of people had worn them smooth. Oddly, the old building didn’t look out of place; rather, it blended in because everywhere I looked, each building was old. Even the remodels were of old houses, old shops, and everything was stone. No wood or even cement. As I passed the Balmoral Hotel, I watched in fascination as men in full Scottish regalia opened doors for the guests, and farther down the street there was another man in a kilt playing Amazing Grace on bagpipes.
I could die happy.
I quickly found the bank, exchanged my dollars for pounds and hopped aboard a tour bus. Even with my attention focused on the piped-in tour information, everything went by in a blur. And as the afternoon waned, I decided that I probably should at least attempt to look nice for Mr. Millionaire Bachelor.
Translation; I might wear heels, but I wasn’t shaving my legs.
Back in my room, sifting through my luggage, I pulled out some navy leggings and a cream-colored sweater. The humidity had not been kind to my hair, and after trying to comb through, I gave up and put it in a messy bun.
All the while, I reminded myself that this was probably going to be all a waste. Sliding on my heels, I started the walk to the pub; thankful it was only about a block away from the hotel.
With the track record of the other bachelors, I started to speculate just what could go wrong with this date.
Maybe he was a con artist, making millions by scamming people.
Or what if he was super cheap, and totally pinched every penny.
What if he was fat, bald, and over fifty?
Yeah… that last one sounded about right.
So when I walked in to the pub, I started to scan the room for bald heads.
If you don’t expect much, you can’t be disappointed, or surprised.
The romance that was my life.
“Can I help you?” A woman in her fifties asked me as I approached the hostess desk.
“Yes, I’m here to meet someone.” And suddenly I realized I had no idea what his name was. “Uh…” My face heated.
How had I forgotten to ask?
Ugh! I was so distracted by Kirby my brain had shut off.
“Who, lass?” The lady asked, her tone kind but her expression that reminiscent of a kindergarten teacher speaking with a slow child.
“Honestly, I don’t know. It’s a guy and—”
“Ah! Blind date?”
“Yes!” That would work.
“I think I ken who you are meetin’ then.” She nodded, her eyes taking on a merry kind of twinkle.
Yeah, if she only knew.
“Follow me.” She started toward the corner of the restaurant, and I scanned the tables for one with a man by himself.
Sure enough, there was a fifty to sixty-year-old man, balding, sipping what was probably whisky and reading the newspaper.
Hello millionaire bachelor.
“Right here, lass.” The hostess pulled my attention to my opposite side and I turned, blinking.
Twinkling green eyes met mine, and a man stood up, pulled out my chair, and indicated I should sit. All the while, I had to remind myself not to drop my jaw on the floor.
He was beautiful.
There was no other way to describe him.
Auburn hair was shaved close on the sides and long on top, totally reminding me of Tom Brady, but his eyes were an emerald green that was almost shocking.
Were they real?
“Are you Meredith?” He asked in a crisp British tone.
“Y-yes,” I stammered, then cleared my throat, trying to collect myself. “How are you?”
“Lovely, especially now that I have such a beautiful dining partner. I’m Rowland Bryne.” He scooted my chair in as I sat.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I must say…” He took the seat across from me and pulled out his napkin, placing it on his lap.
Gotta love a man with manners.
He continued, “I wasn’t expecting someone as beautiful as you. Going with you for a week will scarcely be enough.” He winked and took a sip of wine.
Was it hot in here? When he trained that gaze on me, I felt the need to fan myself.
I settled for a drink of ice water.
“Thank you. I’m pleasantly surprised as well.”
He handed me a menu. “Do you know pub food?”
“A bit.” All I knew was that I didn’t want haggis.
“You’ll need to try the haggis.”
Of course. The iconic Scottish dish, haggis — also known as sheep’s bladder stuffed with barley, chopped kidney — amongst other things — and steamed till the bladder expands — lovely — and served.
“I think I’ll stick with…” I scanned my menu quickly. “Fish and chips.”
“Ah, you can’t beat that here. Excellent choice.”
“Fantastic.”
“So tell me about yourself, Meredith,” he prompted, his tone smooth like hot chocolate.
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m the CPA and partner of Rox.com, the blog. My best friend and I, along with our support staff, run the largest beauty, gossip, and trend-setting blog in the US.”
“That’s brilliant. So you’re a CPA?” He raised an eyebrow. “Quite impressive.”
