Finding Fraser(69)

“Ach——that’s a pile o’ nonsense,” she sniffed. “They’re here all the time, rain or shine. Some tourist’s story, nothin’ more.”

Still——I like to think the dolphins might auger something special.

Why not?



- ES



Comments: 3

HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:

Dolphins do bring luck. To old sailors, seeing dolphins mean land was near, but I think they carry spirit of joy inside. Do you still have joy even though you have no Jamie, Miss Emma?

(Read 2 more comments here…)





Well.

I hadn’t heard from HiHoKitty in a few weeks, so I was delighted to see her name. I totally agreed with her take on dolphins, too. The last sentence set me back a bit, though.

Strangely enough, when I really stopped to think about it, I did still have joy, even with no Jamie. I had found a nice rhythm, riding to and from work every day. The owner, Geordie, of the garage across from the cafe gave me a generous deal on the bike, essentially waiving any charges “until I found my footing” as he called it, with the new job.

The cafe turned out to be great. I enjoyed the people I worked with, and I was learning how to help Morag on her farm. On top of that, I was making money, which I needed so desperately. And with little to worry about apart from the three pieces of crockery I’d broken in a minor dishwashing disaster, the rest of the month seemed to fly by. I couldn’t believe when I put up my post that it was almost June already. June!

I’d collected my first two paychecks, and managed to set a decent amount aside toward my flight costs home before disaster struck hard.

But this disaster? Best. Silver. Lining. EVER.





Katy strode back to her desk, shooting me a glare as I slunk away from the public terminal. I was going to have to find another place to post my blog, as her patience for me tying up the only free computer station at the library was wearing thin. Plus, I was waging a passive-aggressive seat war with an old dude who came in every single day to play solitaire on the computer. Mind you, if Katy caught him at it, she threw him off immediately. Tough broad—she would do well in Chicago.

Anyway, now that I was working, I guessed I could afford to pay the two pound fee at the only Internet cafe in town. It’s just—I felt kinda bad going in there, since they were our competition. They sold their coffee out of a vending machine. Also, the place was pretty sketchy-looking, and smelled like Lysol.



I made it into work with a couple of minutes to spare, but ran straight into the back to get my apron because it was so busy. Sometimes the lunch crowd runs really early in Nairn, where everyone seems to get up before dawn for some reason.

Things went fine until the stroke of twelve noon. I’d managed to wipe down all the empty tables, and Ash hadn’t burned anything for at least an hour. Up front, I had a young couple in one of the booths, and was just about to pour coffee for them when their baby leaned forward and smacked his mother’s cup off the table. The mom pulled her baby back into his seat, the dad retrieved the cup and I managed to swoop my carafe back in time so as to not scald anyone at the table.

Unfortunately, the guy at the next table was not so lucky.

As I swung my arm away, the competing forces of gravity and arm momentum took their toll on the lid of the carafe, which flew into the next booth. Centrifugal force kept most of the coffee inside, but the steam that had condensed under the lid poured down the collar of a man sitting with his back to me.

“Christ Jesus,” he roared, and jumped out of his booth, frantically trying to brush the steaming droplets away from the back of his neck.

I didn’t know who to handle first, so I quickly turned to check that the young couple were okay, before dealing with the man still swearing behind me.

“I’m so sorry, “ I began, as he swung around to face me—and I stared at him while his features clicked into place. It was Hamish.

Hamish of the bar in Edinburgh. Hamish of the spilled beer in lap. Hamish with the well-muscled forearms.

Hamish, now freshly scalded. By me.

“You!” he choked. “The American girl from Edinburgh.”

“Em—Emma,” I said. “I’m so sorry—are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

He untucked the dishtowel from my apron and wiped the back of his neck with it.

“No harm done,” he said, and then hummed in a slightly strangled voice: “It’s all right—to be a redneck …”

“No—no, it’s not. It’s not all right. It’s all my fault, is what it is. Let me at least get you some ice, okay?”

He put his hand on my arm. “I’m grand, Emma. I promise yeh. Now, tell me how it is yeh come to be here in mah own town?”