"What about that one—what did you call it?" He was looking up at me and pointing at the small sticky toffee shortbread cake—something I'd adapted from one of the recipes I'd brought with me from Durnland. Hamish's mother's recipe.
"Ah, that's the sticky toffee shortbread," I said.
"And you said it's a Scottish specialty, right?" Erica said, beaming.
"Um... sure," I said, hoping I didn't sound like a moron. I didn't want to lie to the woman, but I couldn't tell her it was Durnish. The Scots liked shortbread and sticky toffee too, right?
"We'll take that one," Fernando said, and he wrapped a big arm around Erica, both of them smiling happily.
I wrapped up the cake and wished them well, watching as they left the shop arm in arm. Love was so easy for some folks. It seemed a little unfair.
"Well, that was odd," Anna said, coming back out to join me at the counter.
"Sorry," I said. But I wasn't ready to tell her why it had been weird. Not yet.
Chapter 84
Wham! Is. The. Bomb.
Hamish
I didn't sleep.
The internet is a damned fickle mistress. I tried the obvious searches. First, Sophie's full name.
Sophie James
After I finished cursing Soph's parents for being so fecking unoriginal, I scanned the multitudes of results, none of which helped very much. I had a moment of excitement around two o'clock in the morning, but it turned out some arsehole had posted a class list of my graduating high school class. The best part? It was in an article about me. Perfect.
I tried Facebook, and spent a good two hours scanning friend lists and pages, angry at the trend toward people not using their legal names in profiles and then chuckling over the irony of me, a sort of internet stalker, wondering why people wouldn't just post their full legal names and make it easy for me. At least Sophie wasn't being unsafe online.
But was she online at all?
At four o'clock in the morning, after paying to look into phone listings and legal filings and even trying to get in touch with her walloper of a stepfather, I gave up.
As far as online footprints went, Sophie's was dainty, if she even had one at all. I found nothing to indicate her presence in San Diego, or even in Durnland. It was like she didn't exist.
I went to bed with a chill crawling up my spine as I considered it. Was Sophie dead? Had I lost my last chance without even knowing it? I should have tried harder to get in touch. I shouldn't have let unreturned phone calls and unanswered emails be the end of it. But it had hurt my feelings a bit, believing she'd received those things and chosen not to answer. Now though, worry was pushing my ego aside.
Another thought rang through me like a bell and had me sitting spike straight in bed, my mouth gaping open. Had Soph gotten married? Maybe I couldn't find her because she'd taken someone else's last name.
Oh God, it was possible I felt just as bad considering that as I had when I'd wondered if she might have left this realm. But no, I told myself. If she was married somewhere, surrounded by children and love... No. Fuck no. I wasn't that fecking magnanimous.
I had to find her.
At least, I told myself as I drifted off to sleep, I had to find out what had happened to her. My heart ached with not knowing.
Naturally, I woke up in a shit mood. I'd dreamed all night of chasing a flash of red hair through a cold cloudy kelp-filled sea.
I shivered myself awake after nine, and remembered the invitation to Fernando's mother's house tonight. Sunday dinner. She'd adopted Erica when Erica and Fernando had gotten together. And then after the dual proposal Christmas shenanigans last year, she'd adopted Magalie and Trace, and half of the rest of the team. Including me. And since the adoption arrangement involved large quantities of home-cooked food, usually of the Latin variety, I didn't mind a bit.
That gave me a lot of hours to continue to search for Soph, and I spent the time accessing county marriage records, and then expanding that search to include Los Angeles. When I hit more walls, I switched to death records, cringing as I searched.
I held my breath, but let it out slowly when I didn't find her there either.
It was as if she'd simply vanished. But my sister said she had come here. To San Diego. How could I not have known?
I shook my head, thinking of how wrong I'd let it go. How stupid I'd been to walk away. Or maybe how stupid I was now to continue pining over a girl I'd let disappear so easily.
