Sparks in Scotland (11 page)

After Steaphan finished his lecture on the history of Glencoe, we milled around the area on our own, and I grabbed my camera. The drizzle had finally let up, though the clouds still threatened overhead to burst any time. There was no way I wasn't going to capture the majestic mountain ranges around us, though. I snapped off several shots of the ragged mountains, some in the distance even crested with ice and snow at their very tips. The clouds didn't detract from their beauty. Nature rustled around me, the wind dancing across the greens.

When I tucked my camera away, I heard Graham talking to the German family about how many movies had scenes shot here in Glencoe. The lilt of his native Scottish tongue rolled and danced, and the kids gasped when they realized that parts of a wildly popular children's movie had been filmed here. As Graham beamed down at them, my heart clutched tight.

I'd kept away from him at lunch—subtly, of course. I didn't want him to think I was avoiding him. I just . . . needed time to not feel so much around him. To not want him as badly as I did.

Because that near kiss had opened my eyes to the truth. As crazy as it was, I was falling in love with Scotland. And with ­Graham. I could tell myself it was a simple vacation crush, and I could pretend to my family like it didn't matter.

But it did. He mattered to me. When our week ended and my trip was over, I didn't want to tell him good-bye.

And I had no idea what to do with that realization . . . or how to go about convincing Graham to give me a chance.

Chapter
Eleven

R
ise and shine, princess!” Dad
said as he shook my shoulder.

I yawned and eyed him with a sleepy glare as I shoved my messy hair out of my face. “It's not time to get up yet, is it?” The pale gray light slanting through the window told me was early morning. Really early.

“Unfortunately, it is. We're driving to Loch Ness this morning, and this afternoon will be a visit to the Highland Games! Isn't that great?” he declared as he tugged the blanket off my curled-up figure. “It's going to be a busy day for our group. Breakfast first, though. It should be excellent today.”

I had to admit, our B and B owner could cook a mean breakfast. Her eggs were the fluffiest I'd ever had in my life. My stomach gave an involuntary growl, and Dad shot me a knowing look.

“Gimme a half hour to get ready,” I told him with a laugh. Now that I was starting to wake up, the excitement about our day's trip hit me fully. I jumped out of bed and showered as fast as possible. A peek outside confirmed it was overcast still but not rainy, so I wore jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved shirt with my rain jacket. Since my hair was likely going to be a frizz fest if I didn't wrestle it under control, I used bobby pins to secure the sides and minimize damage.

I'd packed my bags last night, so I tucked my toiletries in and readied myself for leaving this B and B. When we got to Inverness, we were checking into another inn, where we'd stay for a couple of days.

Mom was sitting on the edge of her bed, flipping through a Scotland tourism magazine. She stood. “Ready to go?”

“Where's Dad?”

She snorted. “Take a guess.”

I shook my head with a wry smile. “Never mind. Let's go meet him—he probably has a table already for us . . . and might have finished his food at this point.” Dad was pretty infamous for being unable to patiently wait. If we were shopping, he was three stores ahead. When Mom was getting dressed, he almost always already had her coffee poured and was working on his second cup.

My stomach gave a nervous pitch as we entered the dining room, a cozy blue-walled place with several small tables scattered around. Graham was up and working on his eggs at a table with
his dad on the other side of the room. Our eyes connected, and my heart stuttered.

It should be illegal for him to be this handsome. His shirt was a dark-red slim-fit that accented his muscled upper arms and chest.

He gave me a friendly nod, and I returned it. I could totally do this—get through the day without blurting out my growing romantic feelings for him. No problem. Mom and I sat at our table, and the B and B owner, a kindly older woman with a tight gray perm, brought us today's menu with our choices.

My toast, eggs, and salmon came quickly, and I almost inhaled them. Man, that woman could cook. I spent the meal talking with my parents about today's morning trip to Loch Ness, whether we'd actually see the monster . . . if it was even possible for the monster to exist. When Tilda came into the dining room with her family, I made sure to give her a big wave, which she returned with a broad smile.

Finally we loaded our luggage, boarded the bus, and pulled away to head to the road leading to Loch Ness. I popped a piece of gum in my mouth and chewed as I stared out at the passing scenery. Everything around here was coated in a rich, lush green, despite all the jutting rocks.

