Page 33 of Some Like It Scot
“Aye.” I walked to the kitchen with her following, which meant she wasn’t finished with her conversation. “The MacGregor boys arecoming to polish the ballroom floor on Saturday, and I need to fix a few places in the floor before they arrive.”
I took the kettle and placed it beneath the tap.
“Will Mrs. Lennox need you this week since everything starts tomorrow? Perhaps to finish off a pair?”
Her reminder of my involvement in the Edwardian scheme did nothing to help me feel better about the conversation. I put the kettle on and turned toward the cupboard for an opened package of oatcakes. “Last I heard, she has her three pairs set, so I willnae have to take part in any of Lennox’s nonsense.” I leveled Mum with a look to detour the matchmaking thoughts before they took off. I had only agreed to be an alternate this first time because I knew we needed the Lennoxes’ ridiculous plan to be a success, but I regretted the agreement more with each passing day. Calum would have been a better choice all around. Even Peter.
The glimmer in Mum’s eyes proved my attempts were in vain. “You’ve always been a good dancer though, Graeme. And I remember you performed well in some of the theatrics at school.”
Now she was merely lying. I hated the stage. I pulled some cheese and jam from the refrigerator. “I doubt Lennox is teaching cèilidh dances, Mum.”
“Some of our country dances aren’t too different than English dances of old. Where do folks think the dances came from, after all?”
Mum readied the tea while I set out the food on the table, hoping the slim choices might keep the conversation slim too. I had more wood crafting to do, along with helping Lachlan with the math he hated.
After a few moments of silence, we settled at the small table and chairs with Mum pouring out tea for us.
“Katie Campbell seems to be a lovely lass.”
“Och, Mum.” I’d just taken a bite of oatcake and proceeded to push the contents through a hard swallow followed by a drink of tea towash it down. “Can you stop with the matchmaking? I’m thirty-two years old and can manage my love life on my own.”
She took a drink of her tea, brows rising as she looked at me over the rim of her cup. “Where? When you rarely leave our village, let alone this house?” She reached for an oatcake and wagged it at me. “Which means, all the more, you have to make do with who God brings your way.”
I shoved the rest of my oatcake in my mouth with a growl.
“You don’t have to marry her to get to know her, Graeme.”
“She’s passing through.” I drew in a calming breath, only to choke on the remains of my oatcake.
Mum quietly refilled my teacup while I coughed out a lung. “None of us knows for certain the choices we’ll make to change our futures. I lived in Inverness and had no plans to even work at the restaurant on the day your dad came in for a bap. I wanted to move to Yorkshire where my beau lived, you ken?”
The story she’d recounted a million times. Dad chatted her up for two hours, both sharing a love for family, faith, books, and animals. By the time they parted ways, she’d ended things with her current beau and Dad had her phone number. I washed down my cough with a drink of tea. “She’s a travel writer, Mum. You know what that means?”
Mum’s eyes narrowed at my implication. “She travels and writes about the stories she uncovers.”
“Aye.” I took another swig of tea. “Shetravels. It’s her job.”
“And evidently she’s good at it, if Mrs. Lennox has brought her to Craighill.”
“Which means, she hasnae plans to stop traveling and settle down.” I raised my mug to her to emphasize my point. “Does she?”
“Are the two things mutually exclusive, son?” The way she voiced the endearment held very little “dear.” She studied me with her X-ray vision and slowly lowered her mug to the table. “I see the way of it. You have the same mindset you had with Allison.”
Allison. “What on earth—”
“I love you, Graeme. And I’m not sayin’ Allison was right in all her choices, but you gave little room for compromise.” She stood, firing shots but unwilling to see the damage her bullets made. “Just because your heart is tied to Mull doesn’t mean everyone else’s will be.” She took a step back, holding his gaze. “The point is that her heart is tied toyou.”
“Allison chose someone else. Someone who fit her career.” I pushed back from the table. “Right when our family”—my throat burned—“was going through so much. Greer had just gotten her prognosis, Mum.”
Death sentence. Maybe a year.
And it had been. Almost to the day.
“Aye, but Greer’s cancer wasn’t Allison’s fault.”
I looked away.
“Allison was wrong in her choices too, and I’m glad you saw that before you tied yourself to her for good. Her love for you wasnae the same as your love for her.” Mum’s expression softened. “But loving her job and wanting you to go with her to the mainland wasn’t a fault; it was a difference. One youbothchose not to work out.”
