“Aye. We are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BETH
I’d finished up work that day as early as possible, switching off my notifications after I jumped out of the shower. In a rush, I’d arrived at the food bank in Leith just in time for my shift. Gary, the manager, gave me a big smile and asked me to come out to the van to help him unload donations we’d received from a large company. Usually, our donations were brought in by kind individuals, but now and then, a corporation or organization donated a load of stuff. Sometimes so much stuff, we shared the bounty with food banks all over the city.
My job was to pack the bags. Each person who came in was given as much as they needed for the week, whether it was food for themselves or for their entire families. What frustrated me about volunteering here was the stories I heard. Single mothers who had good jobs but couldn’t afford the current cost of living and were forced to swallow their pride and ask for help to feed their kids. Not just single parents either. People were struggling with the high interest rates, energy bills, and taxes, whether they were employed or not.
Food banks had never been more important.
When I told my parents I was volunteering here, I didn’t think I’d ever seen them prouder. And I had to admit that it wasn’t entirely altruistic. I got something out of helping people. It made me feel good to do it.
My shift passed quickly and I was finishing up for the evening when I heard a deep, familiar male voice in the front of the building. Gary’s voice was too low to make out, but he conversed with the man for a second or two before he suddenly appeared in the doorway of the stockroom.
“Beth … do you know Callan Keen?” Gary asked, eyebrows raised.
I looked at Audrey, who volunteered with me on Friday afternoons.
“Who is Callan Keen?” she inquired, bewildered.
Gary scoffed. “Only one of Scotland’s greatest midfielders. And he’s in my food bank.”
“Here?” I squeaked. Callan Keen was here?
“Aye, he’s asking for you.”
“What’s a midfielder?” Audrey asked.
How the hell did Callan know I volunteered here? Hurrying past my gaping companion, I marched out of the stockroom and halted.
Sure enough, Callan stood in the room that was thankfully empty of patrons. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared expressionlessly at me.
“What are you doing here?” I smoothed a self-conscious hand down the front of my T-shirt.
Callan jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Was eating dinner across the road and saw you unloading boxes.”
“Oh.”
That still didn’t answer my question.
“We need to talk, princess.”
I ignored the endearment that wasn’t really an endearment but an insult masquerading as one. “About?”
“When do you finish up here?”
“Now, actually.”
“Meet me back at our building?”
“Tonight?”
“Aye, now.”
“Why?”
“We need to talk about that favor you owe.” He turned and marched toward the exit. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”