I pressed my forehead to the glass and let the scene fly by my unfocused eyes. Just relaxed into the moment and enjoyed the ambient noise around me: my parents talking in low whispers, the German kids—who I learned yesterday were named Karl and
Lucas—giggling with their parents, Tilda and Graham discussing yesterday's trip to Glencoe.

Before I knew it, a hand was shaking my shoulder. “Ava, we're here,” Graham's voice rumbled close to my ear.

I blinked and looked at him through sleep-foggy eyes. “Oh my God, did I fall asleep?” I gave an embarrassed laugh, trying not to focus on the sensation of that firm hand warming my skin through my thin shirt.

“Aye, but I've fallen asleep on long rides too,” he said with a smile. “Don't feel bad.” He held his hand out to me, and I took it as he tugged me out of my seat. The rest of the bus had already emptied out. Whoops. I must have been more tired this morning than I'd realized.

I grabbed my backpack and followed him off the bus. My mom had a light smile on her face as she shook her head at me. Dad glanced at his watch, most likely because he was ready to get this tour started.

“Gather round,” Steaphan said as he waved at all our families; we stood near the bus, which blocked my view of the lake. “I chose this spot for us to explore Loch Ness this morn because it's the best place to see it in its full beauty. We have a coupla hours here before moving on to Inverness. So take some time to soak it in.”

Steaphan took a moment to explain that Loch meant “lake” in Scottish, so Loch Ness was just one of many lakes Scotland boasted. It stretched over twenty miles, and our current location
was just north of the middle. He told us a little more about its history and importance.

“And if yer lucky, ya just might see”—Steaphan paused and eyed Karl and Lucas—“the Loch Ness monster!”

Their dad tickled the boys' sides as he quickly translated ­Steaphan's words, and they squealed and jumped.

My parents stood near each other, and my dad wrapped his arm around my mom's waist. She melted into his side, sighed, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. I glanced away—not because they were my parents, but because the sight of such open affection made me a little jealous. I wanted that too.

I shook off that momentary melancholy and walked over to them. We stepped away from the bus, and I got my first impressive view of the lake. It was massive, surrounded by lush mountains. The sky stretched on forever. I was happy to see the clouds beginning to move away from us, so sunlight sparkled and danced on the water.

A perfect image. My brain was itching to get creative.

“I'm going to take some pictures and draw, if you guys want to walk around a bit,” I told them as I pointed to a nearby knoll. It would give me an ideal spot to capture the water's beauty.

Mom frowned. “Are you sure?”

I waved them off with a heavy fake sigh. “Seriously, go. Spend some private time together. I'll be fine, promise. I'll stay within eyesight of the van. And I have my phone,” I said as I tapped my front left pocket.

Dad pressed a kiss to my brow. “If you change your mind, we'll
be wandering this way.” He indicated the shoreline heading north toward a nearby castle.

“Thanks. Have fun, you two.”

Dad cupped Mom's elbow and led her away, and I chuckled as they strolled. Those two were so different, but they were still madly in love. It gave me hope that someday I might have that too.

I scanned the grounds and saw Graham talking to Tilda and her family off in the distance. He was pointing at the castle, probably doing work stuff, so I didn't want to bother him. I made my way to the grassy patch, stretched my jacket out on the ground, and sat down.

For the first couple of minutes I just . . . absorbed. Opened all my senses to take the scene fully in. Birds chirped in nearby clusters of trees. The wind sighed as it swept across the water. The air was clean, fresh, pure—no salty tinge, since Loch Ness was a freshwater lake.

The lake itself looked like a deep, straight cleft in the mountain range. How had it been made? If I saw Steaphan, I'd make sure to ask him.

I grabbed my notebook and began to draw, letting my pencil fly across the paper. Big, rough lines to capture the hills, the smooth water's surface, the castle thrusting off the side of the cliff in a crumbling beauty.

After doing a few sketches, I grabbed my camera and began snapping shots of the view. In my head I was already envisioning a sort of panoramic image, comprised of overlapping pictures, that
could stretch along one wall of my bedroom. So I made sure each shot was careful and even.

When I reached the north side with my photos, I saw ­Graham still talking with Tilda. I zoomed in and snapped a picture of his face, the sunlight peeking through clouds and illuminating his skin. His eyes glowed bright blue, the same shade as the water behind him.

