Sparks in Scotland (4 page)

“Ye look Scottish-born,” the store owner said as he nodded his approval.

“I love it so much. Thank you for showing me the proper way to wear it.” I peeked at the time on my phone and frowned. “Darn, I have to go.” I didn't want to make my mom mad on my first solo outing in Scotland. If I stuck to the rules she set now, odds were she'd be more flexible in the future.

Graham stepped forward to help me get out of the kilt. His fingers brushed my waist over the top of my shirt, and I saw the pulse at the base of his throat jump. He froze, looking down at me with that strange intensity of his. Then he blinked and stepped away, his cheeks flushed yet again. “Uh, sorry ' bout that.”

My breath was too busy being locked in my lungs for me to
speak for a moment. Finally I forced a careless grin and said, “It's okay. I think the kilt hypnotized us all.”

“That it did,” he replied, his eyes dancing.

We both laughed, the mood lightened. But as we thanked the store owner and made our way to the pub to meet our moms, the cloud-dappled sky bold and bright overhead, I couldn't help but think about how much fun I was having with him so far.

And how it sure seemed like he was having fun with me too.

Chapter
Four

L
ook at this!” I told
Mom as I held up an oversize white coffee mug that said
KISS ME, I PLAY THE BAGPIPES
in big gold letters. “Wouldn't this be perfect for Corinne's dad?”

Mom laughed and nodded. “I think you're right. The man sure does drink a lot of coffee.” A running joke between me and Corinne was that she was always being sent to the corner store to buy her dad another bag of coffee beans. Seemed like she was going once or twice a week at times.

We poked around the small tourist shop, and I checked the time on my phone for the two hundredth time this morning. Mom had told me when I'd gotten up that Graham and his family were going to hang out with us again today. They would meet us at the Palace of Holyroodhouse and spend the entire Sunday with us.

I'd given her a casual nod in response, but on the inside, my stomach had fluttered like crazy. It had been a long time since I'd found myself this attracted to a guy. Was Graham nervous to see me again too, or was this attraction one-sided?

I moved toward the postcard rack and flipped through the gorgeous images. Well, it didn't matter if this crush was one-sided or not. I was only in Scotland for two weeks. A lasting relationship couldn't be built on that.

Except . . . Mom and Mollie had maintained their friendship for years under those circumstances.

“Find anything for Corinne?” my dad asked. “Oh, that one is gorgeous.” He pointed at a panoramic shot of Edinburgh on a sunny summer day.

I picked it up. “Yeah, she'd definitely like this.” Corinne was a brilliant painter. Maybe I could get her to do something for me to help commemorate my trip. Nothing in this store seemed like the right gift for her, though. I'd have to keep looking.

“We should get going,” Mom said as she checked her watch. “We don't want to be late meeting them.”

That got my stomach tweaking again. I pressed a palm to my belly and drew in slow breaths. Last night I'd fallen asleep thinking about Graham's broad smile. I was pretty sure I'd woken up with a ridiculous grin plastered on my face. The guy was getting to me for sure.

I gave Mom a nod, then moved to the counter to make my purchases. All that babysitting I'd done over the year was coming in handy right now. It was nice having my own spending money.

“So what did you find in your research yesterday?” I asked Dad as we walked down the street toward the palace. “Anything interesting?”

He had his camera out and was snapping pictures, so our progress toward the palace was slow. “I was able to trace our lineage back even further than what I'd found online. And I'm pretty sure our ancestors lived near Glencoe.”

“That's so cool. Can we check it out while we're here?”

“Absolutely. In fact, we're going to be in Glencoe on our bus tour,” Dad said. He paused to line up the perfect shot of the buildings across the street.
Click.
“We'll be able to drop by and see if the local church has any records I can examine.” He dropped his camera and looked at me and Mom, sheer bliss shining in his eyes. “How cool is it that we can do this? That I'm able to find these resources and discover who our ancestors were?”

“You're a regular Sherlock,” I teased him.

He nudged me with his shoulder, then snapped a shot of my face. “Very funny, princess.”

