The Calum

by Xio Axelrod

  “So.”

  “So.”

  “Tell me about yourself.” She sat back as if preparing for a lengthy tale, which he was not inclined to provide.

  “Not much to know, really.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” She narrowed her eyes, studying him. His jacket lay on the chair between them. She nodded at it. “For instance, where’d you get that?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  He thought for a moment. “Paris. No, Berlin. Won it in a bet.” He smiled as the memory crystallized. Lovie smiled with him.

  “What, in a game? Like poker?”

  “Not a game, really, more of a…” Dare? Challenge? “Contest.” A friend didn’t think he could get a certain brunette back to his hotel room. Best not to share that, though.

  “Some prize.” She said. You have no idea. “Vintage Lewis, isn’t it?”

  Duff smiled. “Aye, fifty-two Aviakit. You know yer leathers.”

  Lovie lowered her big brown eyes, smiling. “Seems you do too. You travel a lot?”

  “Yeah. Some.” Duff sat back and crossed his arms. “What about you? What’s your story?”

  She looked back up. “I don’t have a story, but you do. So, spill it.”

  He ignored the prompt, hoping she’d take the hint. “Your friend, she seems more into this scene than you are.”

  Lovie shrugged, the movement mirrored by her eyebrows. “This isn’t exactly how I hoped to spend my Christmas vacation.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t press, wondering what a girl like her might have to keep to herself. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Yes, he’d checked.

  “So, you said you didn’t always live here? Where else have you lived?”

  “You know, ye ask a lot of questions for someone who doesna like to answer them.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I answer plenty, if they’re the right ones. And you’re eluding the one I asked you. Are you hiding something?” She smiled sweetly.

  Well now, this wasn’t going at all the way he’d like. She seemed more interested in interrogation than conversation. No finesse whatsoever.

  He shook his head. “Americans.”

  “What about Americans?” Her eyebrow arched sharply.

  So he’d hit a nerve. Interesting. Duff sat back in his seat, wondering how many buttons he could push.

  “Ye act so entitled.” He stated, matter-of-factly. “Always stickin’ yer noses where they don’t belong.”

  She sat back, her eyes narrowing as if she could see through him. “It’s a national pastime.”

  “Aye, well, I suppose yer no all bad,” he backtracked, taking a swallow from his pint to cover. “I mean Bruce Willis is American an’ all.”

  “True.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She sat watching him, silent as a statue. It was damned unnerving. He started talking just to break the silence.

  “I jes’ couldna live there anymore. Everyone always wantin’ to know everything about you.” She smiled and brought her teacup to her plump lips. He was so fascinated by them that her next question caught him off-guard.

  “You’ve lived in America?”

  What? Had he said that? He shifted in his seat. “Aye...well, I’ve moved around. Glasgow, London, and thereabouts. New York. D.C. Miami.”

  “I see.” He could practically hear the wheels turning. “And how did you end up back in Inverness?”

  “I’m only here for...a couple of weeks, and then I’ll be off again.” He washed the half-truth down with another gulp of ale. “Thought it would be a good time to come back. Revisit me roots, and such.”

  “You still have family here, then?”

  “Are ye writing my biography or something?” She smiled warmly, and it was a beautiful sight. It tripped up his defenses. “Aye, me gran still lives here.”

  Sitting there with Lovie was like being in a confessional. Duff wasn’t sure why he couldn’t stop telling her things, especially when he got next to nothing back. Something about her invited trust and that made him nervous. The only person he trusted was his grandmother. And there were things that he’d rather not discuss with either of them.

  He finished off the ale.

  “What is it that you do?” Long slender fingers brushed back her riotous red mane. She really was a beauty. Fine cheekbones set in a heart-shaped face. Cat-like eyes framed with lashes so blonde they were almost white. A mouth just begging to be kissed. “For money, I mean.”

  Right, she’d asked him a question.

  “Er, I’m a photographer.” He shrugged at Lovie’s raised eyebrows. “Sounds more glamorous than it is, ye ken. Mostly portraits, landscapes, and the like.”

