Sparks in Scotland (15 page)

“I'm glad you told me,” I replied. “I do understand.”

He stood and tugged me with him. His mouth was just inches from mine, and his eyes grew dark. Then he cleared his throat and moved back a fraction. “Ready to see more of the gardens?”

“Definitely.”

We walked through the rest of the gardens, our fingers still intertwined, and my heart throbbed with the painful knowledge that I didn't ever want to let go of his hand. Graham had wormed his way into my heart—and all I could think about was proving to him I was the American girl he should risk his own heart on.

Chapter
Fifteen

T
he rest of Sunday passed
in a blur of activity. After exploring more of Pitlochry, then
returning to Inverness, Graham and I sat up late into the evening drinking tea and talking in the lobby of the B and B.

Nestled in a cozy corner beside a small fireplace, the moonlight slanting through the window and candles scattered across the table, we talked about everything under the sun—what ­movies we thought were funniest, our views on politics, even our pets. Graham said he had a fluffy white dog at home his mom spoiled like crazy, and I talked about my cat.

He laughed when he saw the picture on my phone of my cat wrapped around my head. It was her favorite sleeping position, and most mornings I woke up that way, sweaty and covered in cat
hair. I missed the little furball, but I knew my aunt and uncle were taking good care of her.

Monday morning we packed our belongings and drove toward St. Andrews, the final city in our weeklong bus tour. On our way to St. Andrews, we stopped to visit the massive, imposing Glamis Castle, which was supposedly haunted. While it was eerie and old, I didn't find any ghosts, though Graham thought it was funny to grab my waist at one point in the tour and scare me to death. Tilda laughed so hard she snorted, and I elbowed her and made her wheeze.

After exploring the castle, we checked out Meigle Museum to see ancient carved stones and fragments, ate dinner in a small family-owned restaurant near our B and B, and went to bed early. It had been a busy day, and we were all glad to head upstairs to our rooms to relax.

Naturally, the same as every night now, I found myself falling asleep with thoughts of Graham on my mind. That shock of black hair, those blue eyes that made me want to fall into them.

The guy had nestled himself into every crack and corner of my brain.

Of my heart.

When I woke up on Tuesday after taking far too long to fall asleep the night before, I was a little tired but determined to push my fatigue aside. After all, it was the last full day of our bus tour. Tomorrow our family would venture back to Edinburgh, and then start the long flight back home.

Away from Scotland.

Away from
him
.

My stomach was a total mess of nerves, but I made myself go to breakfast and eat a biscuit with honey and a cup of tea. The B and B owner had several cans of soda, so I chugged one to help fuel me with energy, despite my mom's raised eyebrow. I needed the caffeine buzz to jump-start my brain; at some point today, I was going to figure out the perfect way to admit to Graham that I liked him and ask if we could stay in touch.

The thought made my hands shake, so I dropped them into my lap and pressed them together. My palms were already clammy, and I hadn't even done anything yet. I told myself that it was all going to be fine. He'd taken the time to open up to me about his fears, so reaching out to him should assuage them. I would be showing initiative, not making Graham worry that I was just interested in him while we were here.

No, it was far, far more than that.

We stepped onto the bus, and my chest got a little tight as a swell of sadness hit me. I looked over the plush seats, the comfy interior, our home away from home for the last week. I couldn't believe the trip was almost over. It was going to be so hard not seeing Graham every day in person. I'd been unbelievably lucky to spend this much time with him, and the memories of this trip would have to do for now.

If he liked me too, if he wanted to stay in touch with me after
I left, we'd work things out. It was my mantra, one I kept repeating to myself to help bolster my courage.

I took my seat and waved at the two little kids, who waved back, then resumed their rapid-fire chatting with each other. They didn't talk much to anyone else but their parents or Graham—for some reason, they really were attached to him—but they were generally in good moods and had friendly dispositions.

Tilda boarded the bus next and beamed at me as she took the spot beside her parents.

