Page 87 of Yellow
“Yes I am, are you a vegan too?” Melody asked with a hopeful smile.
“Nah, but there is something I’ve always wondered about ye vegans.”
“What is it?” Melody asked.
“Och, it’s just… ye know that moment when yer steak is on the grill and ye can already feel your mouth watering do ye vegans feel the same when mowing the lawn?”
Derek and I laughed and Melody smiled. “Ha ha, very funny, Highlander, but maybe you can answer a thing I’ve always wondered about the Scots.”
“Aye?” He leaned in, his cheeks red from the alcohol, and his hand resting on the top of Melody’s chair.
“Is it true that the Irish invented the bagpipe as a prank and the Scots have yet to realize it?” Melody asked.
“Ahh, guid one.” Derek grinned and took a seat. “But ye know in old days we played the bagpipe to frighten our enemies, but today we only do it to annoy our neighbors.”
“I’ll bet you do.” Melody smiled.
“Aye, but about this vegan thing; yer husband isn’t vegan, is he?”
“He’s not my husband yet,” she said. “Christian isn’t the marrying kind.”
“Och, he’s a wise man. A wife is like a hand grenade. Take the ring off and say guidbye to yer house.”
Melody chuckled and picked up the baby alarm. “Don’t tell Christian that joke,” she warned and excused herself. “I think Noah is awake.”
Five minutes later she was back with her baby in her arms, and Violet and Darren were cooing over him.
“Oh, I just adore babies,” Darren exclaimed loudly and turned to Cia. “Hey, Cia darling. You don’t want any babies for the next few years, do you?”
“Why do you ask?” she asked and tilted her head.
“Because I would like to rent your uterus then… since you’re not really using it anyway you could be a surrogate for my child.”
“Not happening,” Gabriel said and placed an arm around Cia. “The only babies Cia will be carrying will be mine.”
Darren huffed. “You greedy man. What is the point of having female friends if I can’t even rely on them to give me a baby or two?”
“Don’t you think you should start with finding a partner?” Cia suggested.
“I’m working on it but I haven’t quite decided who gets to be the lucky guy.” His eyes darted to me and Andrew, who had joined me.
“Bloody hell, did you see that?” Andrew breathed next to me.
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that normal around here?” he asked and I leaned closer.
“Nope. He’s one of a kind.”
“Aye, but very American, I reckon.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked with a frown.
“Och, I didnae mean to offend ye. It’s just that Americans are more flamboyant than us Scots. Ye know there’s more of a show here.”
“Is that so?” I arched a brow. “You dress up in skirts and moon people with your bare asses. I would say that qualifies for a show.”
“Fair point,” Andrew said and gave me a manly pat on the shoulder. “But dinnae call our kilt a skirt – that would be like calling one of your tipis a tent.”
