by Sarah Skye
So I spun around and walked out of the bar and straight back to my car, Calder’s devastating words reverberating in my head.
Sitting in the parking lot, I blink and another downpour of tears soaks my cheeks. I was so hopeful when I drove to Billy’s Sports Bar. I even smiled when he suggested meeting there in his text. It gave me the slightest glimmer of hope. Because if that night at that bar conjured up the same sweet memory for him as it did for me, then that meant that we were both sentimental mushes who were willing to do anything to fix this rift between us. We’d both say sorry, then hug, then kiss, then start a very graphic makeout in the booth that would end at either his place or mine…
I thought it meant that we would go back to what we were—two people who were crazy about each other and wanted to be together. But now, after hearing what he said, that’s not going to happen.
My head throbs with a million questions.
Why did he suggest meeting at the bar that held such a sweet memory for the both of us if he’s not in love with me?
Why did he agree to make things official between us if he’s not the kind of guy who falls in love? If he’s not a relationship guy?
Is that why he agreed to meet with me in the first place? To tell me that he wasn’t the kind of guy who falls in love? Was he going to break up with me?
I shake my head, halting the barrage of questions that I’ll never get answers to. None of that even matters. What matters is that I’m in love with him, but he’s not in love with me. And there’s nothing that can change that.
When I manage to stop sobbing, I take a long, deep breath. Then I grip the steering wheel with both hands. They’re finally steady.
I’m about to start my car when my phone rings. I glare at the screen when I see it’s Calder.
“I have nothing to say to you!” I yell at my phone. My cheeks flush when I realize how ridiculous I must look to anyone who happens to walk through the parking lot and see me shouting alone in my car.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the headrest as my phone blares on and on for the next few minutes. Finally, it beeps with a voicemail. I let out a sigh and listen to Calder’s message.
“I’m sat here wondering if you’re hurt—or if you’ve stood me up. If you’re not dead, can you please just fucking let me know?”
I huff out a breath as my eyes go watery once more.
Me: I’m not dead.
He replies instantly.
Calder: Why are you doing this? You’ve stood me up and left me waiting twice now, Professor.
My thumb hovers over my phone screen. I almost do it. I almost text back and tell him that I don’t have the strength to speak to him or look him in the eye right now after he’s hurt me in the worst way… after overhearing him declare to that mystery person on the phone that he’s not a relationship kind of guy, that he could never fall in love—not even with me.
But then my phone rings again. Calder’s name flashes across the screen, and I freeze. It goes to voicemail, he leaves a message, and I hold my breath as I listen, relishing the low growl of his tone, the melody of his accent.
“If there’s a grand gesture I can make, let me make it. If there’s a thing I need to hear, let me hear it. But we’re not done here, not yet. And while it’s clear by now you’re content to let me go alone tomorrow night, I don’t care. I’ve got things to tell you, Lily Maldonado, and I’m a patient man. You know it’s true—you’ve seen me hold a pose for an hour straight. Giving you space to get sorted I can and will respect. It would be decent of you to give me a wee bit of consideration as well, though. I want to hear from you the second you have words for me. Until then, just know I’m waiting—and I’m here for you.”
I hang up and drop my phone in the passenger seat, pull out of the parking lot, and drive home in a daze of Calder’s words.
Tomorrow night.
The clipped way he said that sticks with me. I can tell just how nervous and worried he is about his big speech at the Sonce holiday event. Despite how broken I am right now, I can’t help but feel for him. Can I really stand him up for a third time, on a night when he needs me the most?
I pull into my driveway, turn off the car, and sit inside as I attempt to wrestle once more with all the thoughts in my brain. In the end, one thing remains true: Calder doesn’t love me, but that doesn’t change how I feel about him.
And when I get out of the car and walk into the house, I know exactly what I’m going to do.
