Scotlander, p.30
Scotlander, page 30
She spent a week at home in the end. The longest she’d stayed in years without breaking out in hives. Knowing the years of separation meant they wouldn’t become overnight BFFs, they began the healing process by handing out teeny tiny olive branches that grew in strength as the days sped by.
She volunteered down at the school to help her mom. Went skinny dipping in the river with some old debate club friends who now ran a local co-op. She ate at her favourite cafe where you could get the world’s best blueberry pancakes from 6 a.m. then come back at night to eat peanuts and drink beer until two. She bought a canary yellow wheelbarrow from the hardware store when her dad complained there was nothing to put the leaves in. (It looked like Finn’s favourite wheelbarrow and it was nice to think of him each time she charged it with a mountain of leaves.) She stepped up and into the all-county bowling tournament after her sister-in-law broke a finger playing ice hockey. She helped unload the moving van (1-800-WEMOVEU) that contained the startlingly meagre number of belongings a team of ex-convicts packed at her LA apartment. She and her brothers stacked them in a shed behind the auto shop with a proviso that they could donate everything to Goodwill if she wasn’t back in a year.
She went to the drive-in. Ate way too much cheese. Bought a pair of second-hand shit-kickers that looked brand new after a two-hour polish (during which she watched Outlander).
When she grew misty-eyed over the Rainbow Cafe’s tuna melt, she realised what she was really doing. She was saying goodbye. No. Not that. It was more . . . until we meet again. Taking a snapshot tour of a place she’d never believed she’d miss for more than a New York second. But this time she saw her family’s community through a different lens. She would miss it. The people and places that were ingrained in her like her own family’s DNA.
DNA she willed to be strong enough to get her on a plane and fly several thousand miles to tell a man she’d only just met that she loved him.
Willa’s nerves properly kicked in when the captain announced it was time to disembark from the plane.
After a very awkward out-loud conversation with herself about what The Rock would do, she forced herself to unbuckle her seatbelt and walk down the aisle towards the exit.
She’d decided not to tell Finn she was coming. He hadn’t reached out to her. Nor had anyone from his family. Spying on their socials had seemed wrong, so for all she knew, he’d taken up with one of the scores of women who’d been batting their eyelashes at him at the ceilidh. Not that she could blame him. She had cut and run when things had got just a tiny bit tough. Not even that. Things had been golden. So good she couldn’t get herself to believe any of it was meant to include her. Not exactly the trait a man yearns for in a life partner.
Well, if everything went to pot, there had been a ‘Help Wanted’ sign up at the Rainbow Cafe so she could always go back, rent a double wide, become a waitress and eat tuna melts until she exploded. Heartache came in many forms.
As she walked out of the plane, she was surprised to see that, instead of going down the usual tunnel-type affair international travellers navigated to get to customs, they were disembarking through a glassed-off area just on the other side of the waiting area where travellers were already gathering for the return flight to Portland.
There were enough men in Mighty Duck sweatshirts and women with salt-and-pepper-hair to indicate the plane was mostly full of Americans returning home.
There was also a guy in a flat cap. Little twist of straw blond hair sticking out in tufts. Shoulders that looked as if they’d have no problem having a girl like Willa flipped over one of them to keep her safe from a herd of black and white striped cows.
And then, as if he’d heard her thinking about him, Finn looked up and straight into her eyes.
Chapter Forty-One
Finn had never moved through a crowd of people so fast in his life.
‘Willa!’ he shouted through the glass.
‘Finn!’ she shouted back.
They laughed. Mouthed what the . . . at each other. Laughed again. Pressed their hands against the glass, playing a weird game of mime. Then, suddenly, Finn became painfully aware that Willa was heading one direction while he was holding a boarding pass to head to another.
She looked beautiful. She wasn’t wearing Jacobean gear. Surprise, surprise. She had on a huge duffel coat with a fluffy lining round the hood that tickled the edges of her face. God he’d missed that face.