Clearly, I was too stupid to deserve her in the first place.
After a long day of dead ends, I put on my Sunday best—which naturally, involved my kilt—and took myself over to Mrs. Fuerte's house for dinner.
Fernando greeted me when I rang the doorbell. "There you are. And I'm glad to see you brought your lovely knees as well." He shot a wry look at my kilt and I lifted my chin higher, ignoring him.
"I think you look very handsome, Hamish," Mrs. Fuerte said, pushing past Fernando to hug me. The woman was so tiny, I had to bend down, but I hugged her hard, missing my own family a bit after everything that had gone on the past couple days.
"Thank you, Mrs. Fuerte. And this is for you." I handed her a bottle of Aguardiente I'd picked up. We'd drained her last the week prior—she'd gotten us all used to the licorice flavor of the Colombian alcohol, and now no Sunday was complete without a little nip at the end of the night.
"You're a good boy," she said, patting my arm as she took the bottle and stepped away.
I did my best to be social, but my mind was still wrapped around Soph. Where could she be?
At the end of dinner, Erica stood up and asked us all to wait. She returned from the kitchen with a little box and put it on the table in front of her. "This cake," Erica said, "Is a preview of our wedding cake. We went tasting today at the most amazing cake shop in La Jolla—"
"Cake Me Up," Fuerte said.
"What?" Trace asked, leaning forward at the mention of cake.
"The name of the shop. Like Cake Me Up before you go go?" Fuerte smiled.
"Or maybe just like, hey, don't let me oversleep. Be sure to Cake Me Up. Only you would relate it to a Wham! Song," Erica said.
"I thought of it too," I said, feeling like I should defend my teammate's honor. Plus, Wham! was the bomb back in the day.
"Anyway," Erica said, trying to regain her momentum. "So this cake is like a regional specialty of our adorable Scottish cake maker. It's a Scottish shortbread sticky toffee cake."
My mind stilled. Sticky toffee shortbread had been Mam's recipe, and at the mention of my old favorite treat, my childhood washed through me—gray skies pulsing with rain, dark green fields meeting the massive smoke stones that gathered at the clifftops...and Soph. Because she had always been there. And she had been there with Mam, too, standing at the kitchen counter, learning her secrets. They cooked and baked together, their heads tilted close and giggling like girls. They'd shared something Mam didn't have with either of my sisters.
When Erica put a tiny slice of the cake on a plate before me, I swallowed hard. The last two days had been difficult, and to have my homeland served to me in this delicate wedge was almost too much. I took a bite, and that did it. I was home. This wasn't just a Scottish version of the Durnish specialty my Mam made like no other. This was Mam's cake. I'd recognize it anywhere—blindfolded and surrounded by the greatest stink you could conjure, my mouth would still know this flavor. Because the Durns had a special ingredient, and I could pick it out like a beacon.
"Where did you say this bakery was?" I asked.
"La Jolla," Erica answered. "Isn't it amazing?"
I finished my cake and slept well that night. Sophie was fine. I was sure of it.
And tomorrow? I was going to visit Cake Me Up.
Chapter 85
Dangers of Durnish Cake
Sophie
I should have known letting Fernando Fuerte walk out of my shop with a shortbread sticky toffee cake was a big mistake. I should have insisted they stick with the lem
on meringue cake they'd loved, or foisted a red velvet raspberry on them instead. But they took the sticky toffee shortbread, and now my senses were tingling like mad, and they had been since the moment I'd unlocked the doors this morning.
Anna came in to find me in the back, working on layers for one of the weekend weddings. I'd remade them three times before she arrived—stress led me to the kitchen, turned me into a persnickety perfectionist and made me horribly clumsy. And that meant I had to bake, had to do it perfectly, and screwed things up continually. Being me stressed out was a frustrating experience.
"What's all this?" She asked, turning to gaze wide eyed at the layers of chocolate sponge covering every surface in the kitchen.
