Page 55 of Kilt Trip

Logan was probably inching backward in a silent retreat, deeply regretting bringing her here.

She rubbed her throat, trying to soothe the emotion buzzing under her skin, to keep from having a total meltdown in front of him. “We can head back.” The forced smile didn’t sit right on her face.

As she turned up the hill, Logan reached for her. She stared at his fingers forming a bracelet around her wrist, not tight enough to keep her if she wanted to pull away.

“You don’t have to be strong on my account.”

She looked up into eyes that held no pity, only compassion. He gave her the tiniest of smiles. Encouraging. Supportive. And it slowed the whirring in her veins. He wasn’t running from the Sad Girl.

Logan turned and gazed out at the water like he had nowhere else to be. Like he wouldn’t leave her here alone.

Addie didn’t have any words. Not yet.

His grip on her wrist loosened. The pads of his fingertips tracked tiny sparks across her palm until they slipped between her fingers.

It has been so long since someone stood beside her. She squeezed his hand.

A tiny indulgence. Just for a second.

They took in the view as far-off voices brought on the wind harmonized with the steady rhythm of the water and her own deep breathing. Logan smelled like camping trips—pine needles and big sky, tranquil and freeing. Her pulse—or his—beat between their entwined fingers.

The breeze settled around her like a familiar plaid blanket. She curved her shoulders in, holding on to the fleeting feeling, while a silent tear made its way down her cheek.

Slowly, the magic slipped away. She breathed deeply against the sting of loss...only, it never came. Her heart felt light for the first time in years.

“Thank you. You don’t know how special this was.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The earnest timbre of his voice sparked the sensation of tripping down the stairs, the world tilting for a moment before abruptly righting itself. When she had her feet back under her, she met his gaze—a warmth there to soothe the iciness in her chest, a balm to all her raw emotions.

It scared her how easily he comforted her, how she handed over pieces of herself without meaning to.

She preferred how they’d been yesterday—fun and light. “We’d better get back. Who knows what trouble Birdie and Gertie have gotten into, unattended.”

Logan shifted his weight, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as if deciding whether or not to allow this shift back to normalcy.

She smiled and tipped her head in a gesture that said Let’s go. When he hesitated, she said, “They might be in the gift shop.”

Relenting, he followed her back up the hill.

Needing a minute to herself, she tucked back into her window seat while Logan wrangled the tourists.

Addie had spent years designing tours to give people a sense of wonder, a connection to a greater community of people who walked the same path. But somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten the reason she’d started this job. To feel close to her mom and the way they used to travel. To search for magic in the desert or a strawberry field or on their own back stoop watching the sandhill crane migration.

And to seek a connection to the people who held her hand and shouldered her grief and shifted the axis of her compass back to true north.

Logan had reminded her that the true wonder was to be found in small moments. Yesterday, she’d seen how he made these tours personal, how the guests relaxed into a sense of camaraderie he built for them. They’d formed strong bonds with the locals and deep ties to the country. She’d felt the power of the land and the spirit of her mother.

The world deserved Logan Sutherland’s tours.

Addie could no longer sanction steamrolling him with tourist attractions. If she was being honest with herself, that wasn’t the way she liked to travel, either.

Picturing him guiding some huge castle where he didn’t know anyone, had no personal anecdotes to share, killed her. But so did the idea of this company going belly-up and hers along with it.

There had to be some solution to accomplish what they both wanted.

As the guests found their way back onto the bus, they tittered over their purchases and the beauty of the ruins.

Once everyone was settled and Keith started driving, Logan slid back into his seat. He dug in his sporran and handed her a blue sticker in the shape of Scotland, the world Alba in white across the middle. “For Frank. He needs to represent.”

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