Desperation swept through him. ‘I’ve got feelings!’ he shouted through the glass. ‘Lots of them!’
Well done, Shakespeare.
Willa beamed. Matching dimples appeared deep in her cheeks. He scrubbed his fingers against the glass, desperate to pull her close to him.
‘That’s great!’ she shouted back. ‘McFeelings are good.’
‘That’s the thing,’ he yelled back. ‘I don’t think they’re Scottish!’
She pulled a face. ‘How do you know?’
‘They feel foreign.’ It was true. He’d thought he was fairly familiar with the full gamut of human emotions, but this moment – being so close to Willa and a thousand miles away – was confirmation that he didn’t have a clue.
‘Can you identify them?’ she asked.
‘I feel . . .’ He bounced up and down on his heels to try to get the right word to come to him. ‘. . . joyful. Something well beyond a feeling of general happiness, you know?’
Poet laureate stuff here. A born Cyrano.
‘And that’s not Scottish?’ She looked perplexed.
‘No. We’re a dour and bleak people. Just like the landscape.’
He vaguely heard a mutter of dissent from behind him but was too busy stumbling through the worst wooing scene of his life, so he ignored it.
‘Finn.’ Willa shook her head at him. ‘It’s ridiculously beautiful where you live.’
‘Aye. It is that,’ he said, but also no. It was having her there with him that made it beautiful. Without her, the sun didn’t shine as bright. The moon looked sad. The stars barely managed to twinkle. It had begun raining the day she left and hadn’t stopped since.
Conversation at a standstill, Willa stepped in closer to the glass as more passengers strode past, intent on getting through to customs and on with their lives.
They held their hands to the thick, bullet-proof glass and stared at one another, their expressions shifting from shocked to elated to disbelieving that they had found one another here of all places, in the land of in-between.
‘Are you—’ they both said at the same time.
‘Why didn’t you—’ they began again.
‘You go.’ A third attempt also gone wrong-ended in a stalemate.
Finn ended it by pretending to zip his lips shut and pointing at her.
‘I’m worried. With all of these foreign feelings crashing around inside of you – do you think we should call for help?’
He laughed and pointed at a nearby defibrillator. ‘We can use that.’
She knocked on the glass, then said, ‘I think this means they’re going to have to use it.’
He turned around and saw a semi-circle of people had gathered behind him, openly listening to their conversation, which, to be fair, was being shouted at top volume.
They waved. His cheeks grew hot. This day was not going at all according to plan. And yet . . . what day ever really did?
Maybe this was what life with Willa was going to be like. Regularly finding himself on brand new emotional frontiers. Trying things he would’ve previously scoffed at. Scottish males weren’t exactly equipped for public displays of emotion except at football matches and yet . . . here he was, baring his soul in public because when she had gone, he’d felt broken.
‘You went away,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I did.’
‘I hated it.’
‘You did?’
‘Very, very much.’
She scrunched her fingers against the glass as if trying to weave hers between his. ‘Say that again.’
He smiled and gave extra attention to the Rs as he repeated himself. ‘I don’t know what I did wrong, but I thought I was doing the right thing by giving you space instead of running you down and pinning you to Balcraigie like I wanted to. It wasnae my place to tell you where you belonged. But then, not having you here felt like dying inside so I thought I’d fly over and do some sort of grand-gesture thing in the vain hope that you’d decide our wee, poorly lit nook of Scotland was more alluring than the bright lights of Hollywood.’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong,’ Willa said softly. ‘I should’ve stayed. Listened. Told you how I really felt.’
The lead weight he’d been carrying round in his chest lifted, finally allowing a fraction of hope to pump through his veins.
‘What were you going to do?’ she asked. ‘When you got to LA?’
‘The grand gesture?’
‘Yes. The grand gesture.’
‘Ach, no. It was ridiculous.’
‘Grand gestures are meant to be ridiculous.’
He looked over his shoulder. The crowd had grown. Should he just go for it?
