Page 2 of Charlie

"I want something like this to pass down to my grandkids. I only have a few years left, so there's no time to waste. I'll see what flights are leaving next week."

"Wait a minute, Arty," I protest, "First off, I don't have any money?—"

"I'm paying for it," he says, cutting me off. "You have three months." He starts rolling up the parchment. "And I want it framed. What was number two?"

"Number two?"

"The second reason you can't go."

I wrack my brain for a reason – any reason – why this is completely nuts.

Arty smirks when I don't say anything else. "That's what I thought. Finish your tea and then go home and start packing. I'll email you once I figure out the flights."

"Yes, sir." I peck his weathered cheek before gulping down the last of my tea, my mind spinning.

I get an email from Arty later that night requesting my bank account information so he can wire the money. I almost fall over when I read the flight details attached to the email. I spend the next four hours chucking piles of dirty clothes into the washing machine and trying to get my mess of a life in order. My flight leaves in two days.

Single in Scotland. Fuck. Yes.

2

Ijump when the taxi driver clears his throat, my thoughts snapping back to reality. I step out of the cab and take my bags from him, murmuring my thanks as I press a couple of bills into his hand. As he drives away, I spin slowly, taking in my surroundings. My heartbeat ratchets up a few notches. Salty spray crashes over the seawall turning everything slick.

It's wild and beautiful, and I love it.

I wrap my jacket tight against the wind and take a deep breath of salty air. Behind me, a row of 17th-century houses stand shoulder to shoulder. Old sentries guarding the harbor, each one painted a different color. Pink, sky blue, sage, yellow, white, red. I'm standing outside a cute little bookstore; the stone walls are painted white, the door a deep scarlet. A few doors down, a cafe sign creaks in the wind. I grin. How the hell did I get so lucky?

I pull my suitcases over the curb and check my phone for the address of the flat I’m renting. It's the same as the bookstore. Weird. A tiny bell tinkles above my head as I pull open the door, the wood rough against my fingers.

"Can I help you, dear?" A woman in her sixties stands at a sturdy desk, studying me from over the top of her reading glasses.

"I hope so," I say, dragging my suitcases over the threshold awkwardly. "I'm leasing a flat at 655 Scorrybreck Rd, but I'm not sure I'm in the right place."

"You must be Charlie!" she exclaims, smiling. Her eyes crinkle in the most adorable way. "I'm Millie. It's so nice to meet you." She wraps me in a shortbread-scented hug, her arms around my middle. "Come now, I'll show you upstairs!" We wind our way through stacks of books until we reach a door at the back of the shop. She opens it, revealing a steep staircase. She looks doubtfully between me, my suitcases, and the stairs. "Should I find Richard to help us?"

"No, I can manage," I assure her. I hike both suitcases up as high as possible and take the stairs sideways.

"Well, that was impressive," she laughs, "you're such a little thing; I wasn't sure if you could manage that."

"I worked at my husband's landscape company for years," I say, then amend, "ex-husband."

"I see," she says, her smile sympathetic. She pulls a black iron key from her pocket, unlocks the door at the top of the stairs, and pushes it open.

"Jesus," I blurt, stunned. The entire left wall of the flat consists of a large window overlooking the harbor. The start of the sunset reflects pinks and purples on the water. It's stunning. "This is beautiful." I lower my voice to a whisper, trying to preserve the magic. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases snag my attention. Every nook and cranny is filled with books and trinkets that make me itch to explore. Two overstuffed couches flank a carved coffee table, a small two-person dining set behind it. The living room opens up to a postage-stamp kitchen. The appliances look a bit dated, but nothing I hadn't expected.

"Your bedroom is back through here." Millie turns from the window and walks down the short hallway to the right of the kitchen, her sensible pumps echoing off the walls. She opens the door to show me a simple double bed. "The bathroom and a small office are right across the hall." She opens each door, waiting for me to nod my approval before moving on.

"Looks absolutely perfect," I murmur, making my way back to the main room, drawn by the view.

"Good." Millie smiles, then heads to the door. "Dinner is at six, dear."

"Dinner?"

"Did you think we'd let you eat alone in a strange country? It'll be on the table every Sunday night at six." Millie's smile warms her face.

A weight I didn't realize I was carrying lifts from my shoulders, "Thank you, Millie. It's nice to have a friend already."

I wander down the stairs and into the bookstore around 5:30, figuring I could poke around until it was time for dinner; the stacks of books lying haphazardly around the shop are calling to me like a siren's song.

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