  “I see.”

  Time to resume his own enquiry. “What about you?”

  “I work for a clothing designer, but in graphic design.”

  “Do you love it?”

  “Well, I like it. I worked hard to get my position.” He was amazed that she answered, even more so when she continued unprovoked. “Started out as an intern, put in ridiculous hours and got shit pay in return, but I loved the idea of getting paid to be creative.” She swirled the spoon around in her cup, lost in some memory. “Hate the place, though. It’s full of pretentious Donna Karan wannabes.”

  “I haven’t a clue who that is, sorry.” Her smile brought out his.

  “A designer. Anyway, love would be a strong word when it comes to my job.” They sat in silence for a while, and somehow, he was content to do just that. It was odd. Normally, at this point, he’d be paying the check and taking the girl back to his hotel room for some overnight delight.

  “I thought I’d be a photographer one day,” she said after a time, her eyes on Hamish and the blonde. “But we can’t all live the dream.”

  Duff laughed at that. One man’s dream could be another’s nightmare. “Dreams aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

  He met her eyes, and she nodded. A grin tugged at her mouth, and he had an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Just lean across the table and snog her senseless. “So, uh, what brought you and your friend to Scotland?”

  Lovie choked on her sip of tea.

  Needlepoint

  She woke up at four A.M. And at five A.M. At six, Lovie gave up on the dream of sleep. Obviously it was going to take more than one late night to rid her of the jet lag. With her luck, the adjustment wouldn’t kick in until she was about to go home.

  She and Jo had walked back to the hotel around two A.M., escorted by Hamish and a few of his drinking buddies. Duff wasn’t among them. Once their little tête-à-tête was interrupted by another drunken Scot, whose name she couldn’t remember, he’d called it a night.

  It was just as well, since he’d just asked her why she and Jo had come to Scotland. She almost told him the truth but decided that it would only make her sound as delusional as her friend. Of course, the delusion might prove true if Hamish turned out to be exactly what Jo had set out to find.

  Surprisingly, he’d only kissed Jo on the cheek before saying goodnight in the hotel lobby. Lovie then helped her tipsy, besotted friend up to their room where she promptly passed out - coat and all - with a big smile on her face. No doubt dreams of her real-life Calum in her head.

  Sometime during the night, Jo must have shed the coat and crawled under the covers, where she was still. Snoring like the world’s smallest buzz saw. Nice for some.

  Lovie threw on some sweats and went in search of coffee. After scoring a fresh pot, two mugs and a basket of baked goods, she re-entered the room as quietly as she could. Pouring herself a cup, she sat in the window and watched the city come to life. In the distance, a clock struck seven. They needed to get a move on if they were going to make the tour bus.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.” Lovie nudged Jo’s inert form with her foot. “We’re going to be late.”

  A low moan sounded from the wrong end of the bed.

  What the heck?

  Lovi
e studied the comforter-covered lumps. She’d just toed her best friend in the face. Oops.

  “It’s too early.” The lumps rearranged themselves and emitted a scratchy moan.

  “You’re the one who insisted on the earliest tour.” Lovie laughed as a bird’s nest of honey-blonde hair emerged from the cocoon.

  “Ugh.” Jo swiped at the unruly strands, her eyes half-closed. “Do I smell coffee?”

  Lovie handed her a cup. One milk, two sugars.

  “Mmm, you’re too good to me.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Lovie jumped up and went to her suitcase. “I’ll hop in the shower first. Give you time to wake up.”

  “That’ll be a long ass shower.”

  “Ten minutes tops, so, guzzle guzzle.”

  They made the bus with five minutes to spare. The weather, while not cold for December, was damp in a way that made you feel like you were soaked to the bone. Lovie was glad to have the comfort of a tour bus between stops. The driver kept the heat cranked up, catering to the international group.

  The tour was peppered with everything from old churches to working castles and well-kept ruins. Unsurprisingly, Jo had a literary reference for each one bookmarked on her Kindle. Wandering the ancient sites, Lovie could well imagine how the romanticized grandeur of such places could inspire an author. As far as Lovie was concerned, history was a nice place to visit, but she wouldn’t want to live there.

