If Only (7 page)

“So, this might be a stupid question,” she begins, “but aren’t you cold in the kilt?”

Hailey and Noah walk in line with Duncan, Griffin and I trailing behind them.

“Aye,” Duncan confirms with a smile. “It’s quite chilly. I only do it for the tours and special occasions.”

Hailey looks back at me, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. Then she turns back to Duncan.

“Is it true what they say about what Scottish men wear under their kilts?”

I roll my eyes, not because I’m annoyed that she asked. I’d actually like confirmation on that answer as well. But I could never, within minutes of meeting someone, get away with asking him whether or not he goes commando.

Though I can only see the side of his face, I can tell Duncan dons an equally wicked grin. “I guess, if the wind blows strong enough, you’ll find out.”

Finally, riotous laughter, from all four of us, shatters the awkwardness. I can do this, spend the morning with Griffin and Noah…and Hailey.

As we descend the hill from the aptly named Hillhead village, we enter what has to be the most beautiful stretch of green I’ve ever seen. Framed on either side with walking paths, the rectangular runway of garden is punctuated with benches and canopied with a forest of trees. I gasp.
This
is going to be my walk to campus? I don’t think I’m ever going to leave this place. Though the tension seems to have left, I’m still startled when Griffin reaches his empty hand to mine, entwining our fingers. He gives me a gentle squeeze. He feels it, too, the magnificence of this place. Whatever I’m feeling for Noah I have to push away. Griffin is a good guy, not to mention pretty easy on the eyes. I squeeze back as I watch Hailey hook her arm around Noah’s, and I think to myself,
enough
.

Since the train I’ve been going over and over that kiss in my head. Talk about being in the moment—nothing mattered but that kiss. The roar of the train, being locked in close quarters—none of it made any difference when Noah put his hands on my cheeks. If Sam could hear my thoughts right now, she’d think I was absolutely insane, mentally torturing myself over a guy I met less than twenty-four hours ago. It would be like me to ruin something fun I could have with Griffin to wait for something that couldn’t have been real despite how real it felt. For two years I’ve been waiting for that something real, and for two years I’ve been alone. Enough. Real doesn’t exist, especially not here.

As we enter the park, Duncan turns to face the tour group but continues to walk backward, not missing a beat.

“This is Seaton Park,” he starts. “Once classes begin, this place will be filled with Hillhead residents heading to and from campus. Enjoy this lovely and scenic walk to class or to town. Do not, however, walk the park alone at night. We may be a charming seaside city, but no matter where you are, you’re always safer when you’re with someone else.”

Duncan’s safety spiel is brief, and he continues on about some of the minor history of the university. This far from home, I never thought about what it would mean to be safe, but suddenly the last thing I want is to be alone. I look down at my hand in Griffin’s—I’m not. But when I glance up, my eyes meet Noah’s. His eyes drop to our hands, mine and Griffin’s. Hailey’s fingers entwine with his. I exhale, my breath getting lost in the distance between us, though he’s close enough to touch.

Chapter Seven

We emerge from the park onto a street that will take us right to King’s College in old Aberdeen, where most undergrad English classes are held. I see the campus long before we reach it and nearly stagger at the sight. If Duncan hadn’t confirmed that we were approaching the school, I would have expected to see knights garbed in medieval armor standing guard outside what looks to be a fourteenth- or fifteenth-century castle. But no. This is where I’m going to study Austen and Brontë and Shakespeare and Forster and all of the writers who have been a part of my life since eighth grade.

That’s right. I read my first Shakespeare, on my own, when I was thirteen. It was actually to spite my mother. She wouldn’t let me watch the movie
She’s the Man
, not because of the nearly always shirtless Channing Tatum, but because I hadn’t read the play it was based on, Shakespeare’s
Twelfth Night
. I have to hand it to my mom. For a math teacher, she’s got incredible taste in literature. I remember walking away from her in a huff saying, “Fine! I’ll read the stupid play, and then you’ll have to let me watch the movie!” I did read it, and she did let me watch it. In fact, we watched it together and had the best time comparing and contrasting the soccer-playing Viola and Duke with Shakespeare’s counterparts. I credit my mom not only for my love of English literature but also that of Channing Tatum. He can do no wrong.