Graham got on after, followed by my parents and Steaphan, and then Graham closed the door and propped his hands on the metal bar beside his seat.

“Gooooood mornin'!” Steaphan called out in his usual jovial tone. He was probably the happiest man I'd ever met.

We all repeated the greeting back to him in a singsong tone.

Graham's warm gaze slid to mine, and my throat tightened as the full impact of leaving him socked me square in the heart right then.

I was going to have to say good-bye to him far too soon. It was so unfair.

Steaphan started talking to our group about today's adventures in St. Andrews, starting with exploring the ruins of the medieval cathedral, but I couldn't focus on his words. A small flutter of emotion built in my chest, and I blinked back the burning tears that threatened to burst from my eyes.

I turned my gaze down to my lap as I struggled to get my emotions under control. The last thing I wanted to do was let anyone discover me like this. Especially not my folks.

Logically, I knew it was crazy—how could I have become this attached to a guy in, what, a week and a half or so? But the pain in my heart told me that wacky or not, it xwas true. I was falling head over heels for Graham. And I felt cheated out of the chance to spend more in-person time with him, the way I would have if we lived closer to each other.

I swept my hands across my eyes to clear my vision and made myself focus on the positives. If I'd never come to Scotland, I'd never have met him. I'd have gone through my life without ever seeing his smile, feeling his hand wrapped in mine. That in itself was something good to remember.

Funny how Graham had started to change me, even in this short amount of time. I was way more interested in history than I ever used to be, and I planned to learn more about my own country, my own state when I got home. I'd become a bit more courageous, more honest—in the last few days, I'd told Graham things I hadn't even told my best friend, like the truth about my ex, or about my childish fantasies about fairies and unicorns. Corinne would have given me the side eye for being weird, since she was such a pragmatic person.

But not Graham. He'd opened up and told me about his childhood obsession with Nessie, and on Sunday he'd admitted
how he'd hunted down every fairy ring he could find in the hopes of capturing a fairy of his own.

He didn't make me feel goofy or strange. With him, I could be myself.

Surely he felt this too.

The bus started to move, and I dared to look up at him again. He was talking with Tilda, then after a moment stood and strolled down the aisle toward me.

“Everything okay?” he asked in a concerned tone as he sat down, the length of his thigh searing mine. Today he had on a black long-sleeved shirt and faded jeans that accented every lean muscle in his body. The sleeves were pushed up his forearms so I could see the light dusting of hair on them.

I sucked in a deep breath of that soap scent I'd grown so fond of and said, “Oh, yeah, I'm fine, thanks. I just can't believe it's almost over.”

His hand dropped to his thigh, then casually slid toward mine. His thumb brushed my fingers, and my flesh awakened from the soft touch. “Me neither,” he admitted. “But I'm glad we met, Ava.” The light outside was low but strong enough to catch in his eyes, and I couldn't stop staring at him.

“I am too. It's been so much fun.” I knew my feelings had to be written all over my face, and at the moment I didn't care. I wanted him to see how much I liked him. How strongly he made me feel. After David, I wasn't sure I'd let myself open up
to another guy again, to trust someone. But Graham gave me a reason to.

The bus ride to the cathedral was quick, only a few minutes for us to get to our parking place. We exited the bus, with Graham pressing his hand on my lower back to guide me off. His gentlemanly gestures were so thoughtful and swoon-worthy.

“We'll be travelin' round St. Andrews as a group today,” ­Steaphan reminded us, “so don't wander off.” His mock-stern eyes shot to me, Tilda, and Graham, all standing together, and the adults laughed. “Okay, first up is the cathedral. Get yer cameras ready—it's stunning. Ya won't want to miss this photo opportunity.”

The parents walked together, and we three teenagers hung slightly behind in unspoken agreement. Since we'd all started bonding, we'd been spending most of our time together.

“No getting lost,” Tilda said to me in a quiet tone as she ­waggled her finger in my face. “Or you are in big trouble, Ava.”

