Still …
When Katy marched over to throw me out, I made her happy by paying the twenty pence to run off a copy of his note to stick into my pack.
On my afternoon break, I leaned against the fridge in the back and read the email again, until Sandeep came in and threatened to cut my break short. So I threw on my coat and dashed across to see Hamish.
Which turned out to be the Right Thing To Do.
Hamish emerged from the back of the garage, wiping the grease off his hands on a rag. He kissed me, and began a somewhat convoluted apology explaining his dislike of blood, which involved a dead squirrel and an accident on his bicycle when he was seven. He just reached the part where the bike, with him on it, was in mid-air above the poor, doomed squirrel when Geordie walked in, raised an eyebrow at me and ordered Hamish to “quit ditherin and get back tae tha’ bleedin’ engine.”
Which he did.
And that was okay. It had to be okay, right? I mean, you can’t blame someone for a real phobia. Of all people, I should understand a panic-driven reaction.
But that voice in my head shouted me down. Jamie wouldn’t have run.
I pushed the voice away and walked along the street for the rest of my break, trying to focus on the warmth of the late afternoon sun. Hamish wasn’t on the road at the moment, and we’d soon have time together again.
To finish what we’d started.
Besides, I was busy myself at work. Sandeep was in heaven with his new espresso machine, and I’d spent many hours going through the differences between a cappuccino and a latte—not to mention Americanos and macchiatos—with him and Ash. He’d taken copious notes, and as I left each night it had made me smile to see him carefully dusting coffee grounds out of the components.
After my walk, I returned to the cafe to find Ashwin in the back, holding a piece of paper between his fingers.
“Yer boyfriend left ye a note,” he said, and waved it under my nose.
I snatched at it, but he pulled it away and held it behind his back.
“Give me that,” I said, indignantly. “It’s private!”
Ashwin looked defiant, and took a step backwards. “Are ye in love wi’ him, then? Because he’s no’ right for ye, Emma.”
I took another unsuccessful grab at the note. “Ash! It’s none of your business.”
His face fell, but he took a second step back. By that time he was up against the wall that separated the kitchen from the seating area.
“It is my business,” he muttered. “Maybe I care what happens to yeh, aye? Hamish Lewis has gone ou’ with nearly every girl in Nairn, and walked ou’ on as many, too. He dropped one when he met you—didja know that? Eilidh MacAdams. Left ’er like an ol’ shoe out in the rain.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, the crumpled note still in one hand. “I wouldnae want it to happen to you, is all.” His face had gone red with this speech, but he still hadn’t handed me the note.
“Hamish already told me he’d broken up with someone recently,” I replied. “He didn’t keep it a secret.”
Ashwin jutted his jaw at me and didn’t budge. As I stared at his flushed face and red eyes, something clicked in my brain. “Ash—how old are you? Sixteen?”
“Nearly eighteen,” he said, defensively.
I reached over to him and patted his shoulder. “I didn’t know you felt so protective of me,” I said. “I’m really okay, honestly. I can look after myself. But thank you for watching out for me. It’s very— brotherly of you.”
“I’m no’—” he spluttered. “It’s not like tha’ …”
We both stood there for a long second, then he sighed deeply and handed me the note.
“I’ll be here when he breaks yer heart,” he muttered, and stalked outside to puff moodily on cigarettes for the rest of the afternoon.
I turned away quickly to hide my smile. To tell the truth, I was kind of flattered. I’d never been the subject of anyone’s unrequited crush before, even that of a seventeen-year-old boy. It was very sweet.
Hamish’s note sobered my mood pretty quickly, though. Apparently he had to go pick up auto parts in Glasgow, and would be gone for at least a couple of days.
But it was the last line of the note that really left me freaked out.
We’ll get together when I get back, he’d written. I know you need to go home to America soon—and I’ve been saving my own money. Let’s talk about travelling together …
He’d signed the note with a little heart, and his name.
Love, Hamish.
That’s what it meant, right?
I love you and I want to go home to America with you.