“This,” I say to whoever listens as we approach the gray brick, the notched parapets, and pointed archways. “
This
is why I’m here.
This
is where an English literature major studies English literature. In a freaking castle!”

The crowd either joins my infectious giddiness, or the other tour-goers laugh at the silly American girl who has barely put a dent in her passport. I think of all I will see in this year removed from the safety of the familiar. After only hours in this place, time moves too quickly. How will I see it all?

I don’t care who watches or if they stare. I dance in the street. That’s how much I don’t care. Because I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

“Actually, the main structure of King’s College is a chapel, not a castle,” Duncan corrects, but he’s not bursting my bubble.

“I’m still calling it a castle, Duncan. Let me have my moment.”

With this, everyone does laugh, and Duncan gives me my moment with a fake castle.

“Awrite!” he calls, bringing the group’s attention back to him. “It’s time for a wee hunt to find the important spots on campus.”

Duncan’s enthusiasm is met with groans, mine included. While I may not be hung over as I’m sure others are, I was hoping that a tour meant tour, in the simplest form of the word—someone who knows where the hell they are going, Duncan, shows someone who is clueless, me, where the hell to go!

But nothing fazes our most-likely-knicker-less leader.

“Get the lot of you into groups based on your studies. Science folks with science and business folks with business—you get the idea. When you’ve found your group, send one of the lot to me for the list of what you need to find. You’ll have two hours. Make sure someone in your group has a phone to take photos. Everyone in the first group back gets a free pint at the Lantern when we’re done!”

“Who’s buying?” Griffin asks, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. But I don’t reciprocate his intimacy with any act of my own. I’m too busy scanning the group for who else might be an English major, hoping to God my group is more than a pair.

Duncan laughs. “Everyone else!” he shouts. “Time starts now!”

Griffin kisses me quickly on the cheek. “A scavenger hunt? You owe me. See ya in a bit.” And he’s off to find the other social science majors. A couple of small groups have already formed and are heading toward Duncan for their lists when I spin slowly to see who’s left.

“I already asked around,” Noah says, approaching me with slow, trepid movement, like he’s trying not to disturb a sleeping lion. “No other lit majors but us.”

He attempts a smile, but I don’t offer one in return. Less than twenty-four hours ago, that half smile would have melted me into a puddle. Hell, it practically did. But I won’t let myself be that gullible again. I won’t let my heart get in the way of my head.

Noah backs away as carefully as he approached. “We can just join other groups. Duncan won’t care. It’s not like he knows our majors anyway.”

At this I groan and stalk past him, heading for Duncan and the dwindling group of students. “We’re already behind!” I call over my shoulder.

Noah catches up to me as I reach Duncan.

“Just the two of you, aye?” Duncan asks, handing me our scavenger hunt list.

“Unless you have any other literature majors wandering about,” I answer hopefully, but he shakes his head.

“Good luck, then. See you at the Lantern in a couple hours, aye? Or less if you win.” Duncan laughs and heads up the street.

“He’s not going to the pub now, is he?” Noah asks. “I mean, it’s not even nine o’clock. The pubs aren’t open yet.”

Noah’s voice rises at the end of his sentence so it sounds more like a question than an answer.

“Maybe they’re always open.” I shrug.

I glance at the piece of paper in my hand. One side shows a list, the other a King’s College map. And without any further exchange, I march in what I hope is the direction of our first destination.

“Are you really going to ignore me for
two
hours?”

We’ve been walking for thirty minutes. So far, yes, I’ve ignored the shit out of him. But I can’t hold my tongue anymore. Not here. Noah stops next to me. I don’t answer him yet, only stare, and when he follows my gaze, he understands why.

“Whoa. What is that?” he asks.

We both take in the sight before us: a mammoth square structure covered in glass and what looks from here to be large, interlocking bones.