I walked between my parents, who talked nonstop about the sights and sounds around us. Even on a Sunday morning, ­Edinburgh bustled with tourists and others. This morning the sun was out in its full glory, the only clouds scattered far off in the horizon, and the temperature was in the upper sixties. I turned my face up to the sunshine and smiled.

We neared the palace, and my heart began that stutter-beat thing it did whenever I thought about Graham.

Mom shot me a knowing smile. “Someone looks really happy this morning.”

I pretended like I didn't know what she meant and shot her a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Of course I'm happy. It's a gorgeous day out, and we're in Scotland.”

“Uh-huh.” Her grin grew wider. “I'm sure it has nothing to do with a certain attractive Scottish guy.”

Dad stopped and stared hard at me. “What's this you're talking about? What guy? Do you mean Steaphan's kid?”

“He's not a kid” was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn't want him doing the Dad thing and griping at me about getting a crush on a local hottie. So I replied, “Graham and I walked around while Mom and Mollie spent all day giggling.”

Mom gave a healthy snort. “I'll remember that when you have your next sleepover with Corinne.”

We made it to the entrance of the castle and stood off to the side as we waited for our companions to show up. I smoothed my hair down and tucked the errant strands behind my ears. To distract myself, I checked out the three-story castle exterior, the sprawling green grounds.

“Can you believe how many castles there are even just in Edinburgh?” I asked my parents.

“You can't travel very far in Scotland without hitting a castle,” Dad said with a chuckle. “Maybe when you get older, you can buy one. Oh, look—here they are.”

Mollie and Steaphan strolled up to us with cheery waves.
“Good morning!” Mollie said. She turned to me. “You ready to do more exploring today?”

I nodded and tried not to stare at Graham as he neared. Today he had on a long-sleeved pale-green shirt that made his eyes glow. His dark hair was smoothed down, and his jeans were slim and snug. In his left hand was a small black bag.

“Mornin', Ava,” he said to me with a crooked grin, and I returned the greeting.

Our group moved onto the palace grounds, and we got our tickets and headed inside. The breath locked in my lungs when I stepped into the massive building. Unbelievable.

“This palace is the queen's official Scottish residence,” ­Graham told me as he stepped to my side. Suddenly my body became hyperaware of his every move—the casual strides of his long legs, the way his attention landed with deliberation on each portrait he passed.

Our parents moved from room to room in the State Apartments, and we followed a few feet behind. I couldn't stop staring at the decor. Intricate woodwork was everywhere; even the ceilings were crafted with care. So much craftsmanship.

When we went into the dining room, Graham touched my hand. My skin warmed instantly from the contact.

“Erm.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, brought ya somethin'.” He handed me the small black bag.

My heart slammed against my rib cage as I opened it and peered inside. I pulled out a sleek flash drive with the word
MUSIC
written
in Sharpie across its smooth white surface. “Cool, what is this?”

“It's my band. Thought ya might fancy a listen.”

I blinked in surprise. “Oh wow. Seriously? I can't wait!” Part of me wanted to run back to the hotel and pop it in my dad's computer so I could listen right now. He'd made me a mix of his band's music? My cheeks flamed.

“There's somethin' else,” he prodded me with a nod toward the bag.

I took out the folded fabric and realized it was a black T-shirt. Stamped on the front was a tartan pattern. On the back was the phrase
SCOTLAND PRIDE
. “Oh, this is awesome,” I said. My throat was tight with appreciation over his thoughtfulness. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“'Twas nothin',” he said with a wave of his hand.

But it wasn't nothing. He'd remembered our conversation about his music yesterday and had given me a thoughtful, personalized gift. Not to mention the T-shirt. My heart melted a touch, but I tried to play it cool as we continued walking through the apartments. We went up the steep staircase to view Mary, Queen of Scots's chambers. More incredible woodwork everywhere, along with displays of artifacts.

As we strolled, Graham gave me a brief rundown on the history of the chambers and Queen Mary's turbulent rule. His thorough knowledge about his country's history made me once again embarrassed that I didn't know as much about my own. Sure, I was aware of the major facts and events that shaped US history. But his
attention to detail and clear pride in the Scottish fight for freedom and independence rang through as he narrated events to me.