"The chocolate banana sponge for Jumpy and Jock."
"Ah, right. And for a few other couples too?"
I wiped my hands on my apron, blowing out a breath in an effort to calm myself. "Nope. Just can't get it right."
She raised an eyebrow and stepped forward, putting one hand on my shoulder so she could look into my face. "Oh no. What's going on? What are you freaking out about?"
"Shark and Snappy."
Her eyebrows pulled close together. "Why? It went well yesterday. She's a little high strung, but she left happy. She took a cake!"
I nodded.
She tilted her head at me and smiled. "You worry too much. Everything is fine." She looked around again at the cake. "Which of these are the mistakes?"
I waved my hand at the entire right side of the kitchen.
"Looks like we'll be pushing the chocolate banana mini-cakes today!" she sang, tying on an apron. "I'll get the buttercream whipped up."
I felt marginally better just for the company, but my gut told me there was something off, something in my stable world that was tilting. And I didn't like tilt. I liked keeping things straight and calm.
Just as I'd allowed myself to take in a few calming breaths and let Anna tell me again how everyone got weird feelings now and then but that they didn't indicate any kind of omen or event, the bell on the door rang and I froze.
Anna made a face at me, and we both went to peek out the window to see who'd stepped in.
Never again would I allow someone to tell me my premonitions were crap. Because standing just ten feet away, with only a swinging door and a pastry counter separating us, was the only man I'd ever loved, and the one I'd sworn I'd never see again if I could help it.
"Oh my God, Soph," Anna said. "I think doing Shark and Snappy's cake is already bringing us more business. I swear, that guy plays for the Sharks too."
I shut my eyes, willing the earth to still, wishing for my heart to quiet down. "Aye, he does."
"Hey, is he that Scottish prince?" she breathed, straightening her apron and preparing to go greet Hamish.
"He's Durnish," I said, turning to face her. "And I'll handle this," I said, pushing through the swinging door to confront the man who'd broken my heart. Twice.
Hamish was standing a foot away from the counter, looking around him with great interest. His bright dark eyes were shining as always, and seeing his face so close made me miss the mirth and fun I knew those eyes often held. He was solid—broad-shouldered and imposing, maybe bigger than the last time I'd seen him, though that had been at a distance. His hair was cut close on the sides, longer on top, and his beard was trimmed fairly short. My heart reached for him and I did my best to lock it in it's little cage and let my mind guide me instead.
He looked up as I came through the door, and recognition flashed across his face immediately. "Thank God," he whispered. "It's true then. You're here. You've been...here?"
"Aye," I said, wishing for a snappier retort.
"Soph," he said, and the dark eyes filled as his cheeks colored. He was the boy I'd loved, the boy I'd grown up with, the boy who'd shared his family with me and who I thought might share his heart too.
"What are you doing here, Hamish?"
The smile dimmed a bit. "Looking for you, lass."
I nodded once, quickly, and wished I could disappear—wished I could go back a day and undo everything that had led to this. "Yes, well. You can see I'm here. You've found me. I'm fine. Now then. Cake?" I gestured to the cabinet in front of me.
Hamish's eyes didn't roam to examine the cakes, staying instead on my face. I felt sweat pricking around my hairline, on my lip. "I'm so glad to see you," he said, his voice low and full of some emotion that made it hoarse.
Was I glad to see him? I didn't know. My heart ached and my mind felt pulled in three directions at once. I had nothing to say.
He stepped closer. "Why didn't you tell me you were here, Soph? Why didn't you come find me? How long have you been in San Diego?" He shook his head, confusion written in the wrinkle between his brows, the frown pulling the corners of his soft lips down.
"I didn't see the point," I managed to say.
He looked at me for a long silent moment, and then looked around the shop, seeming to realize suddenly I was at work. "Do you think we could talk? Maybe on your break? Go somewhere?"
