Page 31 of Kilt Trip

As much as he’d planned to loathe every minute of this high-liability event, now that they were there, under the cover of darkness and surrounded by people hollering into the night, he could see the appeal. A bit.

The river of fire wound its way through the heart of Old Town, transforming High Street into a world all its own, a sliver of the sleeping city come to life. With each step, he waited for the swish of Addie’s jacket brushing against his. The motion sent tingles up his arm.

Once the procession emptied into Holyrood Park, the crowd thickened and jostled as they wound through a fenced course and came to a stop. When enough of the torchbearers filled in, from above they formed the shape of two people shaking hands.

A symbol of togetherness in a time of division. Light in the darkness.

There was something special about this tradition. Certainly, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for many people. Running a group through here would be challenging, but if he started at the pub to share some history before they set out, created a buddy system...perhaps it could work.

And Addie was right: there was a captive audience. Nearly guaranteed income that meant he wouldn’t have to worry quite so much about where his employees’ next paycheck was coming from.

The crowd migrated to the stage in the middle of the park, waving their burned-down torches in the air like gigantic lighters encouraging the band. Blue lights flashed and scanned through the crowd, and the bass line reverberated in Logan’s chest.

When the band finished their set, fireworks burst into streaks of color above the monuments on Calton Hill. The silvers, reds, and violets couldn’t compete with the awe splashed on Addie’s face.

She turned and caught him staring, and his breath stalled. The swell of the bodies around them, the sounds of yelling, all faded, as if they were alone in a sea of upturned faces. He watched the sky explode in sparkles, twinkling and blinking out as another set of colors took their places in the reflection of Addie’s eyes.

She lit up with a triumphant smile and stuck a finger in his face. “I can see you’re swept away.”

What he’d thought were fireworks booming in his chest were actually distress flares. He’d been a bit swept away by her, which was completely unacceptable.

“No one’s leaving this event saying it wasn’t authentic enough. It has history, community, fire, and its own hashtag.”

She was right. The faces of the people around him were euphoric.

But it wasn’t quite the same as moved.

He wanted his tours to be engaging and fun, yes, but also personal and meaningful.

Jack crashed into his back, and Logan turned to holler at him, but a bloke in a tam-o’-shanter and a pool towel printed like a kilt wrapped around his waist pushed past shouting, “Sorry! My bad!”

“Look. He’s having the time of his life,” Addie said with a knowing tilt of her head, like tourists bumbling around piss-drunk was some measure of success.

Foreboding inched up Logan’s spine. She couldn’t even see what she was missing.

Taunting had been the only way to get her out of the office, and she’d come right back to Edinburgh after those damn sheep wrecked her plans. He couldn’t imagine where else she might have gone and connected in any meaningful way. “You’re going to reject my tours outright, aren’t you?”

She flinched like he’d hit the mark before a defensiveness stole over her features. “Like you’re doing with mine, complaining this whole night? Of course not.”

If she didn’t get to know the country and the people before she stepped on his bus, he didn’t stand a chance. And what better way than a party? “Hogmanay is meant to be celebrated at home with family and neighbors. Come to my parents’ tomorrow. I’ll show you.”

Addie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“My mum insisted,” he said to sway her. Gemma wouldn’t mind another guest. To guilt Addie further, he hastily added, “She felt bad you turned down her Christmas invitation.”

His confidence in this ill-conceived proposition eroded in direct proportion to the wily smile spreading over her face. “I do love your mom’s cooking.”

It was perhaps the first time she hadn’t lined her boots up with his, ready to argue until the bitter end. With her easy acceptance came a thick knot in his stomach like he’d fallen directly into a trap.

11

Gemma and Neil lived on the outskirts of the city in a brick house easily classified as a cottage. A row of shrubs lined the front yard, their orange leaves still holding on, as dormant ivy snuck up to the chimney pipes.

Jack walked through the red front door and hollered, “Mum, I’m home!” while taking Addie’s coat and hanging it on the rack. Addie didn’t even have a key to her dad’s house anymore. She couldn’t imagine walking in without knocking.

The noise of banging pans and creaking floorboards tumbled down the hall. Pictures lined the walls of their entryway and evergreen garlands still wrapped the banister. The scent of rosemary and onions hung in the air.

The only thing more quaint than this house was a Hallmark movie.

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