‘Go on then.’ She glanced behind her. The flight crew were disembarking now. ‘I’ve got to decide whether or not to go through immigration or figure out a way to smash through this glass wall.’
‘But . . .’ Finn threw another look back at his fellow passengers. ‘I’d planned to do it in LA where that sort of thing is more normal.’
She feigned shock. ‘Finlay Jamieson. Are you going to deny me my grand gesture just because it’s in the wrong country?’
‘No. But . . . give me a moment, alright?’ He turned his back to her, gave the crowd behind him a quick nod, then pressed ‘Play’.
Chapter Forty-Two
Willa had never wanted to climb up and over a glass wall more than she did at this moment. If there hadn’t been actual airport police, she just might have.
Finn had pulled off a miracle.
The crowd she’d thought had just been curious fellow passengers had shape-shifted into a flash mob of kilted and tartan-clothed travellers doing the world’s most awkward dad dance to ‘I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)’.
When she wasn’t laughing she was crying, but mostly she was doing both right up until she began slapping her hands against the glass screaming, ‘Let me in!’ Finally, an airport official took pity on her and escorted her through the security barriers so that a sweaty, red-faced Finn could pick her up in his arms and kiss her.
Every particle in her body was vibrating with happiness. This was where she belonged. In his arms. Her lips pressed to his. Smelling his sweet hay and tangy pine scent. This wonderful, brave man loved her. Not sensible her. Or helpful her. Or the Willa who’d interviewed countless famous people. He loved this version. The messy, complicated, emotionally bruised woman who’d rocked up to his farm a handful of weeks ago intent on being miserable. Or, if not miserable, proactively belligerent.
She’d been completely wrong about him having a teensy tiny emotional toolbox. It was huge. But he’d only allowed himself access to the top tray, not realising you could open it up and that a thousand new layers of possibility were waiting for him to use.
The long car ride home wasn’t silent for a moment. They talked about everything. Hopes, dreams, their families. Willa’s family because, as Finn pointed out, she’d never spoken about them much. She was honest. Said she wasn’t particularly close to them, but she could see things improving as time went by.
‘What? Now that you’re several thousand miles away?’ He was smiling, but she could hear the concern in his voice. Family was important to him. And it was one of the reasons she loved him. It was important to her too, and seeing him break free of his own self-imposed family-history shackles had been an inspiration to her to do the same.
‘There are planes that go to Oregon all the time,’ she said. ‘I have a hunch my parents will want to meet this stranger from a strange land who’s captured their daughter’s heart.’
‘And your brothers? I won’t have to fist fight them or anything, will I?’
She grinned and while shaking her head no said, ‘Only a little.’
‘Eh, well. That’s fine, then.’
Later, when they pulled up to the farm, a brand new set of feelings surfaced.
Finn must’ve seen her mood shift because he turned to her and apologetically flicked his thumb towards the drizzle outside. ‘I’m afraid the days of bagpipes and tatties in the courtyard are over for the season.’
It was freezing. And wet and muddy and cold, but because she was young and in love with someone who had stepped so far away from his comfort zone to win her heart, she didn’t care. She pressed her hand against her chest as if taking a solemn pledge. ‘I am prepared to alter my wardrobe to suit the task.’
Finn barked a laugh and pointed at the muddy barnyard. ‘I wouldnae be getting anything beyond a set of waterproof breeks.’
‘Breeks?’
‘Like trouse, but less stylish.’
‘Trouse?’
‘And so it begins.’ Finn put on a grave, sonorous voice. ‘Two young lovers divided by the same language.’
‘Ha ha,’ she intoned through a stupidly happy grin. ‘We could always give up talking and stay in bed until spring? Two birds, one stone?’
He pulled her in for a long, slow kiss. ‘That would be absolutely brilliant if there weren’t cows to feed and pigs to muck out and—’
‘Farm Delights!’
‘Aye. Farm Delights.’
He stroked the backs of his fingers against her cheek. ‘You might hate it, you know. It’s not an easy life.’
