by JA Low
9
Luca
“I’m so sorry, but it’s tradition,” Lilly apologizes for the hundredth time.
“It’s just dinner at a pub. How bad could it be?”
Her eyes widen. Is that fear that I see behind those blue eyes?
“It will be an experience.” She gives me a wary smile. We’re currently standing in the snow out in front of the village pub. It’s Christmas Eve, and apparently, it’s tradition in the village to all come down to have dinner at the pub.
“Like, everyone,” Lilly said.
There should be about a hundred people there, but standing in front of the small building, I don’t understand how that many people can fit inside.
“Stick close to me. Don’t answer any questions you don’t feel comfortable with. Tell them to keep their noses to themselves, or even better, pretend you don’t speak English.”
“Why would they be giving me their noses?” What an odd term.
She laughs. “No, they don’t give you their noses. Just saying that they’ll try and stick their noses into your business. They want all the gossip.”
Right. I understand. Little does Lilly know that I have dealt with people like that all my life. I know how to handle gossips.
“Are you ready?”
It sounds like we’re about to blast off on a mission to Mars with the serious tone in her voice. But she grew up here, so I guess she knows what we’re in for, so I brace myself.
Lilly pushes the large wooden door open, and the once-noisy pub falls silent—all heads turn and stare at the intrusion.
“Is that Lilly Simpson?” A big, balding man makes his way over from the bar.
“It’s the one and only.” She smiles at him, then gives him a big hug. He picks her up off her feet and swings her around. Lilly’s laughing, her giggles filling the old pub.
“Yer back from saving the world.” The man’s accent is so thick, it’s making it hard to translate.
“I am, I am. Missed you all too much.” The room erupts into laughter at Lilly’s joke. I can see she is well-loved by the village.
“And who’s the young Jimmy wit ye,” the old man asks.
“My name is Luke, not Jimmy.” I hold my hand out to the old man, who just stares at it for a couple of moments before taking it in his meaty paw and shaking it to death. He bursts out laughing, a deep belly laugh, and the whole room erupts in unison. I think the joke has been lost in translation because I don’t get it.
“Jimmy is the Scottish word for man,” Lilly translates for me.
Oh, I see, and I give the old man a smile.
“I’m Wallace, ah ain this pub.”
Okay, that can’t have been English, so I look to Lilly for help.
“Wallace owns the pub.” The old man is puffing out his chest while slowly breaking my hand.
“It’s nice,” I tell him, looking around at the establishment. It’s not really where you would find me normally, but it has a kind of rural charm about it. The dark wooden beams, the stone floor that’s covered in old, well-worn rugs, and there are leather bar stools around the bar. Old photographs of Scottish towns line the tartan wallpapered walls. An old stag head sits proudly on one wall, a stone fireplace sits across another. There’s a scattering of leather booths filled with people, candles flickering in the middle, giving it a rugged kind of ambiance. There are more wooden tables scattered around, all set for dinner, with people of various ages dining, and they’re staring right at me. Some with curiosity, some with indifference, and even some with disdain. I’m guessing they aren’t fond of outsiders.
“Luke’s Contessa’s nephew.” Lilly sticks with the same lie she told the other day.
“Och, Contessa, she was a bonnie lassie,” Wallace tells me. “God rest her soul.” I understood those words and move my attention to the floor in respect.
“We met briefly at the funeral. Lauren has asked him to come out for the holidays to look after the cottage while she and Alistair went on holiday.” This all sounds pretty close to the truth.
“She went to see you. Why are you not there?” a woman pipes up from the corner.
“That’s because I came home to surprise her, Seonaid,” Lilly tells the woman. “And she went to Africa to surprise me… a series of unfortunate events.”
They all nod at her comments.
“But what about that young man you were dating… the doctor?” another woman in the corner asks.
Lilly visibly stills, being put on the spot like that in front of everyone can’t be easy. I place my hand on the small of her back, and Wallace eyes me suspiciously. “Unfortunately, Rob and I are no longer together.” There are gasps from the captive audience. “He wasn’t at all who I thought he was.”
The women seem to all nod in understanding.
“Ne’er liked him anyway,” replied Seonaid, who I remember Lilly telling me was the town gossip. Then she adds, “Thought he was too good for folk like us,” she adds.
I hear murmurs from the people filtering through in agreement.
“Is he yer Jimmy?” she asks.
“No, Seonaid, he isn’t my new man. We’re just friends.”
I’m pretty sure we’re not ‘just friends.’
Lilly’s cheeks are red from the interrogation.
“He’s very cute,” another lady pipes in.
“Wynda, behave,” Lilly scolds the old lady with the bright blue curly hair, who winks at me.
“I wouldn't behave with him in my cottage.” The women all squeal with laughter at the old lady’s brazen remarks.
“Italians make good lovers,” a lady from behind the bar adds.
“All right, Donna, am standin’ rite ‘ere,” Wallace says to the woman.
“We Scots make the best lovers, dear.” She blows the giant man a kiss, he rolls his eyes but winks back at her.
“Noo, c’mon, let’s git ye a drink,” Wallace says, and I’m lost again.