“Thanks, it can be tedious, but I happen to like numbers.”
“You know what they say, numbers don’t lie.” He raised his glass.
“No, no they do not.”
A server came, asking for our orders. Before I could open my mouth, Rowland smoothly ordered for us both.
Part of me felt like I should be offended, yet the way he did it seemed as a respectful courtesy, similar to the way a man opens the door for a woman.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” He glanc
ed toward me then paused. “I hope I didn’t offend you. It’s simply polite that the gentleman orders for the lady.” He watched me as if trying to deduce whether I was upset.
“A man with manners… I like it.” I smiled, hoping I looked flirtatious not creepy.
“Manners make the man.”
The rest of dinner went so smoothly I was disappointed when it came to an end.
When the bill arrived, he swiped it from the waitress before it hit the table.
“It’s the only honorable thing to do, when dining with a lady.” He nodded once and withdrew his wallet, inserted a card and held up the leather holder.
“Thank you, but my company—”
“Thank you will be enough… for now.” His gaze darted lower then darted up to meet mine, a smoky look in his eyes.
“Thank you.” I met his gaze and felt a blush heat my cheeks. Even after staring at him for about two hours, I couldn’t get over those green smoldering emeralds.
The waiter returned with the credit card. Rowland stood and walked around the table, holding my chair for me as I glided backward and stood.
“Thank you,” I murmured as he took my hand and led us to the exit.
“It was my delight. And may I look forward to another date?” He asked, lifting my hand and kissing it.
Seriously, I didn’t know men did that anymore!
Points for Rowland. He was going to get an amazing write-up on the blog.
“Of course. I’m yours for a week.” Did I actually just say that?
“And that is only a reminder that a week will not be long enough.” Perfect white teeth showed briefly as he flashed a beguiling smile. “You were truly a brilliant dinner partner, and I hope that you’ll be inclined to join me at The Balmoral Hotel on Wednesday? Will that be acceptable?”
“Of course,” I answered, totally not caring if I looked way too eager.
“Perfect. Until Wednesday, Meredith.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, totally sweet yet the masculine scent from his cologne made me dizzy.
Wow.
“Until Wednesday.”
Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE MORNING SEEMED bright and cheery. Of course, that might have been in part to the whole understanding that my breakfast heaven waited for me as soon as I could be presentable.
When I finished dressing, my phone chirped telling me I had a text message.
Thank you for last night. Looking forward to seeing you soon. Rowland.
Be still my beating heart.
A guy that didn’t wait to call? Okay, so maybe it was just a text, but he was scoring big points.
Quickly I typed back.
Me: Thanks. See you Wednesday.
I wore my smile to breakfast, and tried to figure out how to spend the day. The same waiter as yesterday was serving me so I asked him for advice.
“I’d complete any sightseeing before this evening. There’s a football game that is quite important and the crazies will be out.” He nodded sagely as he filled my coffee mug.
Could I take him home with me?
“Crazies?” I asked, realizing what he said.
“Yes, miss. The crazies. Those who are obsessed with football. There will be masses of them in the streets this evening before and after the game, dressed up and making a ruckus.” He shook his head, but I could see he held back a grin of amusement.
“Like tailgating at football game?”
“American football? Yes, I would imagine it would be similar.”
“Oh, I can handle that. Where can I watch the game? If I’m in Scotland, I want the whole experience.”
“If you really want the… experience…” He hesitated on the word. “Then I’d suggest the Beer and Skittles Bar.”
“Pardon?” Beer and Skittles? I was pretty sure we were speaking a totally different cultural language. At least the skittles part.
“Yes. It’s lesser known to the tourists, but a nice place. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d pass it right by. The Missus and I like it there. Decent food, large screens and if the weather’s nice, you can take your meal outdoors. Not bad.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll ask the front desk for directions.”
“It’s not too far, you can easily walk.” With a smile, he strode away, checking on other guests.
My phone went off and I glanced to the screen.
Roxi: How was millionaire?
I replied.
Me: I might… MIGHT forgive you for a few things. He was pretty nice.
The little bubble popped up and I waited.
Roxi: Nice as in you have a great personality but… or nice as in take me to your place?
I blushed.
Me: You’ll never know.
Her reply was instant.
Roxi: Go girl! I told you that you might meet the one! He’s nice AND rich! Go Mere, GO!
