by Rebel Carter
He chuckled and then stepped forward, closing the gap between us. “You’re clever. Agnes didn’t mention that.”
“She was a little side-tracked,” I told him with shrug, opting to not mention her fey talk.
Callum hummed and gave me a knowing look. “Talking about the fey folk again, is she?”
So it seemed everyone knew of Auntie Agnes’s ties to the fey. I prayed Callum’s knowledge of what might sidetrack his aunt stopped there, and that he didn’t know about her intent to matchmake us.
“She’s...excitable,” he said, touching my elbow, signaling for us to start walking again. This time Callum stayed within my stride.
“You don’t say,” I drawled with a laugh. Callum chuckled along with me and I felt that same warm feeling bloom in my chest. The man looked good when he smiled. Real good. Delicious, even.
The thought made me want to bang my head against the nearest hard surface.
What was I doing? I needed to stay focused, not play straight into Agnes’s hands. Jet lag was the only good reason I had for swooning over a smile from a man I had just met.
“She’s always been the wild one of the bunch,” Callum told me in a conspiratorial tone. “I did what I thought would keep her out of trouble.”
“You lied to Agnes?”
“I dinna lie, lass,” Callum all but growled, and this time I was impressed at how little I noticed it. That had to count for growth, right? “I put the damned ad up but buried it so deep I thought no one would ever reply. And no one did, until you.”
“How long was it up?”
He shrugged. “Two or three years, mebbe.”
I gaped. “What? The ad came up first thing when I searched for a place to ru—” I stopped short, choking back run away. I cleared my throat when Callum gave me a curious look. He didn’t need to know why I had come to Scotland. Not yet, at least.
“When you what?” he asked.
“When I searched for a place to relax,” I lied.
Callum worried his bottom lip between his teeth. I could tell he wanted to ask for the truth but thankfully he relented, and nodded up ahead at the shop only a few feet away. “That’s my press.”
I perked up at helpful segue, not only because it allowed me to keep to myself the truth of my reason for being in Sithean but because I was very interested. “Sithean Press, right? Agnes told me before you came over.”
He nodded. “Been in our family for over a century.”
“Wow, that’s not letting anyone in,” I breathed, following him to the front door, which was much like Agnes’s bakeshop, save for the heavy iron lock on the front door. It looked like something plucked straight out of a medieval castle. I leaned closer to get a look at the mechanism while Callum unlocked the door. He tapped it with a forefinger.
“This has been here as long as the press.”
“Looks like it,” I observed, leaning close to look at the markings etched into the heavy iron of the lock. Crosses and runes, from the looks of it. “What’s on it?”
“Fairy protection,” Callum replied without batting an eyelash. I straightened and shot Callum a look of disbelief.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s tae keep them out, and dinna give me that look. My da’s da’s da put it there. They were scared of the wee folk. I’m not.”
“Then why do you have a fairy-be-gone lock on your door?”
“It’s called history. I’m not daft, woman.”
What was it with this family and fairies? One of them had fairies talking to them and the other had what looked like a top of the line fairy lock.
Wait...daft?
I narrowed my eyes at his choice of words and felt my hackles rise in defense of Agnes. Sure, the woman had caught me off-guard with talk of talking to fey, but that didn’t mean she was daft…a little eccentric, maybe, but she’d brought me here and she’d done it in style.
I crossed my arms and stared Callum down. “Agnes isn’t daft.”
Callum tilted his head to the side. He stepped closer to me, eating up what precious few inches had been between us. “That so?” he asked, voice low.
“Yes,” I breathed, and nodded at the door. “When do I get a key?”
“Pardon?” Callum blinked slow, like a cat just waking from a nap, his green eyes moving over my face. The look felt like a tender touch, just ghosting along my cheek, down the curve of my mouth, and I averted my eyes as so not to wax poetic about men with eyes the color of clover.
“My key,” I said, giving the lock a tap. “I’m not fairy, but this will keep me out pretty good.”
