Page 3 of Kilt Trip

Engaging the guests, 3 points.

“If you fancy a more strenuous walk, you can try Arthur’s Seat.” Logan gestured to the hill in the distance rising as if the earth had pushed it up in three slanted tiers. “Holyrood Palace is down below.”

“Is that where the Queen used to stay?” a pink-haired, twentysomething asked.

“Aye, it’s the royal Scottish residence.”

“Is it on the tour?”

From Addie’s research, The Heart of the Highlands tours didn’t stop at the palace, Edinburgh Castle, or the Royal Mile connecting the two. All missed opportunities.

The way their outdated website—the first thing getting an overhaul—boasted about hidden gems was almost haughty, like the major attractions were beneath them. Logan appeared to be of the same mind as he brushed off the bid. “It’s a fifteen-minute walk if you’re interested,” he said, releasing the group to climb on the National Monument.

Skipping major attractions, minus 5 points.

There was definitely a market for off-the-beaten-path tours...but it wasn’t usually profitable.

Highlights of every country had the broadest market appeal, which meant the highest chance of success for their clients and Addie’s company. She needed a portfolio project to win new business. Itineraries with easily recognizable destinations to show the value Dawsey Travel Consulting brought to the table.

She’d recommend scrapping this tour in favor of the city-center hot spots. Who came to Edinburgh and didn’t want to visit the castle?

Addie wandered to the gravel path at the edge of the site, rubbing her frozen hands together. The smell of autumn’s leftover leaves hung heavy in the chilled, December air.

Below her, the hill tumbled down to sandstone buildings pressed together all the way to the silver coast as the last rays of light settled on slate-peaked roofs.

Logan stopped beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. Their eyes met, but instead of the reflex smile that accompanied accidental eye contact with strangers, a tiny jolt of electricity zipped from him to her, supercharging her nervous system. Logan’s eyebrows lifted as if he felt it, too.

Addie scuffed her boot over a clump of grass. “You can see all the way to the ocean,” she said, blaming the panoramic view for stealing all her insightful commentary.

“The Firth of Forth. It’s an estuary that meets the North Sea,” he said, like he truly cared that she understood the difference.

Her lips twitched to hold back a smile. “Is that like a fjord?”

“Similar...” He turned and narrowed his eyes. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”

Addie grinned, and the reappearance of Logan’s dimple stirred up some fluttery nonsense in her chest.

Small talk came easily to her—a helpful by-product of traveling so frequently for her job—but Logan’s intense eye contact and stubbled jawline knocked her off-kilter. She rolled the nylon strap of her shoulder bag between her fingers and kept her attention resolutely on the estuary.

Logan collected the group, walking backward on the path. As they passed the newly renovated observatory, Logan chronicled its two-hundred-year history.

Detailed commentary on historical buildings no one really cares about, minus 2 points.

“The proper, professional photos from Calton Hill are taken from right over here. Now, I want you to watch your shoes as we walk this way. Don’t spoil the big reveal.”

Logan’s face held the suppressed excitement of someone leading a friend into a surprise party. “Throughout our history, Calton Hill has been the location of our most important festivals. This place ties us to our past, to the mystical beauty our land is known for, to the medieval city that has changed over time but still bears marks of our history and achievements. It’s a reminder of our roots, of where we come from.”

Addie swallowed past the dryness in her throat. She couldn’t remember having roots. They grew shallow in the desert.

When Logan talked about community and history, though, she could almost remember the allure, that longing she’d doused years ago.

“A bit farther.” Logan stepped back with wide arms as if hosting his own HGTV show. “Okay, now look.”

Gasps erupted from the group like drunk people watching fireworks. They scrambled to grab phones and cameras.

Addie gazed out at the view. The Dugald Stewart Monument dominated the foreground, like a tall and skinny stone carousel. Nestled between hills and water, the city spread out below them. A pink-lit Ferris wheel spun at the base of a blackened spire, and a clock tower’s pearl face glowed in the distance.

“We call this the gloaming, where time is suspended between day and night.”

---