Page 66 of Kilt Trip

His stomach clenched around the realization that her desire to keep things light between them might have been for his sake, too. Logan wanted forever, and all she had was now. He might have blown past the last barrier he had against losing his heart.

Now, it felt far too late.

24

Back in Edinburgh, Addie waited for Logan while the guests swarmed him in a flurry of backslaps, handshakes, and bright smiles.

Birdie proposed to Logan, clinging to him as he helped her off one knee, and when he turned her down, his eyes danced to meet Addie’s. Some people would be absolutely drained by being on for so long, but it clearly fueled him.

Logan doled out the last suitcase and, after a parting wave, came to stand in front of Addie. The way he touched her stirred something she hadn’t known existed and made her feel jump-on-the-next-plane-level exposed. They were dangerously far away from the fun she’d signed up for. But today, he was lighthearted and teasing, as if he sensed his playfulness would keep her instinct to run in check.

Addie slipped her finger into the belt buckle of his kilt and towed him toward her. He kissed her hard and then asked, “Want to grab food and bring it back to my place?”

She nodded and reached for Logan’s hand. They wandered down onto the High Street, the smell of hops hanging in the air as if trapped by the low clouds. Boston was full of old buildings, marbled and historic, but not this historic. Not blackened at the top from centuries of smoke historic.

Logan’s presence allowed her the freedom to explore Edinburgh’s layers of winding streets, bridges, and steps, without the fear of getting swallowed whole.

And his low voice was much more appealing than Gigi’s.

He stopped in front of a passageway that felt like an entrance into a secret realm. “This is one of my favorite places in Edinburgh.” Advocate’s Close was stamped into the brick at their feet and on the gold-and-black placard hanging above the archway.

The tunnel framed a black lantern bolted to the wall, straight from Peter Pan’s London, and behind it, the Scott Monument.

If the Eiffel Tower had been built with the intention to intimidate, compacted by rigid lines and left unwashed for a couple hundred years, it would be the Scott Monument. What it lacked in elegance, it made up for with jagged spikes pointing eight stories in the air.

“Wow.” The possibility of surprise was around every corner in this city. “It’s like there’s a whole world hidden under the surface.”

“Edinburgh has a way of slowly revealing her secrets. Like someone else I know.” Logan’s eyes lingered on hers and warmed her through before he turned and led the way back onto the Royal Mile.

Out in the street, a little girl, maybe six, swung her father’s hand between them, pointing at people and buildings and pigeons.

Addie froze.

The scene could have been one of her family’s long-lost snapshots.

The girl’s golden hair curled into ringlets under a driving cap the same color as Scotland’s greenery. She wore a matching kilt and sash—the full Highland regalia—a clear symbol of an indulged child.

The father was handsome and smiling, with unruly surfer-blond hair. Like old photos of Brian. Addie’s mom used to joke that she only married him because he looked like a young Robert Redford.

The man gestured to St. Giles’ Cathedral, probably explaining the stained-glass windows and the history and the Gothic rib vault while the girl scratched at the seaweed-green moss covering the bottom four feet of the church as if surveying severe flood damage.

Addie smiled at the innocence of the exploration—of how tiny details could hold a child’s attention if they felt included in the important world of adults. Her dad hadn’t taken her so far from home, but she still remembered the excitement in his voice as he hustled them toward the cathedral in Santa Fe, babbling on about the rose window and the architecture, while she dragged a string of dried chilies through the dust.

She was attributing grown-up words to the feeling now, but threaded through the memory was the sense of knowing exactly her place in the world—right next to the person so thrilled to share his passion with his daughter. Whose love was permanent.

The dad in the street scooped the little girl onto his shoulder, and she rested her head against him, looking back with a smile and a tiny wave.

The chill of the stone wall against Addie’s shoulder did nothing to dampen the old resentment that sometimes bubbled up without warning or remedy. Her heart wedged so far into her ribs, she’d need pliers to get it out. She rubbed at the ache in her chest.

“What is it?” Logan’s eyes followed the father and daughter.

Addie wrapped her arms around herself. “They...reminded me of me and my dad.”

The rain picked up, pitter-pattering against the cobblestones and turning them glossy. With moisture dancing in the air, the small tunnel morphed into a refuge.

“You don’t talk about him much.”

That was an understatement. She wasn’t sure she’d said a single word to Logan about Brian. “I don’t talk to him much, either.” She hadn’t even answered his phone call at Christmas. Being in Scotland, inundated with thoughts of her mom, was overwhelming enough without the tangle of emotions that came from the sound of his voice.

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