I took another picture, tilted my camera on end, and got a long shot.

At that moment, Graham turned from Tilda, and his gaze locked on me. I swallowed and dropped my camera. Crud! Totally busted. Despite the roar in my ears from my flaring pulse, I gave him a jaunty wave and pretended like I wasn't mortified.

He stepped away from Tilda and strolled toward me. When he was a few feet away, he glanced down at the open sketchbook resting on my jacket. “Lovely,” he said. “Ya captured the spirit of Loch Ness.”

“Thanks.” I flushed with pleasure. “Um. So . . . dumb question, but . . . is it possible that the Loch Ness monster could be real?”

His mouth crooked in a grin. “Anything's possible, I suppose. But science doesn't seem to support it. My da says the lake was formed ten thousand years ago because of glaciers melting. Not old enough for Nessie, an ancient sea creature, to be trapped in her waters.” He shrugged. “Still, it's a harmless bit o' fun.”

“You know everything,” I said as I shook my head in admiration.

“I also know the best view of Loch Ness. Come with me.”

My heart fluttered at those words, the simple invitation. I scrambled to cram my belongings back in my bag and slipped beside Graham as we headed north.

When we approached the castle, he presented the tickets.

“I figured ya might want to see it,” he said with a casual shrug. “It's an important castle because it's so old, and I know ya like the old sites.”

The air froze in my lungs, and it took me a moment to say, “Thank you. That's really nice of you.”

He'd planned this ahead of time to surprise me? Just me—not anyone else on the tour. My hands trembled, and I stuffed them into my jacket pockets.

We explored the tower house first, weaving through small groups of tourists who snapped pictures and pointed at various spots of ruins. Graham explained that the castle originated in the late 500s. Hard to believe I was standing in a spot nearing fifteen hundred years old.

“Back then, this was a five-story building. There was a great storm in the 1700s that collapsed that south wall,” he said as he indicated the ruins. “But ya can still see what it might have been like back then.”

After a few minutes, we left the tower and explored the grounds. I brushed my fingers along the stone rubble walls. This place had to be something when it had been in its prime. There was one higher hill with a flag, which we climbed to. Once we reached it, we spun around, and I was able to take in a glorious view of the lake.

“Wow,” I breathed. “This is unreal.” He was right about it being the ultimate view. I took some photographs and then impulsively said, “Would you take a picture with me?”

After blinking, he said, “Oh. Aye, sure.”

We turned around so the lake was behind us, and I angled my camera to get us in the frame. I snapped the shot, then used the viewfinder to preview the image.

“Wow, that went badly,” I said with a giggle as I showed it to him. The picture was just the crowns of our heads, the lake tilted at an odd angle in the background.

He huffed a laugh. “Aye, a bit of a disaster, that was. Maybe we should take another. Try tilting the camera down until ya can see yer face in the lens. And make sure to keep it level.”

We tried again, me angling it based on his suggestion, and this time the picture was exactly right. My heart thudded almost painfully at the sight of our two heads tucked closely together, the lake sprawled out in a glorious blue behind us, reflecting the sky and mountains. The smile stretching his face reflected his relaxation, and his eyes glinted with pure happiness.

Wow. Being with me made him look that way.

I checked out my face in the picture and realized I bore the exact same grin as him, the same evident happiness. No big surprise there.

I didn't want to look weird staring at our photo, so I put the camera away after thanking him for taking the picture with me. I knew I'd most likely be checking it out again in the near future, when I could allow myself the luxury of studying his face.

“So did you ever believe in Nessie?” I asked him as we peered out toward the water.

He chuckled and pushed his sleeves up his forearms. “Aye, as a young lad I did, until I was around seven or eight. For a while, I was even determined to prove she was real. I made my da bring me to the loch during the summer, and I'd sit on the shore for hours, binoculars in hand. Just waiting for her to pop up. Though honestly, I don't know what I'da done if she had. Probably screamed or cried.”

I snorted. “I would have too. So what made you decide she wasn't real? Was it because you never saw her?”

“As I got older, I watched a few documentaries with irrefutable evidence against her existence.” He leaned in close, and the light caught the blue of his eyes. “Still, nothing wrong with a little hope, right?”