Lilly grabs my hand, and I see the gossip’s eyes widen at the action as she brings me over to the bar where Donna’s serving.
“Two whiskies on the rocks, please,” Lilly asks.
Donna nods and starts preparing our drinks.
“I’m so sorry about that. We can go home if you want?” I can see it on Lilly’s face, that she’d go if I asked her to, but that’s not going to happen.
“No, I’m fine. This is great. It’s different to my home.” I could just imagine what my father’s face would be like seeing me sitting at some pub, sipping subpar whisky with people he’d deem lower class than him. “If I get stuck, I’ll call out to you in Italian.”
“Oh my God, the old ladies will probably have a heart attack at your hotness if you whip your native tongue out.”
I lean in a little closer to her. “You like it when I whip my tongue out, don’t you?” I say in Italian so no one can hear.
Lilly’s jaw drops, she blinks a few times in shock. “I can’t believe you just said that, in front of all these people,” she scolds me in perfect Italian. It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak my language in a complete sentence, and I like it.
“Here’s ye drinks.” Donna hands over two glasses of whisky to us before moving on to others waiting to be served.
“You speaking Italian is hot.” Lilly gives me the side-eye, but no one can understand what we’re saying. I doubt any of them can speak Italian.
“Stop it,” Lilly hisses.
“Fine, but tonight, I’m not going to stop. No matter how many times you ask me to.”
Lilly takes an unsteady gulp of her whisky while her cheeks pink the exact color they go when I make her come.
The night continues quite nicely, much to my surprise. Everyone is lovely in the village, and it seems they very much look out for Lilly as one of their own. You can see how proud they are of her for the work she’s done in Africa, and the way they affectionately talk about Lilly’s nan, which made her teary a couple of times, but she assured me she was fine.
> “I’ve missed this food.” Lilly licks her lips. We have just finished a soup called Cock-a-leekie. I thought Lilly was playing a joke on me when she told me about it, but she wasn’t. What a strange name. Couldn’t imagine serving that at one of our family dinners, my mother would probably have a heart attack at the sinful name. Then I watch in shock as they bring out platters of large roasted turkeys, baked vegetables, and sauces.
“Lilly.” I nudge her gently. “At home… we don’t eat meat on Christmas Eve, giorno di magro, we eat lean to purify our body for Christmas Day.”
Lilly’s eyes widen.
“Oh, shit! They are going to think you don’t like their food if you don’t eat it. This is a huge tradition in Scotland to have a big roast turkey with all the trimmings. We can pretend there was an emergency phone call and leave. I can get takeout for us and go home and have something you would normally have.”
My world stops at that moment. She’s having a great time, but because I mentioned feeling a little uneasy about breaking my tradition, she didn’t even second-guess it. She’s willing to pack up and eat our dinner at home.
No, I can’t let her do that. She’s just come home from living in poverty for the last couple of years. Her sister is on the other side of the world, her parents are in London and don’t seem to communicate with her, and the two people she was closest with have passed away.
“It looks delicious. I can’t wait to try it all.”
Lilly’s hand reaches under the table, linking our fingers together. “Thank you.”
I want to kiss her in this moment, not caring if all these people see.
She is an extraordinary woman, nothing like I’ve ever met before.
10
Lilly
Luke had one too many whiskies last night, I think, judging by the snoring he’s doing this morning when I woke up beside him. I’m glad he had fun last night. I could tell it was a cultural shock for him, but he embraced it as did the village, but especially the old ladies. They loved giving him hugs and squishing his cheeks, and not the ones on his face. Poor guy was totally manhandled by the geriatrics.
Last night, Luke told me his tradition at Christmas Eve was to eat no meat to purify your body for Christmas Day, and because he didn’t get that last night, I want to do an Italian Christmas for him today, as much as I can with the limited food I have left in the pantry. I’ve spent the morning googling menus from the regions he said he lives in, and I think I have some items to make him something that might resemble Italian food with a bit of Scottish thrown in for good measure.
“Morning.” Luke groggily enters the kitchen.
“Merry Christmas.” Luke stills, rubs his eyes, and stares at me.
“It’s Christmas?”
“Yes.” He slumps down onto the armchair beside the fire, his voice a little rough from all his singing last night.
“Huh.” He stares at the crackling fire for a long couple of moments. Maybe Luke isn’t really that much of a morning person. Then, he suddenly jumps up and rushes toward me, grabbing my face and kissing me. “Buon Natale, Merry Christmas,” he says. “Sorry, that’s what I should’ve done when I first walked in,” he states as he leans back against the island.
“You had a wild night,” I respond, turning back to my pots that are bubbling away on the stove.
“Those old people can drink.” He shakes his head.
“Never get in a drinking contest with a Scotsman. You’ll always lose.”
“Now, I know.” He chuckles. “What are you doing?” he asks, noticing the pots.
“I’m attempting to make an Italian Christmas.”
His mouth opens in shock. “What?”
“Last night you experienced a Scottish Christmas. So, I think to be fair, now you get to have an Italian one.”
He grabs me again and kisses my face all over. “Of all the cottages you walked into, I’m glad it was mine.”
