Page 91 of Some Like It Scot
Excellent, actually.
Because I didn’t need to go around kissing a man when a future with him seemed improbable. The Edwardian Ball was Wednesday, which meant I left on Thursday. Less than a week from today. And people didn’t go around changing their entire lives over a man they’d only known for nearly three weeks.
The feel of his most recent note in my jacket pocket pricked my palm, and my fight against improbabilities dwindled.
Drochaid nan sithean
Bridge to the Faerie Hill
But be careful. Faeries can’t be trusted with directions or gold.
Then he’d drawn a little map to show me the way.
It was the closest things to a love note I’d ever gotten.
The stone bridge had been beautiful and isolated from the world as if someone just decided to create this work of art out in the middle of nowhere for their own benefit. A few waterfalls tumbled over rocks nearby, an island of trees nestled between the bridge and the loch, and the mist fell over everything as if it had been waiting just for me.
I’d even discovered Bea’s cottage—one of the knitters—on my way back to Craighill. She’d welcomed me inside for tea and to meet her husband and cocker spaniel, then gave me a tour of her art studiofilled with acrylic and watercolor paintings of so many of the places I’d seen on Mull.
The instant welcome to draw me into her house for conversation and tea settled over me like so many other things about this place.
And I’d written about it, trying to put into words this intangible something only Scotland possessed. The mystery-infused air, the history-laced earth, the legends in the fog. All of it fueled my writing.
Words forKatie on the Flycame with maddening speed too.
Dave liked my most recent article, “The Sheepish Adventure to Fearlessness,” and felt it should help curb some of the backlash from Mark’s post. But he still encouraged me to continue to put out more content. “Bring back the Scot if you can. He seems to be a crowd favorite.”
No duh! What I needed was a really spectacular story to share about “The Scot” if I wanted to overshadow Mark’s meanness. Maybe he’d let me write about his sculpting? Or maybe I could write the legend of heather, as he told it? “Pink Heather and a Hot Scot”?
Ugh. Love? I wasn’t in love with Graeme MacKerrow.
Definitelikethough. So maybe a light pink heather?
Dave praised my edits to the articles I’d sent back to him, encouraging the three newer writers to reach out to me for further discussion. The idea of mentoring them wasn’t so bad either. Maybe I could offer some encouragement like Dave had given me.
Badly needed encouragement that had changed the trajectory of my career.
Hmm... Hadn’t Gran once talked about giving out of our own gifts and lessons? Being little rescuers of others in a world where people looked out for number one?
I grinned at the thought. Yes. I might not be able to rescue in grand gestures, but maybe I could keep being a little heroine for others. Like Graeme had said. What seemed so small in helping him had mattered. And maybe encouraging these new writers was a way to do that too.
As I got ready for church, my phone buzzed on the bathroom counter beside me.
Mom:Did you get my last message?
Code for:Why haven’t you called?
How was she even awake right now? Wasn’t it five in the morning for her?
I drew in a deep breath and pressed her name, then the speaker button.
“You’re up early.” Starting the conversation usually ended better for me. It stalled her questions.
“I’m always up early. It’s the province of the elderly.” Which she wasn’t, but she liked to play that card when it worked in her favor or sounded funny. “Did you know that Brett and Jessica are contemplating moving away from Atlanta?”
Ah, she wasn’t just calling about the online slander situation. She had news. “Brett mentioned something about it on his last call.”
“I hope you advised him to reconsider. His banking job is the first step to climbing the corporate ladder like his brother. We both know his art will never amount to anything, Katie. So I need you to back me on this before he makes a huge mistake.”
