Page 50 of Eyes Like a Hurricane

“It’s really nice to meet you all,” I say as politely as possible.

No need to offend Lachlan’s family right off the bat.

Ingrid responds first. “It’s really nice to see my brother so happy. You should have seen his face yesterday morning when I pounded on the door.”

I feel my cheeks turn to flames. Am I standing too close to the fire? I completely forgot she was out back yesterday. I’m just not used to everyone knowing my business.

She continues, unaware of my embarrassment. “What kinds of things do you like to do for fun, besides my brother?” She smirks, but her eyes twinkle with mirth.

With both my hands holding a plate, I can’t do much more than stand there like a waiter at a dinner party. I take a deep breath and start to ramble off a list of my hobbies, “I enjoy reading, pool, dancing, yoga, baking, knitting, and running.”

Ingrid splutters, “Running? Okay, if you see me running, just know you better start running in the same direction. Either a bear is chasing me, or the apocalypse has arrived. Girl Scoutpromise! You should come to knit night! But no joke, those cookies you made this week are hands down the best I have ever had. Mom, you should have tasted them. Maybe Aislinn will make a batch for the orchard one day?”

I relax a bit as I laugh at her fast-paced talking. Maybe she is as nervous as I am? His parents and brother are just as kind. We go back and forth about where I grew up and my life since leaving Kalispell for college. As I talk to them, I genuinely feel accepted into their circle. Their questions are thoughtful. Nothing is superficial. I can tell they want to know who I am on the inside. It feels magical to connect with them on this level. This experience is so different from the fancy events Cody would escort me to.

Lachlan joins us at some point and simply observes our interactions. It’s nice to not be steamrolled or cut off. He offers me encouraging smiles but never tries to command the conversation.

“Son, are you going to come over tomorrow to watch the finals of the US Open with me for Father’s Day?” his dad asks.

Lachlan clears his throat, swallowing the mouthful of food he’d been chewing. “Although I would love to see McIlroy beat Clark and Scheffler, I was hoping to spend the day with Aislinn. Neither of her parents is still alive, so this year, I wanted to do something special with her.”

His dad grins. “Well, let’s consider this barbeque a Father’s Day dinner, and I’ll call to let you know if McIlroy takes the purse. Declan, it's you and me tomorrow.”

Declan nods and takes a sip of beer, smiling at Lachlan and me.

Lachlan hugs his dad and says, “How about next year, we plan something fun for Father’s Day. Maybe we can drive into Kalispell and play a round of golf.”

His dad mock gasps, “And miss the US Open finals?” He pretends to grab his heart.

Chuckling, Lachlan replies, “Fine, fine. We will come over and sit and stare at the TV all day to honor your existence.”

“Now, that is a much better way to spend the day. Think of it as pampering your old man,” his dad says with a large grin spread across his face.

Conversation continues to flow easily as dinner plates get cleaned up and food gets put back in the fridge. I look over to see Ingrid pulling out a beautiful fiddle. It has intricate carvings along the front.

As my eyes trace over all of the engravings, I murmur, “That is stunning, Ingrid.”

She beams at me. “This has been passed down a few generations from my Scottish family. One of our ancestors was from Alloway. It’s similar to the Burns Violin, a national treasure in Scotland. The Burns Violin is over two hundred and fifty years old, though. We are guessing this one is from the late 1800s. I will start with ‘Auld Lang Syne’ for my mom and ‘Tam O’Shanter’ for my dad, and then I have a special number I have been working on for you and Lachlan. After hearing about your performance at Glaciers last week, I wanted to test your skills a bit. I want you to know, I will be there tomorrow. I need to see you doing ‘The Git Up’ and beating my brother at pool firsthand!”

I smile and shake my head in amusement. “I just like to dance. I can’t really play an instrument, though. I wish I were like Lindsey Sterling and could dance while I played.”

“Me too, sister, me too,” she says wistfully.

Then she starts to sway as her bow glides across the strings. As the fire dances in front of her, the flames catch in the reflection of the strings. Her music entrances us. We all hold ourbreath as we watch her become the music she is playing. Her notes cause the hairs on my arms to stand and a knot to form in my lungs. It’s magical to be this close to the tones as they resonate through my body. As she finishes the last notes to “Tam O’Shanter,” I realize a broad smile is plastered on my face. The tones bring out happiness in the simplest form.

“Okay, you two lovebirds,” Ingrid announces, looking at Lachlan and me. “I have been working on a special song this week. Since I was told you liked dancing to Ed Sheeran, I figured this one would be a good one to start with. What do you say? Do you trust me? Care to dance?”

I stand up and offer my hand to Lachlan. He pulls himself up and engulfs me in his arms. I wrap my hands around his neck and fiddle with his hair.

“What kind of torture does she have planned? A version of ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’?” I ask.

Grinning like a fool, he shakes his head, “No, Ingrid is such a romantic at heart. It will be something perfect.”

As if it were a planned line, the first few measures of Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect” come off her strings. It’s a haunting rendition as it rings across the open fields of the ranch. Her fingers slur across the neck of the fiddle, and she begins to sway in time with the music.

Lachlan brings my hands down and begins to do a modified waltz as he spins me in his arms, and we sway back and forth. This may be the most romantic dance I have ever had the pleasure of doing. But it gets better as a low baritone voice begins singing in my ear. My back is pressed to his chest as his arms are wrapped around my waist.

He continues to hum. “Sweetheart, you are perfect.”

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