  “I was born in the wrong century.” Jo had been particularly reluctant to leave Cawdor Castle, enchanted by its fairy tale history and manicured gardens. She was still daydreaming about life as a medieval princess when they returned to the hotel. “Just imagine it.”

  Lovie snorted, doing just that. “You wouldn’t last a day without social media.”

  “If I had been born in seventeen-forty-five, I wouldn’t know what that was, now would I?”

  “Can’t argue with that logic.”

  Seventeen-forty-five my ass. Jo had been checking her phone off and on all day. They’d just gotten back to their room when she finally got a text from Hamish. She squealed so loudly that Lovie thought she might burst a blood vessel.

  Still, she couldn’t help but smile. “Is that The Calum?”

  “Yep.” Jo beamed. “He wants to take me to lunch. Do you mind?”

  Yes. “No. Not at all.”

  “I hate to leave you on your own.” Right. But it would likely be a hell of a lot better than watching those two circle one another like hungry seals.

  “I’ll be fine. I many go back for some of those Scotch eggs.”

  “Have a couple for me.”

  ****

  The crowd at MacKinnon’s was a little too rowdy for Lovie’s taste. Something about “Man United!” and “fucking Liverpool!” It was over her head, so the hunt for Scotch eggs took her into uncharted territory. Downtown Inverness.

  It was tiny, compared to Philadelphia, but there was still a familiarity to it. According to a flyer she’d picked up at the bar, there was a Christmas festival in someplace called Bishops Palace. After a fifteen minute walk, she entered the historic building.

  Lovie gazed up at the vaulted ceilings and arched windows. The chapel had been renovated recently, along with the entire Eden Court complex. The warm, maple tones of the woodwork sang to her. She ran her fingers over the gleaming paneling, hoping to learn its secrets. It was clear that they’d taken great pains to restore the stonework as well.

  Vendors and craftsmen lined the two-floor structure, and she wandered from one to the other. There were local examples of folk art, pottery and textiles. If she’d had room in her suitcase, she would have spent a fortune. After sampling handmade whiskey fudge, she broke down and bought a small amount. Only a pound or three. A few curious heads turned as she walked about, but the people were friendly and warm. Weaving her way through the crowd, she spotted a familiar face.

  Duff was the last person she expected to see at a craft festival, yet there he was. She made her way over to him, careful not to alert him to her presence. It was like observing a gazelle in the wild.

  He stood on the side, shuffling from foot to foot, checking his phone and looking not at all like someone who was there by choice. There with a girlfriend, perhaps? Not that she cared.

  As she moved closer, a small, round-faced woman handed him a bag. The woman smiled before patting him on the cheek and moving on, with him trailing behind. Her salt and pepper hair framed her face in an adorable bob, one lick curling against her cheek. They reached a table covered with handmade knits. The woman passed weathered hands over the assortment, pausing occasionally to inspect a hat or a scarf. Duff’s back was to her, and Lovie caught a whiff of some spicy cologne. Had he been wearing it the night before?

  “Hey Duff.”

  A blinding smile spread across his face when he turned around, but disappeared just as quickly. He glanced over his shoulder at the woman, who was still perusing the goods. “Lovie, hey. Fancy meetin’ you here.” He looked over her head. “You on your own?”

  “Yeah.” As if Jo would give up her Highland demigod to spend the day with her best friend. “Jo’s with Hamish, so...”

  He frowned. “Alone?”

  “Well, yeah. Only room for two in the roadster.” She imitated Jo’s breathy declaration.

  Duff’s sexy mouth contorted into a so-not-sexy scowl. “Where the hell did he take her?”

  O…kay… He was awfully interested in Jo’s whereabouts. Maybe, like most other red-blooded men on the planet, he was hot for her too. Lovie grit her teeth.

  “How should I know? I’m not her keeper.”

  “How could you let ‘er go off with a stranger?” He towered over her, eyes dark and angry.