“The Sir Duncan Rice Library.” I finally relent, acknowledging his presence. “Duncan’s list gives ten locations. We have to try to locate at least five and prove it with pictures. I chose this for our first stop.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and grab at least five shots, as much for myself as for Duncan. Until now, I haven’t let myself look Noah in the eye. I’ve kept a step ahead of him the whole walk here. Of course he could have easily caught up, my height and stride no match for his, but Noah respected my need for distance after a couple attempts at getting me to talk. I have to look at him now, not wanting to share this experience with only my phone.

He smiles, a breath seeming something akin to relief releasing as he does.

“Good first choice, Brooks,” he says. “Perfect, actually.”

I hold my phone up for him to see. “We can’t go in. It’s not open yet, but I Googled an image of the inside.”

Noah reaches for the phone, his eyebrows rising in question. I nod my permission, expecting him to take the phone from me. But instead he grabs my hand that holds the phone, so we’re now holding it together, our shoulders touching, his fingers fitting around mine.

A surge of electricity rockets through me, and I fight to keep steady on my feet.

It’s not him. He does not have an effect on me. It’s the gorgeous monument in front of us, the shared love of literature, the photo staring from my phone of the library’s spiraling vortex of floors rising from the first-floor atrium. But it’s not him.

“Beautiful.” Noah breathes the word. “And thank you.”

“For what?” I ask, pulling my hand and phone free from his grip.

His eyes follow his hands as he hides them in his front pockets. After a moment of hesitation he brings his focus back to me.

“For finally talking to me.” He laughs, a sound shaky and unsure, and with that apprehension, the unanswered questions hang between us like an impenetrable wall.

“Can I say something?” he asks.

I want to tell him no, but my head nods, the pleading in his voice melting my resolve.

“I don’t do things like that, what happened between us.”

Nope. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want him to explain. What explanation could he give that would make what happened on the train anything more than what it was—a lovely moment between strangers. One that wasn’t meant to be anything more.

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I turn back toward the main campus, but Noah catches my hand in his before I can put any distance between us.

“Brooks. Wait. Will you just wait?”

I hold up my arm, showing him his hand clamped over mine. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

He rolls his eyes, and I scoff out a laugh.
He’s
annoyed with
me?
But I say nothing. If he wants it so badly, the floor is his.

“Your hands are freezing,” he says, the sudden warmth of his voice and his other hand enveloping mine threatens to turn me into a puddle.

“Give me your other hand,” he says, but he doesn’t wait for me before grabbing my other one and sandwiching them both between his as he works to rub the warmth back into them.

Heat radiates through my body, not just my hands.
It’s. Not. Him.
But it’s getting harder to lie to myself.

“Noah.” I try to free my hands, but he clasps both my wrists.

Eyebrows raised, he asks, “If I let go, do you promise no dramatic exits?”

Right back to condescending. Nice. At least that stupid warmth is gone.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, and he lets go. My arms cross over my chest, and I keep my word, standing still.

“I meant what I said. I wasn’t myself on the train. I don’t know what came over me.”

I huff out a breath. “This is supposed to make me feel better?”

Noah fastens his hands behind his neck and groans. “That’s not what I meant. Shit, what is it about you, Brooks? I’ve known you for a day, but you make me crazy like I’ve known you for years. Everything you’re thinking right now is an assumption, and you’re probably wrong about ninety percent of it.”

I open my mouth to argue, to prove I’m right, but he shakes his head.

“You,” he says. “
You
are what came over me on the train. And it’s not because you’re attractive or that you love books enough to quote them back to me. And it’s certainly not because you made what could have been an unbearable situation infinitely better.”

He had to use that word—
infinite—
what I wanted not just that kiss to be but our entire exchange outside the loo.

I take a step back, not prepared for the impenetrable wall to start crumbling.

“What is it, then?” I ask.

“All of it,” he says, not daring to step past that wall, as much as I now desperately want him to.

“But Hailey,” I say, my voice breaking on her name. “How could you do that to her?”