I had appointments today, but not until the afternoon. I'd come in early to get out of my apartment and mostly, to get out of my head. And maybe partly because I'd expected Hamish might show up soon. One did not send a Durnish cake to a Durnish man and expect he wouldn't recognize it.
Looking at Hamish's pleading face across the counter was melting the little cage around my heart, making me want to give up all my resolve and fling myself at him. I loved him in so many ways, and had for so many years. "Fine," I said, the word like a knife slicing a clean line through my own resolve to keep my distance. "There's a Starbuck's down the street. Let me tell Anna."
I turned to push back through the door, only to have it "thump" against resistance on the kitchen side.
"Ow," Anna was rubbing her forehead. "You didn't look like you were about to spin around and fly back in here. I would have moved faster."
"You were watching all that?"
"Trying to listen. I wish you'd speak up. What's going on?"
"I need a few minutes. Can you handle the place alone?"
Her eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. "Are you going somewhere with..." she tilted her head toward the shop where Hamish was.
"Yes," I said, hoping there wouldn't be more questions. I would talk to Anna—she was my best and only friend here—but I needed to talk to Hamish first.
"Go, go, go," she said eagerly, accepting my apron as I handed it to her and smoothed the black skirt I wore beneath it. "Wait, wait!" she called just as I spun to go back out. "There's just a bit of flour here." She dabbed at my left cheek with the edge of the apron. "Okay. There."
I'd been talking to Hamish with flour on my face. Of course I had. He'd known me as a child, as a naive teenager head-over-heels in love with him, and now as a sad short little woman who couldn't bake without covering herself with flour. I sighed miserably as I went back through the door to talk with him, wishing my overeager heart would stop leaping around like a puppy. Why didn't it understand as completely as my mind that any possibilities of love between Hamish and me were long over? I could not compete with the women in San Diego, the women who followed the Sharks around, who crowded them at bars and flirted after games. I was the old model. Hamish had moved on to things much shinier and better put together than me.
"I'm ready," I said, and as Hamish pulled open the front door to the shop to let me pass, it took every last ounce of reserve not to turn into him, press my face into his strong chest, and let myself think about home.
Chapter 86
Being Young and Stupid.
Hamish
FLASHBACK
Durnland, six years ago
The cold wind whipped across the tarmac as I stepped out of the little plane with the Durnish football team. Another win—no, another trouncing—of those silly Spanish kids from Barcelona.
"Wiped the pitch with 'em," Lou Haddendash was boasting as he came down the little stairway. He'd been gloating over t
he win since the wheels had left Spanish soil.
The lads on the Durnish University team were good enough fellows, and I'd enjoyed playing with them these last four years. Hell, football was my whole life, it was the only thing that got me into college in the first place—though Uncle Vlad would have pulled some strings if Da had asked him to. My grades weren't all shite, but my focus hadn't been on my studies, either. As it was, I was the oldest player and the oldest senior, thanks to a less-than-focused high school career back in my little corner of the country. And it was time to move on. Scouts had been out these last few months, and it turned out that while Durnland didn't produce much of note to the rest of the world, we did a fine job with footballers.
I'd be going to San Diego, California to play for the Sharks, and we had two men headed to England to play at Arsenal and Man U.
Part of me envied those lads—they'd be close to home.
And recently, I'd begun to realize I had a good reason to stay close to home too.
Sophie.
Charlie was waiting outside the airport to pick me up. The season was done, I'd taken finals last week, and it was time to go home for a few short weeks before I moved my entire life to America to play. It was thrilling and terrifying. And my heart felt like it might be on the verge of breaking.
"Heard you won," Charlie said, both of us gazing out to the wharf as we passed, where the bright green stick stood tall above the harbor. For now. The Doom Line, they called that marker, and it said the whole country was sinking. Although the country seemed to be fighting back—sometimes the sea receded, according to the men in charge of keeping track of the line. No one was quite sure what to think, and for now, I had other things on my mind.
Mr. Match: The Boxed Set Page 44