‘And you think interviewing the likes of Kim Kardashian is?’
He gave a wry nod. ‘Good point. I’ll take a breech calf any day of the week.’
They stopped by the house where Orla and Dougie went through a hilarious panoply of facial expressions, plying the pair of them with food and drink until it became clear that they were itching to be alone. Orla nodded at the door. ‘I guess you two’ll be away to the shepherd’s hut, then?’
Willa looked at Finn. ‘Shepherd’s hut?’
‘It’s where I stay when I’m here. Where we’ll stay until—’
‘Until?’
‘Until we decide what we want to do next.’
What she wanted most was tear his clothes off and have deeply orgasmic sex. But the shepherd’s hut was so completely gorgeous – beautifully carved wood, a sumptuously inviting bed, a tiny yesteryear kitchen, a wood stove crackling away in the corner, antler coat racks, a massive Highland cow rug – she gave it her full attention for about ninety seconds and then began to ravage her Scottish beau.
Later, warm and naked and feeling that delicious tingly half-awake half-asleep feeling, she ran her fingers along his chest and asked, ‘How did you do that? Get all of those people to learn the dance?’
‘Ah!’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I have been learning my way around this magical thing called social media. I put out a message saying I was going to be on the flight and what I had in mind for Los Angeles. I had people DM me. If they were into it, I sent them a video of me and Trevor doing the choreography.’
She propped herself up on her elbow and beamed at him. ‘Finlay Jamieson, will wonders never cease?’
The corners of his mouth tweaked into that lovely, warm smile of his. ‘I think you’ll find this thirty-something dog is quite capable of learning some new tricks.’
She smiled, gave his cheek a kiss and then, serious, said, ‘You’re not the only one who’ll have to learn new tricks. I dare say my pitchforking technique could do with a bit of improvement.’
‘Don’t you worry about that now, lass. There’ll always be plenty of poop to scoop.’
She swept her hand across her forehead with a ‘Phew.’
He pulled her in closer, nuzzling into the nook between her jaw and neck.
‘I can help,’ she said, wanting to make it clear she wasn’t here to freeload. ‘Do stuff.’
Finn pulled back, then scooched himself up higher on the bank of pillows. ‘I know. But I don’t just love you because you’re useful.’
‘But I have to be! What if you discover things about me you don’t like?’
He snorted. ‘Willa, will you stop with the dour Scots act? There is no couple on earth who adores every single thing about one another. Besides’ – he traced his index finger along her shoulder and down her arm – ‘if we were perfect, we’d never have make-up sex.’
‘I don’t know. You’ve not met me when I’m pre-menstrual.’
‘Uh-oh!’ He pulled a comedy terror face. ‘Do you turn beastly?’
‘Worse. Tearful. I will be unreasonable and emotional and demand to watch inspirational sports dramas, and by sports dramas I mean cheerleader films that all have the same plot but a different soundtrack. And then I’ll want to practise cartwheels and handstands and eat my body weight in chocolate.’
He twisted his mouth to the side, taking the scenario she’d painted on board. ‘Aye, well. When you put it that way, perhaps we are looking at a deal-breaker.’
She sat up. ‘What? You’d dump me because—’
Finn was laughing. ‘Noooo. After all, you’re going to have to put up with me when I become groom-zilla.’
She did a double take. Was this . . . Was he proposing? I mean, she was down with it, but they had only known one another for two weeks.
She cocked a hand to her ear. ‘Beg pardon?’
‘You heard me,’ Finn said. ‘Jules read my tea leaves before she left and it looks like I’m going to make a very fretful future husband.’
‘Finn.’ She poked him in the chest with her finger. ‘I think I might’ve missed something.’
‘Eh?’
Oh, well now this was awkward. ‘The proposal?’
‘Oh!’ He pretended to be shocked. ‘So you want to be asked if you’d like to be my wedded bride, do you?’
‘Uhhh . . . Scottish man? Haggis lover!’
