Finding Fraser(70)

The lunch rush had gotten in the way, but Hamish had promised to come by after work, and he did. He told me that he worked across the street in Geordie’s garage. And how he never ate at the Nairn Cafe but his favorite Chinese takeaway happened to be closed that day. We walked through Nairn and talked about how much I loved his country. He told me how he’d yelled at his boss for not telling him that he’d rented the bicycle to a lovely American. I made him repeat the words “lovely American” several times, just to be sure. Then we talked about how much he loved my country.

Afterwards, we went for dinner at the Chinese takeaway, where it turned out the owner had just slept in that morning. And after dinner …

He took my hand as we walked over to my bike, which was leaning up against the coffee shop. He had long, square fingers that fit just perfectly between my own. The air was quiet and balmy—the first truly warm evening I had experienced in Scotland.

“I’m so sorry about splashing you today,” I said, to the sound of our feet on the gravel.

“It doesnae hurt a bit,” Hamish said. “An it means I can welcome yeh to mah town properly, aye?”

Before I could ask what he meant, he leaned down and made himself clear by kissing me. A dizzying, head-spinning, perfectly wonderful kiss.

And I pedaled off into the moonrise as purely, sweetly, and divinely happy as I had ever been in my life.





Part Three: The Finding





Fraser Found…

4:00 pm, June 8

Nairn, Scotland



I’m not sure I believe in love at first sight.

But I might.

And Sophia? I may never come home. Bite that, will ya?



- ES



Comments: 70

Gerald Abernathy, Fort William, Scotland:

DETAILS!!!!

(Read 69 more comments here…)





So.

Now that it had come to pass, I felt strangely reluctant to blog about it. Like telling the story might let the magic out, somehow. Even my longing to rub my sister’s nose in my success was tempered by a sudden need to keep things private.

The massive number of comments over the week following my reunion   with Hamish was a bit daunting, as well. Most of them were variants on Gerald’s theme. What does he look like? How does he act? Will there be a hand-fast? A wedding? How was your first night together?

Things had changed. The blog had changed. I had no intention of posting his picture. And describe what he looked like? How we were together? It was—it was just not what I wanted to do any longer.

Besides—what if he ever saw it?

I began to think about taking the blog down.





He was away on deliveries for most of a week before I saw him again. But on the Tuesday, there had been flowers waiting for me on the front counter. And on Thursday, a very sour-faced Ashwin had handed me a note. The envelope it came in was torn.

I read the note, (Miss U, cant wait to see U soon, it said), and asked Ash about the envelope.

“It came that way,” he said, and stalked off for a smoke behind the cafe.

I just smiled, and tossing the envelope, tucked the note into my bra, close to my heart. I missed him, too, that I did.

That Friday, when Hamish stuck his head in the cafe just before closing, and told me he had only one job to finish before he was off work, and would I care to go for a walk again?

I had every table wiped in under a minute.

We’d headed out right after he finished changing the transmission on the local vet’s van. I’d ridden my bike to work, but we left it leaning against the back wall of the cafe and strolled down the road, instead.

For just a moment, I closed my eyes, walking beside him, and thought about where I was. In the most beautiful part of the most beautiful country in the world, walking under the stars with Hamish.

I thought my heart might just stop beating out of sheer happiness. But when I opened my eyes, my large Scottish male companion was scowling up at the sky.

“Bad enough there’s now’t tae do in this dull place, and now the weather’s gone smirrey.”

“Smirrey?” I said, as a smattering of raindrops smacked me in the face.

He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “It’s hell on mah hair,” he said, touching the blonde tuft in front gingerly. It did look a bit more limp than usual.

I pulled up my hood, and he took my hand and curled it in his.

“I hate the rain,” he said, and circled us around back toward the cafe. “In California, it’s sunny most of the time, did ye know?”

I shrugged. “I’ve gotten kind of used to it, actually. Besides,” I added innocently, “I’m sure there’s lots of things we could come up with to do inside.”

He nodded resolutely, and lengthened his stride as we walked past the cafe door. “You’re right. I’m famished—I’d slay an army for a bi’ o’curry. You?”