27
Calder
I wake up the next morning amid another wasteland of banana s’mores. The bloated, nauseous sugar hangover makes me wish I was the kind of man who drowned his sorrows in whisky, but whisky is a pleasure, nothing guilty about it. Junk food hasn’t been a part of my life since I was in my teens.
For good bloody reason. I groan and pat my irritated stomach, then roll off the quilt and hit the shower. Two hours at the gym are required, partially for this caloric binge but also to calm my already-building nerves about tonight. That bloody speech isn’t enough; now, I’m going to get to make excuses for why I’m stag again.
Throughout the day, I’m hell-bent on strategizing why I’m arriving solo and remembering what I’m going to say when I stand in front of that mic. I waffle on texting Nate a heads-up that Lily won’t be coming, but ultimately decide that a last-minute family emergency is cleverer. He nearly had a stroke yesterday when I hinted at a change in plans. Likely he’ll know my excuse is bullshit, but it’ll be a convenient facade to get me through the evening.
The speech, though, won’t stay in my head, and so I go back to the flashcards I’ve been carrying damn near everywhere for two weeks. Throughout the afternoon, I wander round my apartment muttering key lines. Even while I’m buckling my kilt and fastening my sporran, I’ve got the cards scattered on the bed in front of me.
It’s when I’m standing in front of the mirror, fussing with my fly plaid and brooch, that the speech and the party take a backseat again. Once I’ve got the plaid on my shoulder, threaded properly through the epaulette of my jacket, I pause and regard myself in the mirror. This is a task that goes much easier with a bit of help, and, for just a moment, I admit to myself that I had totally envisioned Lily standing beside me. Her lips would’ve been pursed in concentration as I explained the rules for putting it on. She would’ve helped me pin the brooch in place and smiled when I recounted my mum helping me when I was a boy. I’d have told her that this was the most formal version of kilt dress, reserved for black-tie events—and that I fully intended to wear this exact getup if I ever got married. She would’ve turned pink, I’d have grinned, but the comment would’ve been anything but casual conversation.
I groan and rub my eyes, breaking out of this little fantasy and returning to the task at hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, good evening…”
With the cards tucked in my coat pocket, I stride out the door to the car that’s waiting. Those little blue index cards are practically a security blanket by now, and I whip them out again for the ride to the party. If I focus, if I can flip through them and keep my mind on getting through the speech, then I don’t have to think about the gaping hole that is the empty seat beside me.
The gaping hole that is my heart.
“Suck it up, mate. Time to look sharp,” I mutter to myself as the car swings up to the venue. A quick check of my hair, my for-the-camera smile plastered on, and I’m ready.
Cocktail hour is in full swing, so I grab a highball glass and glide through all the guests, stopping anytime anyone catches eyes with me so that I can talk up the product and introduce myself. Given that I am a walking visual of Scotland, people catch eyes with me every few paces. It’s good to be working, to slide into the zone and do what I’m best at. It reminds me just how much tonight means to me. To have gone from a kid running through the barrels to the face of this fantastic brand takes all my life dreams and passions and rolls them into one. The more that sinks in, the easier it is to manage the du
ll ache still tugging at my heart.
I’m chatting with the head of distribution about this year’s rugby World Cup when Nate appears. He folds himself into the conversation, but when things dwindle he excuses us and guides me away.
“Where’s your lass tonight?” he asks as soon as we’re out of range. There’s no eye contact; he’s scanning the room, a big smile in place even as he hisses at me from the side of his mouth.
“Family thing last minute. Mum wasn’t feeling well. She had to drive out this afternoon.”
He chuckles and finally turns to me, but his eyes aren’t angry. No one is close enough to hear us, and for a second we’re just Nate and Cal. With a shake of his head, he says, “You’re a horrible liar and always were. Having a spat, are you?”
I shrug. “Of course not. Family man and all that. Everything is bloody Shangri-La.”
