And I am too far away to invite any sort of real conversation. Too bad all the townspeople couldn’t be like Patty and Katie, the shortbread queen and friendly store clerk.
Time to jump in with both feet. Despite Douglas’s ever-present frown, I gesture to the sofa lining the wall beside his chair. “Mind if I sit?”
He grunts. I’ll take it as a yes.
The cushion squeaks a little as I sit. I can hear the ticking of the clock on the wall and Douglas’s heavy breathing beside me. “My dad loves to fish too. He took a charter out in Alaska last summer and caught massive salmon and halibut. Some of these weird ones with buggy eyes, too.”
“Rockfish.”
“Yeah, those. Have you been?”
“No.”
I nod slowly. The man knows a lot about fish. “My mom fried the halibut up for him and he was in heaven. He’ll be out here in a week if this snow melts enough to let him through, and he plans to eat his weight in fish and chips.”
Douglas gives a nod. “Aye. Good man.”
“Do you fish much here in the winter?”
“Aye, when my bones let me.”
“They have strong opinions?” I ask him. What is with these Scottish people and their talkative bones?
“Sometimes they don’t bend the way I want them to. The cold makes them stiff and disobedient.”
I nod like I understand what he means. Active listening has been ingrained in me from childhood, but school only reinforced it. Now it’s time to repeat back a little of what he said to make him understand he’s been heard. “It’s wise to listen to your bones. It’ll make them last longer. Then you’ll be walking around with your own original hardware while all your friends have titanium hips and knees and whatnot.”
He cracks a faint smile, which feels like a massive win. “Angus has a new hip. Got it last summer. Wasn’t able to fish all year.”
“How unfortunate for him.” I won’t say what I’m reallythinking, that the hip was probably a new lease on life for the man. “Titanium bones can’t predict the weather.”
Douglas lets out a laugh that is somewhere between a bark and a cough. Victory surges through me. I’ve penetrated the thick fortress walls. Next stop: friendship.
“That’s us sorted,” Gavin says, reappearing from the basement door and closing it. “Boiler is lit and water should be hot shortly.”
Douglas rubs the back of his neck. “Care to stay for a spot of tea?”
Gavin looks at me. “If Callie doesn’t mind?”
“I would love to.”
Douglas pushes himself from his chair and moves slowly into the kitchen. He passes a cane leaning against the wall but doesn’t stop for it.
Gavin drops his bag of tools at the door, then peers through the window at the horses. “We shouldn’t stay too long, so drink fast. The ladies won’t be happy to stand there much longer.”
“Why’d you accept the tea, then?”
He gives me a look that says I should know better than to ask.
I sit back against the sofa, because I do. This man lives alone. Due to the storm, he probably hasn’t had company in a few days. “Where’s his son?”
“In town.”
I choke on my own spit. “What? Douglas made it sound like he lives far away and hasn’t seen him in years.”
“No, he’s local.”
I wait, but Gavin doesn’t say anything more. What I really want to know is why Douglas called Gavin to fix his boiler if his son lives that close. Instead, I can tell it’s not the time or the place. So I lean in a little and say, “Trip and fall into his arms, Gavin? Really?” Which earns me a surprised, genuine laugh.