Callum chuckled and moved away. The second he did, I found myself leaning toward him and trying to cover the space between us, chasing his warmth, desperate to get a flash of his emerald eyes, anything to keep him close. Thankfully, he had his back to me and didn’t witness my momentary lapse of sanity. I needed sleep and I needed it fast, I thought, stumbling over my own feet and after Callum into the printing press.
“All right, Del?” Callum asked after my little stumble.
I nodded. “Just tired.”
He came to stand beside me, a key in his hand and a frown on his face. “Jet-lagged?”
“Aye,” I offered up with a yawn, which made Callum grin.
“Fitting in nicely,” he said, placing the key in my hand. “Take this key and follow me upstairs, eh? I’ll show you to the flat.”
I yawned again and tightened my hold on my bag, which was felt like it weighed a ton. What I had put in it? My simple packing of pants and shirts seemed to have multiplied tenfold, and I glared at it.
Callum’s hand appeared in front of me, breaking my staredown with my offensive bag. “Give it here, then.”
“What?” I blinked my watery eyes, swaying on my feet and fighting another yawn.
“The bag, woman. Hand it over.”
“God, yes. I thought you’d never ask,” I muttered, dropping the bag in his waiting hand.
He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Americans.”
I shrugged and followed him through the printing press. “More like Texans,” I said with an indignant sniff.
He opened a door, revealing a narrow set of stairs, and gestured for me to go ahead of him. “Texas is a part of America, innit?”
“Only just,” I told him as we climbed the stairs to the flat.
“All right, here it is,” Callum said, opening the door with a nod of his head. “I’ll let you settle in. Sleep as long as you like. Don’t let Agnes strongarm ye into anything before you’re fit to walk a straight line.”
I nodded, walking in to the flat I was too tired to fully appreciate. There were dark hardwood floors, and an open floor plan that made the most of the plethora of windows allowing for natural light. I saw an assortment of mismatched furniture which lent the space a cozy and lived-in feel, but I walked right by it in a daze. I was on a mission. I needed a bed.
“Which way?” I turned, looking around myself with a wave of my hand. “Is the bed?”
“This way.”
A strong hand landed on my shoulder, turning me away from the kitchen I had started to wander into. That touch jolted me awake. Someone should bottle what Callum’s hand felt like on my shoulder and market it to truck drivers trying to stay awake. His hand slipped to the small of my back and guided me forward. I shuffled along, trying to remember to breathe, and when he opened the door to the bedroom I let him maneuver me to the foot of the bed.
For such a big man Callum’s touch was gentle. I licked my lips, trying to force my mind away from the warmth of his hand on my shoulders and how good he smelled—a mixture of crisp and clean, like freshly laundered linens and something else, musky and masculine...maybe sandalwood? I inhaled, losing my battle to not think too much about the Scotsman who was my boss’s nephew, and who was now my landlord.
Just because I wasn’t keen on being viewed as a dependable and boring woman didn’t mean I needed to make imprudent or unwise decisions...at least not this ea
rly into my stay in Scotland. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I sucked in a breath and prepared to bid Callum goodbye. A few hours of shut-eye would do me good, or at least help me keep my wits about me around him.
“Thank you,” I said, turning to face him, and found myself pressed up against his chest. I hadn’t anticipated coming into contact with him, and not so much of him, without warning. I was hard-pressed to say or do anything but stare up at him with wide eyes. “Thank you,” I said again, my voice just above a whisper.
Callum licked his lips, verdant eyes dropping to my mouth. “You said that already, lass.”
I nodded, voice thick. “Oh...yeah.”
“Best get ye tucked in,” he said, nodding in the direction of the bed behind me.
“Sleep is good.”
“Aye, sleep is good.” Callum cleared his throat and then stepped from me. I had to bite back the frown that threatened to give me away entirely. I didn’t want him to go. That much was apparent. I was shocked at the urge. It had been years since I had been this attracted to someone, this drawn or this in danger of making a foolish choice.