The humor in his expression disappears. “Look, jokes aside for a moment. Lily is fantastic, and from what I’ve seen, you two are a match. Dunno what you’ve done to cock it up, but make it right. You don’t want to lose the one who calls you on your bullshit and turns you on just by a look in her eye, you hear me? Even when she drives you absolutely batshit crazy, that’s a woman you want to keep. Not for your image—for your life, mate.”
While I’m reeling from this sudden bout of gravity, Nate’s gaze flickers behind me. Suddenly, he’s grinning again.
“Case in point,” he mutters before saying louder, “Ah, there she is, the Queen of the Isles. Hello my darling, you’re looking embarrassingly hot tonight.”
Eileen blushes as Nate slips an arm around her and kisses her cheek. He gives me a look, and I puff out a breath and nod.
“Was easier when you were seventeen and I could take the piss out of everything that came out of your wise-arse mouth,” I mutter while Eileen waves to someone across the room.
He barks a laugh. “Yes, but a good bit less useful, eh? Come, let’s mingle.”
We stroll over to say hello to some VIP financial backers. The women ogle me while the men grip my hand in a firm shake. No one gives me a raised-eyebrow look to question my validity. More than one person comments on the new Oak & Thistle line.
This has worked. I’ve stepped into a whole new phase of my career in exactly the way I’d dreamed of. Part of me is giddy and elated.
If only that damn hole weren’t there, sucking the shine out of everything.
“There’s our man,” Pat Wallace shouts across the room at me. He and his wife come over to join me. “You still look like hell, Cal, but I’m damn glad your ugly mug is the face of our brand,” he chuckles.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Where’s that pretty gal of yours?” Pat looks around, a curious frown suddenly on his face.
Without thinking, I dig my index finger into the cuticle of my thumbnail. It’s a terrible habit, I know, but I don’t care. I scratch at my thumb and try to smile. “Oh, ah well—”
“Right here.”
Slender, cool fingers lace with mine, interrupting me from my self-destructive mission. Her too-familiar scent hits my nose. When I turn my head and stare into those big brown eyes, I swear I’m hallucinating. My jaw unhinges, but Lily simply tips her lips up in an enigmatic smile.
She turns to Pat and Nate. “Sorry I’m late. Had a small family emergency, but it’s all worked out now. How are you, gentlemen? Eileen, that dress is gorgeous.”
While I stand there dumbstruck, Lily chats like everything is normal. She holds my hand easily. Her shoulder leans against mine just enough to send the message that we’re together. The simple stance has scrambled my brain, and I waffle between anger, disbelief, and adoration at how stunning she looks in that crimson party dress. Her black-brown hair is pulled up, her makeup luminous but subtle.
If I didn’t know her so well, I wouldn’t even notice the fact that she’s terribly pale underneath. If I hadn’t become so damn attuned to every tiny detail about her, I wouldn’t catch the way her fingers squeeze my knuckles oh-so subtly from time to time, or the way her shoulders are just a little too high to be at ease.
But I do know her that well. I want to know every damn detail about her. And so I notice every single thing. None of it adds up to an answer for why the hell she’s here or what I can hope it means, but I don’t need an answer right now because—
“Well, my dear lad, what’s say we kick off dinner hour, hmm?” Pat claps my shoulder. It’s my cue to head to the microphone and speak to the whole damn room.
Lily squeezes me hard at that one. I nearly lean in for a cheek kiss, but I’m not sure I’m allowed right now. Instead, I nod at Pat and give her one more squeeze before turning to the podium.
“Calder.”
I turn around.
Lily’s smile is a bit wider, but she’s got sadness in her eyes. Her delicate neck constricts with a hard swallow, and suddenly those dark eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. “You’ve got this, love. Go be great.”
She croaks when she uses my pet name for her on me, but her smile is unwavering in its encouragement.
I knit my brows and twist my lips. “Never greater than when I’m with you, love.”
She winces, and I want to blow off the speech and drag her to the first place we find where we can be alone and sort all this shit out. Before I can seriously consider it, she waves her hand in a shooing gesture and then turns to take her seat at one of the large dining tables.
One thing at a time.