“Your country's past was pretty violent,” I remarked in a low murmur during a lull in the conversation.

“Many countries have violent pasts,” he retorted. “And ours has a history that goes back quite far.”

I conceded his point with a nod and tried to think of something I knew about America that might interest him. “Yeah, our country is definitely not as old as Scotland, but we have events in our past that changed America permanently too. Like the Civil War. It was a huge tragedy that still haunts us.” I told him how last year during spring break, our family trip had been to Washington, DC, and we'd done a day visit to Gettysburg. “In the museum, you can see old uniforms with rips and bullet holes. There are rusting guns and swords, old photos of people who fought, even journal entries on display. It was heartbreaking to wander around the exhibits and think how many lives were lost during that three-day battle.”

“Yer a history buff too,” he said, and I could see the intrigue clearly in his gaze.

It made me happy that I had something comparable to teach him. “In some ways, yeah, but I'm not nearly as knowledgeable as you are.” Though after this trip, I was going to change that. Seeing Scotland through Graham's eyes made me want to learn more about the world around me. “If you ever make it to America, you should go to Gettysburg,” I said. “The battlegrounds are intense
and powerful. Even now, after all this time, you can still feel the presence of the battle there. You'd probably love it.”

His gaze skittered away from mine, and we walked in silence for a few moments. Had I said something wrong? I pressed my lips together and scrabbled for something else to talk about.

“Um, what's your favorite place in Scotland?” I finally asked him.

He tilted his head as he thought. “That's a right hard question.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a laugh. “Sometimes that kind of thing can depend on your mood.”

“The Highlands are a bonny sight.” I heard the smile in his voice and my heart squeezed at the sound. His passion stirred something in me, made me want to dig deeper and find out everything about him.

“I can't wait to see them soon,” I replied as we moved to a row of paintings on the wall.

The rest of the palace was just as stunning. It resonated with historical artifacts, from the paintings to the furniture to the decor, and we talked back and forth about what it was like having a queen versus having a president. When we finished touring the palace, we moved to the grounds and the abbey. The air in the roofless, ruined abbey resonated with solemnity, and I stood in hushed awe as I took in the ancient stonework. The weight of hundreds of years of history lingered in the atmosphere.

As groups of people filtered in and out, no one spoke, like none of us wanted to break the reverent silence.

Our walk back down the Royal Mile was relaxed, and our
parents talked easily about this and that. Graham's hand brushed mine when he moved toward me to avoid a giggling cluster of young girls, and my fingers tingled. I could smell the light scent of his soap as the wind carried it in my direction.

This guy was so getting under my skin. Attractive, smart, witty—what was there not to like? Too bad he lived an ocean away.

We walked to Princes Street Gardens and as a group decided to sit and stretch here for a little bit. The sunshine had gotten even warmer since this morning. Graham took a seat beside me, about twenty feet away from our parents, and we both lay down on the thick grass and stared up at the sky.

“So, ya likin' Scotland so far?” he asked me.

“How could I not? I feel like my brain is exploding from all the things I'm learning.”

He chuckled, and the light sound rolled over me, filled this little place in my chest, and lingered there. There was something addictive about hearing him laugh. And something even more addictive about being the one to make him do so.

“I've had fun with ya, Ava,” he said, gaze still locked on the sky above us.

“Me too,” I admitted. A thrill lit in my heart at the realization that I wasn't the only one feeling this . . . thing between us.

A group of kids ran behind us, screaming with glee as they played tag. Graham tucked his arms behind his head, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the line of arm muscles contract with the movement. I traced the profile of his face with my
gaze, let my eyes linger on his eyes, his cheekbones, his lips.

Tomorrow our family was going to tour the city of Stirling. Part of me was excited, of course, but the other part couldn't help but feel down. I reached over and touched the black bag, and my heart stirred again about the gifts. I knew Graham and I couldn't go anywhere relationship-wise, but I wanted to keep being around him. Maybe I could convince Mom and Dad to invite them for dinner tomorrow when we got back from Stirling, or at the end of our trip, when we spent our last night in Edinburgh before leaving Scotland.