What was Scotland doing to me?
Callum gave me a quick nod and moved to the door. He hesitated in the doorway and turned, looking at me over his shoulder, burnished hair falling over his eyes. There was a heat in his stare that hadn’t been there before, and it turned my insides to molten liquid. I shivered and found myself taking a hesitant step toward him, but his next words stopped in my tracks.
“Don’t let the fey take ye, understand?” he said.
My first urge was to laugh, but the laughter died on my lips when Callum arched an eyebrow at me. His voice was so serious, face severe and eyes unwavering, that I swallowed hard.
Agnes’s talk of fey folk talking to her and the MacDougall family’s fey lock suddenly didn’t seem like a cause for laughter.
I swallowed hard, my arms tightening around me. “What?”
Callum sighed, eyes dropping down for a beat, and I swore my heart thudded so hard in my chest it would be a wonder if he couldn’t hear it.
“Callum?” I tried again, voice shaking. “Are you seriou—”
“I’m being a right bawbag, lass!” Callum crowed, laughter shaking his large frame. He sank against the door and slapped his hand against his chest. “You shoulda seen your face. White as a ghost!” His shoulders shook.
“You lied to me?!” I screeched.
“Of course! The fey are nothing but tales.” Callum chuckled and wiped at his eyes. “I couldn’t resist. Not with the way Agnes blathered on to ye.”
I shook my head and snatched up the pillow next to me. “Get out!” I hurled it at him as hard as I could. The pillow only bounced off him as he continued to laugh.
“Get some rest, Del. And dinna fash over the fey. They like their shut-eye as much as any Scot. You’ll be safe enough while you sleep.”
I rolled my eyes and pointed at the door. “Goodnight, Callum.”
He winked at me and I hated that the quick gesture hit me like a lightning bolt. “Sleep well,” he said, smiling.
The man looked entirely too good when he smiled. So good, in fact, I found myself smiling back despite his little prank not a minute before. I rolled my eyes at him, a gesture he returned before he left the room.
I listened to his footfalls grow fainter until I heard the front door to the flat close. Only then did I sit on the edge of the bed with a sigh. I was going to have to watch myself around Callum in the days and weeks of my apprenticeship, if I wanted to make it to the New Year with my heart in one piece.
Of that I was sure, fey magic or not.
Chapter Three
“The secret to a good shortbread is the rice flour.”
I stared down at the bowl in front of me that as it filled with the aforementioned flour. Agnes had me sieving for all I was worth as she stood watch. We had spent all morning preparing shortbread cookies, which she assured me would be the perfect “first footers” for the Hogmanay tradition. At the blank look on my face, Agnes explained that the first foot set in a house would indicate what kind of fortune the family could expect.
According to tradition, the most desirable first footer was a dark-haired man who would be bringing coal, salt, shortbread cookies, a loaf of black bun, which turned out to be fruit cake, and a wee dram of whiskey. Ideally, all the items would be of the best quality to ensure a prosperous new year, which was a boon for Agnes as she had a reputation for producing only the finest traditional shortbread for towns around.
So far, the New Year was being kind to Me, Myself, and Pie, and I was happy to be a part of it. It was exciting to be amid the hubbub surround the festivities, even more so to be learning the proper way to bake and create Scottish treats from someone as experienced as Agnes—and in Scotland, no less.
I’d been rolling up my sleeves ready to get to work when I noticed Agnes had gone quiet.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, trying to understand her sudden change in energy. She’d been so chatty and happy only seconds before, but now she was silent and looked smaller somehow.
Agnes shook her head. “I bet it sounds like a bunch of hocus pocus to you, eh?” she asked with a shy look in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. She was, I could see, taking care with her words, and I hoped it wasn’t from my reaction the previous day to her news that fairies spoke to her.
“Well…” I began, trying to choose my words with equal care.