Tunnel vision hits me as I adjust the mic and pull the cards from my pocket. All the guests are seated, waiting for me to charm them, waiting for me to kick-off dinner.
Can’t I just take off my shirt and wink for a minute and let that be that?
The thought makes me chuckle and breaks my haze. I clear my throat and begin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, good evening. Thank you for coming out to celebrate Sonce’s big debut with us tonight.
“Growing up, my parents always told me school was important. I needed a good education to be successful in life. I guess that’s all well and good, but if you ask me, my real education happened among the tuns and barrels at Sonce Distillery. And, to be honest with you, the true marker of success in my life is this moment right here, where I can say to you all that I’m Calder Ross, and I am honored to be the face of Sonce’s debut in the USA.”
The room erupts in applause so suddenly that I’m startled to silence, but it gives me a moment to sip water and take a breath. This is going okay. Don’t cock up now!
I check my notes and go on about growing up with Nate and falling in love with whisky, then bring us to the present day, highlighting the awards Sonce has already won and talking about the plans for the future.
But when it’s time to close, I set the cards down and look out over the audience, really letting myself see them for the first time so far. Not surprisingly, my gaze finds Lily almost immediately. The whole time I’ve been speaking, I haven’t let myself look for her. Just knowing she’s there has been enough. But when I catch her eyes, that sweet smile deepens, and she flashes me a thumbs-up.
My next words come from somewhere in my brain that I’m not even sure of. They just kind of tumble out when I open my mouth. “Love is a word people throw around a lot, don’t you think? ‘I love this song, I love this pizza, I love this book.’ Nothing wrong with that, if you ask me. Why not love freely? Why should love be complicated or secret? If you love something, you want to share it. If you love someone, then you should bloody well tell them at every opportunity you get. Life is short. Love makes it sweeter.
“And so, as we share this meal together, I hope you talk about all the things you love best, and I challenge you to tell someone you love them, even if you said it just a few minutes ago. But for now, please raise your glasses for a love we all share: Sonce whisky! Slàinte!”
“Slàinte!” comes the reverberating cry from every voice in the room, followed by another round of thunderous applause. I tip ba
ck my dram and step away from the mic.
Waiters have already sprung into action, hustling to the tables with trays of dinner plates. The applause fades smoothly into clanking silverware and chattering voices. Still buzzing with adrenaline, I skirt through the tables toward my own.
Nate stops me by grabbing my jacket. He jumps up and claps a hug on me. “Fan-fucking-tastic, mate. You’re a fucking natural. So glad you’re part of this.”
His smile is so broad, I’d almost not believe this was the same kid I used to smoke cigarettes and get pissed with when we were 14, dreaming about girls and trouble and talking bullshit like we knew a damn thing about the world. It’s that moment that the magnitude of this hits me, and my throat tightens too. I return the hug with one of my own.
“Piss off, mate, we both know you’re secretly in love with me,” I say into his ear when I embrace him.
“Wanker,” he laughs, giving me a shove.
I wink and blow him a kiss. Then, I turn and continue toward my table.
Lily’s gaze connects with mine, and my shoulders go square. Joys and triumphs aside, I have one more mission tonight. I just dared myself to do it, so no sense waiting or doubting now.
I don’t sit down, just hold out my hand, inviting her to take it. She hesitantly slips her palm across mine.
“A word, Professor, if you please.” My tone is kind, but there is no bullshit or hesitation in it.
“Now? No, Calder, I’m here for you, but—”
“A word. I think you know which one, but it’s time for me to man up and say it.”
Every emotion I can think of flashes in her eyes. Confusion, sadness, shock, fear, hope, all one after another, but she stands up anyway. I touch the small of her back and lead her out of the room to the coat closet down the hall. It’s full, but there’s enough space for us to face each other.
“Lily,” I say when the door shuts. “I’m so bloody angry at you for standing me up. I waited for you. Friday night, then last night. How could you disappear on me?”