I snorted. “Thanks, Mom.”

Steaphan paid our way in, and as we approached the cathedral ruins, I stopped in my tracks for a moment and just stared. Unbelievable.

“It's the largest ever built in Scotland,” Graham said in a low rumble near my ear. He pressed that hand to my back again to remind me to stay with the group, and I wanted to keep leaning against it. “It dates back to the mid-1100s.”

The stones were old, and the tinge of salt water in the air from the nearby St. Andrews Bay made history come alive here. I
craned my neck to peer up the facade of the building. We entered the archway and strolled across plush green grass.

Steaphan gave a brief lecture about the history of the cathedral and how its fall came about in the sixteenth century, due to the Scottish Reformation. Since it was a monument now, the ruins were protected and cared for.

Sunlight peeked through small breaks in the clouds. The temperature hovered in the midsixties, and the wind danced from over the water to greet us. I zipped my fleece up just a touch more.

As the rest of our group lingered and wandered around the massive open grounds, Tilda tilted her head and eyed Graham. “You enjoy being a guide, yah?” she asked him.

He beamed, and his teeth flashed white with his broad, ­earnest grin. “Aye, I do.”

“So, do you also enjoy travel? Go on holiday?”

Good question. We hadn't discussed traveling or other vacations yet. I rubbed my fingers along a row of stone and listened.

“I've been to Germany—bonny country.” He paused, and his face grew wistful as he thought. “And Spain is enchanting. The food . . . I just wanted to keep eatin'.”

Tilda and I chuckled. Then she asked, “You are planning to see America maybe sometime?”

He blinked, and the easiness left his face. My stomach dropped at the sudden change.

“Tilda!” her father called out with a wave, and then issued a string of rapid-fire words in Swedish.

“I must be going to them,” she said with an apologetic smile. She reached out and squeezed my forearm. “I am sorry. I mean no harm.” Those last words were under her breath and aimed just at me.

“It's okay,” I soothed.

She walked off to join them, which left Graham and me alone.

“So—,” I started, right as he said, “I just—”

We both paused and gave awkward chuckles.

“Um, go ahead,” I said as we continued to walk slowly toward the back of the ruined structure.

“No, no, please,” he insisted.

I dragged in a breath, exhaled, then forced myself to say, “I want to keep in touch with you after I get home, Graham.”

He blinked twice, then said, “Oh. Um, I . . .” Cleared his throat, and his cheeks tinged pink. “Well . . .”

Oh no, this was so awkward. My heart gave a sick thud, and I waved my hands in a desperate attempt to backpedal. “It's totally up to you, of course,” I rushed to say. God, was he going to brush me off, after all? “Sorry. I didn't mean to put pressure—”

“That would be great,” he said, interrupting me. “Sorry, I'm so . . . bad at this.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and I saw the tension in his stiff spine.

My heart lurched, and I realized that he must just be afraid of getting hurt again. I stretched out my hand and took his free one. “I really like talking to you, Graham. And there's no pressure. I just . . .” I shrugged. “I just want to get to know you more.”

He stared at me for what seemed like forever, and I could hear my pulse roaring in my ears. Right now his face was hard to read; I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Then he released my hand and dug into his pocket, producing a folded piece of paper with a few miscellaneous words jotted on the back. “Have a pen?”

I fumbled through my bag and grabbed a drawing pencil. When he thrust the paper at me, I was careful to write my contact information down as clearly as possible. I included my mailing address, cell phone number, and even e-mail address.

Then I ripped the page in half, handed the sheets to him, and said, “Your turn.”

He tucked my information away in his pocket, then his hand flew across the other piece of paper before he returned it to me. I glanced down to see his name and e-mail address, and my chest tightened in excitement.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He nodded, and his smile looked wide and open, but something seemed off between us. What was I missing here? “We should rejoin everyone before da sends out a search party to find us.”