Quickly, I responded.
Me: I said nice. Not that I was going to give him a key to my room.
And with that, I remembered that Kirby still had a key to my room. Damn the man. I needed to get that back. There was no telling what he’d try to pull with that kind of unlimited access. I glared at my phone.
Me: Still haven’t forgiven you for throwing me under the bus with Kirby.
I could imagine her shaking her head.
Roxi: You’re fine. Seriously, you’re both adults. Between you and him bitching about this, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were in elementary school and hiding away a secret fascination for one another. Enough already!
I bit my lip.
Me: I’m seeing millionaire on Wednesday.
She answered quickly.
Roxi: Great! I want details, and don’t make me have to ask you for them! Unless of course you’re at his place and need some space…
I growled.
Me: Whatever. As if I’d tell you. You’re still on my shit list.
Roxi: You love me.
Shaking my head, I typed back.
Me: That’s your only saving grace right now.
After I said goodbye, I made my way to the front desk and asked when the game took place so I wouldn’t miss it. I had several hours to kill, so I explored the nearby Prince Mall.
When it was almost time for the game, I headed back to the hotel and double-checked my directions.
The last thing I needed was to be lost.
In a foreign country.
At night.
With the crazies about.
Armed with my route, I made my way out from the hotel and walked toward King’s Row. The Beer and Skittles Bar wasn’t far, but it did take me a good fifteen minutes of a walk to get there. My breakfast waiter was right; if I didn’t know it was there, I would have walked right by it.
Before I pushed open the door I heard the yells and cheers from the game. Apparently, I had missed the first part. I picked one of the few spots at the bar, ordered a hard cider, and scanned the menu. Several large screens dotted the wall, and the pub was packed with cheering and yelling fans, depending on the call at the moment. Even though I wasn’t a big soccer fan, it was easy to get caught up in the excitement of it all.
“Go Scotland!” People cheered loudly, sometimes randomly as they watched the screens with rapt awe. Football — soccer — was practically worshiped, and I found myself more mesmerized by the fans than the game itself. After ordering a hot dog, I bit into the kosher beef and scanned the crowd. It seemed to grow by the minute, but as promised, there was no ‘touristy’ feel; rather, it seemed like the bar where everyone knew one another.
Some men at the far right of the bar were growing louder and louder with every period of the game. By the final one, they were singing the Scottish anthem as they watched. Of course, that Scotland was winning against Whales — their arch rival — only added to their exuberance.
I turned my attention to the screen and watched as Scotland kicked and scored the winning goal. The bar went wild.
And I mean wild.
People cheered! Ale flew and the Scottish national anthem was sung loudly, off tune, and with a gusto only the drunk can accomplish.
After paying my tab, I grabbed my purse and walked toward the exit, but a familiar voice stopped me.
“We’ve done it lads! Scotland!” A loud roar startled me and I turned, watching as none other than Kirby vaulted on top of the bar and led the crowd in a song.
O Flouer o Scotland,
Whan will we see,
Yer like again,
That focht and dee'd for,
Yer wee bit Hill an Glenn,
An stuid agin him,
Prood Edward's Airmie,
An sent him hamewart,
Tae think again.
Seriously? He was probably drunk but maybe that would work in my favor. I needed my room key. Marching back, I walked up the bar and raised an eyebrow.
“I need to speak with you.” I tried to be civil, I mean, we were in pubic and all.
“I dinna want to speak with ye.” He one-arm dismounted from the bar and slapped a man on the back.
“I need my room key,” I yelled so he could hear me above the roar of the bar crowd. Have you ever noticed that when you’re in a crowd and you yell… it’s always at the time when everything else gets quiet so everyone hears what you’ve said?
Yeah. That was what happened.
“Room key? No.” He shrugged and walked off.
“Whoo!” The man he slapped on the back whistled and, in return, punched Kirby in the shoulder. “That’s a lad! Beddin’ the American!”
“No… no there was no bedding,” I felt the need to interject.
The man’s gaze grew confused, and I could see the glazed look in his eyes. Far too many beers from what I could see.
Kirby glanced to me, an evil gleam in his eye. Then he gave me a sly grin and pulled out his wallet. Finding the key, he kissed it and held it up. The bar erupted in cheers. “She was a tight lass… and a wicked one — let me tell you.”
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