Page 23 of Priceless
When ye’re through customs, ye’ll follow the signs to the taxi stand. Give him the address to the hotel.
I think I can handle getting to the hotel.
Silly me. Now then. Welcome to the finest place on earth.
I hope you’re right and not just trying to make me happy.
Ye’ve programmed me for the truth, remember? So, relax.
Still wish you were here.
Other than the very sober man who checked my passport and stared into my eyes like he expected me to confess my latest sins, everyone at the airport was kind and eager to help. It was fun actually hearing a Scottish accent instead of just reading it or hearing it on TV. And I can honestly say I never heard anyone who sounded like Mrs. Doubtfire.
When I got a cup of coffee from a stand, I wasn’t sure I caught one word of what the girl said, but thankfully, all she expected from me was to swipe my card. The taxi driver, however, was kind enough to speak slowly for me, or maybe that was just his way, but I understood him a lot better than anyone else by that point.
It was four p.m. in Scotland, but it was eleven a.m. back home. I’d read a lot of advice that said the smartest move was to stay up until bedtime at your destination, so to stay up another five or six hours required plenty of coffee. And maybe some bagpipes played very close to my face.
I was starving. I could feel my stomach gnawing at my backbone, but I held out until six Scotland time. The itinerary I’d worked out with Jocko gave me just one evening and a whole day in Edinburgh, so I couldn’t waste daylight sleeping.
Big city. Plenty to see. But spending a whole week in crowded streets wasn’t my idea of a baby step toward social interaction. It was enough that I had a whole day to wander up and down the Royal Mile, visit the castle, and catch a train the following morning. But tonight, the only pressure was to adjust.
I asked the doorman where I could find a quiet place for dinner. He pointed me to a spot two blocks away. A tiny restaurant on the ground floor of a townhouse. Considering the B&B sign out front, the restaurant might just be in the owner’s living room.
Four Cocks. Or maybe it said Four Cooks. Either way, there was a picture of a rooster on the sign, so I figured it was probably the former. Back in Denver, no one would’ve dared name their businessFour Cocks, but I was in a foreign country. Maybe they weren’t so easily offended here.
Maybecocksreally was just their word for chickens. I wasn’t about to ask.
The dining room looked like a real dining room, but instead of one massive table, there were half a dozen small ones. While I waited for my meal, I pulled out my phone and held it low. The other diners were chatting, making eye contact with each other. No one else had their phone out, so I made sure mine stayed off the table.
I texted Jocko.
I’m at the Four Cocks for dinner. Please tell me that means four chickens and not four men.
Four Chickens or more likely Four Roosters.
Just checking.
Is Scotland treating ye well thus far?
Yeah. All very charming. Glad I came. Tho I don’t know how long I’ll last. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve never traveled. Spending a few nights back home at my mother’s house doesn’t count. Or my grandmother’s house when I was young. Or girls’ camp. I really am pathetic.
Ye can do this, lassie. Give yerself something to look back on and smile.
Okay. So far, so good.
I’d gotten used to eating alone in restaurants. The waiter that night didn’t bat an eye at a solo diner, and thankfully, no one tried to start a conversation, though I noticed things were different from Denver.
People looked me in the eye.
The couple by the window caught my gaze, smiled, and nodded before returning to their own conversation. A young guy sitting alone against the wall did the same—smiled, nodded, then left me alone. Back home, eye contact would’ve meant I’d have to make small talk. But not here, thank goodness.
I could just imagine having to chat with everyone in the dining room.
“What brings you to Scotland?”
“Oh, I created a boyfriend with AI, and he talked me into coming… probably because I made him a Scotsman. And you?”
Or worse?—