  Lovie’s hands went to her hips. “Wait a sec, he’s your friend.”

  “I know that.” He ground the words out through clenched teeth. The mood swings were strong with this one.

  Okay, now she was worried. She stepped closer, meeting him eye-to-chin. “Is there something about Hamish that I should know?”

  He blinked, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath. “No.”

  “Then, what’s the problem?”

  He gawked at her like she’d asked him the square root of pi. After a moment, his mouth snapped shut. “No problem.”

  Oh, there was definitely a problem, and Lovie wanted to know what the hell it was. They glared at each other for several excruciating seconds before being interrupted by a soft voice.

  “Aren’t ye goin’ to introduce me to yer friend, dear?” The woman pushed him aside and took Lovie’s hand. Hers were as soft as cashmere. She had the same sea blue eyes, though the right one had the dull pallor of a developing cataract.

  “I’m his gran, dear. You can call me Ginny. And aren’t you a rare thing?”

  “Gran.” Duff stepped next to her. “This is Lovie. She’s visitin’ from the States.”

  “Ohh! Weel, then, weelcome. Lovie, is it? Such an interestin’ name for an interestin’ lass.” Lovie frowned. Had he been talking to his grandmother about her? Duff’s mouth gaped open like a distressed fish.

  “Uh, what me gran means to say is that...it’s...rare...to, eh, find a...find an American in these parts.”

  “Och, no! We get Yanks here all the time, dear. I just meant-”

  “Gran.”

  “Hush, C.J.” Ginny wagged a finger at her grandson, effectively shutting him up. Lovie filed that trick away for later use. “I’m just curious as to how this beauty came to be.”

  Oh.

  Lovie’s back stiffened when Ginny reached a hand up toward her hair. Strangers always seemed to feel entitled to touch it without permission.

  Is that your real hair?

  Do you dye it?

  I’ve never seen a brown-skinned redhead before.

  While she understood the fascination, to an extent, it always felt like an invasion of her personal space.

  “May I, dear?” Ginny smiled, waiting. Just like that, the tension drai
ned away. Lovie nodded and leaned down a little. The woman’s touch was feather light.

  “Genealogy is a hobby of mine, ye ken.” She passed a gentle hand over her crown and inspected one coily lock. “Ye’ve some Scots in you, I think. What’s yer last name, dear?”

  “Uh, Grant.” She’d always found it kind of boring. Maybe that’s why her parents had named her Lovie. She gave a small shrug. “Pretty common in America.”

  “Ah, but it’s an old Scottish name, Grant is,” Ginny said with enthusiasm.

  “Really?”

  “Aye. Old Norse.” She gently tucked Lovie’s hair behind her ears and cupped her cheeks. It was an oddly moving gesture. “I knew ye had Scots blood. These fiery curls couldna come from anywhere else.” She laughed softly. “Beeyoutiful.”

  “Thank you, Ginny.” Lovie smiled, touched by the old woman’s kindness. “That’s...very sweet.”

  “Jus’ speakin’ the truth, dear. Now...” She turned Lovie’s hand over, studying it.

  Over her head, Duff mouthed ‘I’m sorry’, pleading with his eyes for her to be patient. Lovie was fine, though. She understood Ginny’s curiosity.

  “You’ve the loveliest skin. Like spring whea’.”

  “Like what?”

  “Spring wheat,” Duff replied, his eyes scanning her. “Golden brown.” His ears reddened.

  “And such adorable freckles. Some African roots as well, aye? Or West Indian, perhaps. Beautiful people.” Ginny released Lovie’s hand and stepped back, smiling. “You’re just lovely, dear. Just lovely. Isn’t she?”

  “Aye,” Duff answered quietly. “She is.”

  Wait, he thought she was lovely? Lovie met his gaze again, and the unmistakable heat there shocked her. God, his eyes were so…blue. Or green. No, blue.

  She blinked to clear her head and turned back to Ginny, who was grinning at them both.

  “So, Lovie.” Duff cleared his throat. “What have you been up to all day?”