Agnes’s blue eyes slid to the side and she bit her lip, fingers worrying the hem of her sweater. “I know I sound like a crazy old coot to ye.”
My stomach dropped and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Yes, it was odd, but that didn’t mean I wanted Agnes to worry that I thought she was crazy. I could only blame my ignorance and the effects of jet lag for how poorly I’d handled her talk of fairies the day before. Agnes was a sweet and kind woman who had taken a chance on an apprentice who hadn’t so much as left her home before now, and she deserved better from me. I didn’t care if she wanted me to sit with her and have a tea party with a whole pack of Highland fairies. I would do it, and I would do it with a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, coming to stand beside her. “I didn’t know how to take yesterday. No one I’ve known has ever talked about fairies.”
Agnes looked at me in surprise. “Really?”
I nodded. “You’re the first.”
“That’s a shame.”
“I know.” I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you think I thought you were crazy.”
“A lot of people do around here, but it’s okay,” she told me, giving me one of her sunny smiles. “I know better.”
“I believe you.”
“Do ye, now?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. I could see she was doubtful, but I was heartened by the smile on her face. Maybe she knew that I didn’t, not truly at least, but pretending was easier than running the risk of Agnes holding herself back from me again. The happy woman smiling at me right now was the one I wanted to keep around, so I nodded.
“If you do, then so do I. We have to present a unified front to the public, right?”
She hummed in agreement and tossed an apron at me. “What about the matchmaking, then?” Agnes asked, tying her own apron on.
I made a face. “Let’s not get out of hand, Agnes.”
“All right, all right.” Agnes waved her hands with a merry laugh as she began bustling around the bakery kitchen. “You’ll come ‘round one way or another,” she told me with a confident voice and a knowing look which had me wondering if she knew something I didn’t.
After that, the morning passed by in a pleasant blur of new faces as the townsfolk came to meet Agnes’s new apprentice, or, as I was fast becoming known, the American lass. I couldn’t name more than one or two of the people who had come by for a pie or cookie. It was more social interaction than I had enjoyed in years. My life at home had consisted of interacting with my family or potential clie
nts. The world of Me, Myself, and Pie was in direct opposition to the well-ordered interactions I was used to—it was chaos which had me scurrying about with orders in my hand and flour on my shoes, but I found I loved it. Agnes was there to guide me every step of the way, and she did so with a smile and a kind word.
After things died down, Agnes took me to the back so we could wage war on the slew of orders which had come in, chiefly those for shortbread, and it was there, with heads bowed over leavened dough and sifted flour, that Callum found us.
“Baking takes time and patience...and sometimes things go wrong. Dinna fash yerself,” Agnes told me with a little pat on my back. My first batch of shortbread hadn’t quite turned out right, and I was doing my best not to take it too hard. I was a born overachiever, and even if I was new to working in a bakery, I wanted to do my best. Raw-in-the-middle shortbread was not what I had hoped for.
I blew out a sigh. “I thought I sifted enough flour.”
“Might need more butter,” Callum’s deep voice sounded, making us both jump.
“Och aye!” Agnes spun around, hands to her chest and a frown on her face. “Are you trying to send me to an early grave? Ye numptie!”
Callum rolled his eyes. “Dramatic as always, Auntie.” He snatched up a cookie from a tray we had set to cool, and took a bite. “I knocked and called bu’ the pair of ye were gabbing like hens. Not my fault you didn’t hear me.”
It was obvious they were close from their friendly bickering, and I grinned at the show they put on. For all their faults, I found myself missing my own family. I had kept my phone off, knowing what I would find if I turned it on: countless text messages, missed calls and voicemails. I hadn’t left my siblings any clues, just an empty room missing the few essentials I had packed. I’d caught a cab to the airport, and my car sat in the garage. The only person who had any idea where I had vanished to was my father. There was no way I could have left without letting him know, but even then I had been brief in my message, a handwritten note I had slipped beneath his door that simply said:
Papa,
I’ve gone after my dreams.