“Technically, you walked into mine.” I elbow him.
“You’re always so analytical,” he jokes, then he starts tickling me.
“Stop it. Stop it.” My stomach is hurting from all the giggling because I’m so ticklish.
Luke pulls me back into his arms again. “I’m very happy that you came home when you did. There isn’t anyone else in the world I’d want to spend Christmas with today.” Luke’s words set butterflies off in my belly.
“Well, I hope you still feel that way after lunch. I can’t guarantee the food will be totally authentic.”
Luke kisses me gently again. “It smells delicious. Let me go have a shower, then I can help you.”
It’s only been a couple of days since being home, but it feels like a lifetime.
How have I become so close to a stranger in such a short time?
Is it because we’re forced together?
Is it chemistry?
Is it because all we have is time to get to know each other without outside interference?
Does it really matter why?
It’s not like you're going to marry the guy. He’s a holiday romance. Once his time is up, that’s it, he’ll be a lovely memory.
I hear a raised voice coming from down the hallway. Who’s Luke arguing with? He’s talking in rapid Italian, and I can’t quite catch what he’s saying. You shouldn’t be listening, Lilly. He has a right to have a private conversation. A short time later, Luke storms into the kitchen looking agitated, swearing under his breath.
“Are you okay?”
He stills, looking at me, his face softening. “Just business stuff.”
“On Christmas Day?”
Who calls their boss on Christmas Day? An asshole, that’s who.
“My business is kind of twenty-four-seven,” he adds quickly.
I haven’t pushed him about what he does for a living. I haven’t really pushed him much about his life.
He then pulls me into his arms and kisses me gently. “When I’m around you, you make me feel calm. That nothing outside this cottage exists.”
I know what he means.
Grabbing my ass and lifting me on top of the kitchen counter, he pushes open my legs. Thankfully, I’m still in my sleep shirt and knee-high socks. What? My toes get cold. He easily fits between my legs, which I wrap around his thick waist.
“Is anything going to burn if I take your attention away for at least ten minutes? I can make it quick, just this once.” He smirks at me.
I look over his shoulder and check what I’m cooking. Yeah, it should be fine. I mean, if anything starts to burn, I’m just here.
“Should be okay.”
He pushes up the hem of my sleep shirt, exposing my panties.
“Good.” He rips my knickers off in one easy tug. Holy shit! He just ripped my knickers off, that’s some kind of porn star move. I mean, damn those knickers were flimsy. I thought Marks & Spencer was supposed to have good quality underwear. They shouldn’t tear like that. Wish I had my receipt, I could’ve taken them back for faulty workmanship.
“Lilly.”
I pause my inner monologue and look up at him.
“You were in your head again.” And so, I was. “Let me help you focus on other things.” He pulls me to the edge of the island, giving me a devious grin, before opening my legs. Thick thumbs tease my outer folds, back and forth, until they slowly slip in.
My hands hit the counter. My head falls back as the electricity begins to pump through my veins. He continues until his fingers are slick with my arousal.
When I open my eyes, I notice his track pants are down around his ankles, and he’s sheathing himself. “Sorry, it’s a quickie this morning, but I need you.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip at his confession.
He needs me. Yeah, that has to be like lighting a barrel of gunpowder at a woman’s vagina. That comment makes a woman combust in mere seconds. He needs me. They are three words all women want to hear.
Luke pushes himself inside me, and I love the feeling of stretching all around
him. We’re connecting at this moment as close as any two people can be. Those chocolate eyes are intense as he fills me. He doesn’t move, we just share the moment of raw togetherness.
His forehead falls to my shoulder. “You were an unexpected surprise, Lilly.” I could say the same thing about him. “And most of the time, I don’t know what to do with you.” This isn’t the sexy times I thought we’d be having. “You’ve opened my mind to many new things that I never dared possible.”
My dirty-talking Luke has been replaced by a philosophical Luke.
“I…” Luke pulls himself nearly out of me, his fingers gripping into the flesh of my ass, then drives himself back into me, pushing me hard against the countertop. “I never thought…” He pushes inside of me again, deeper, seeking to be as connected as we can be. “I never thought there could be another way.” My mind is swirling with orgasmic fog. What’s he talking about? “You’re special, Lil.”
His perfect rhythm is taking over as he continuously slams himself into me. Now, that’s my version of what a quickie is all about. We both hurtle toward each other’s orgasms, higher and higher until we reach that peak simultaneously, then slump against each other, heaving with strenuous exertion.
“That was… different.”
Luke looks up at me with a frown on his face.
“Your dirty talking was a little different than what you normally say.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he quickly adds, looking slightly uncomfortable for the first time, ever.
“Hey.” Pulling his face to mine, not letting him feel embarrassed about sharing a part of himself with me, I say, “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Pressing a kiss against the stubble of the beard he’s starting to grow, I continue, “I was just wondering where it came from.”
He’s shutting down on me, the fog of his orgasm has gone.
“Let me clean up first.” He pulls himself out of me and walks toward the bathroom. I have no panties anymore, so there’s no point putting them on. I’d better disinfect the countertop too. I grab the spray and quickly wipe it down before following after Luke.