I'm tugged into the cottage before I can mentally prepare, and the warmth inside permeates the air like a cinnamon-vanilla hug.The place smells like a bakery, so I imagine Mrs.Balfour does a lot of cooking.The scent of yumminess makes me start to feel hungry.The breakfast I had earlier at the hotel feels like it was days ago.My tummy even rumbles, embarrassingly loud, and I wince.Kenina Balfour doesn't give me the stink eye, though, despite my stomach's betrayal.
Instead, she throws her head back and lets loose the sort of throaty, delighted cackle that only women of a certain age and influence can pull off."You're my sort of lass!Come through, come through, ye must be famished."
She steers me by the elbow into a tight kitchen gleaming with copper pots and the aroma of daily bread.Even the dogs know better than to loiter here.They slink past and disappear through a door I swear opens by itself.
But then I learn the truth about that doorway.
"Ye needed more of this, aye, Mam?"A big, strong-looking man with a gruff yet warm voice has just entered the kitchen, holding a bag of flour.Then he finally notices me."Who is this bonnie lass?"
"Kirk's girl," Kenina announces.But her attention swiftly drifts toward me again."Have ye met my other son yet?Neil's probably out on the water searching for fish to snare."
I hug myself without meaning to do it, feeling like an outsider."I guess your son Neil likes to fish."
Kenina has a knowing twinkle in her eye."Oh aye, Neil's a commercial fisherman and a collector of glass floats, which is more eccentric but also, I suspect, lucrative on the right market."
Kirk's dad, Roy, emerges from another room wearing a rumpled cardigan with a lion logo on it that I'm pretty sure must be a Scottish thing.Roy has a barrel chest that I'm sure could hold back an avalanche.His handshake is boisterous enough to shake my arm out of its socket.I don't mind, though.Being with a family, even someone else's, reminds me of home---in the best way.
I barely manage to say my own name before Roy ushers me onto a kitchen stool, pouring tea and slicing brown bread like I've been their neighbor for years.He engages me directly, fixing those glacier-blue eyes on me and launching straight into a story about "the last time a Yankee came through these doors."It ends, predictably, with Kirk and Neil locked in mortal combat fueled by sugar and patriotic insults, and I realize this is my function here.I am not so much a guest as a catalyst for the next round of Balfour family antics.
Don't get me wrong.I already love these people.
They ply me with food and stories, most of which I suspect are hogwash.Thanks to Kenina's gossip, by the end of the second scone I've learned that Kirk's first epic misadventure involved a zip line, a wedding cake, and a broken leg.The third scone---yes, I eat three, but no, I don't judge myself for it---comes with a tale of Neil "rescuing" a tourist from a canoe in Loch Fairbairn only to wind up being rescued himself, pantsless and hollering, by his own mother.
I love this woman.Mrs.Balfour is a hoot and a sweet lady.I already feel like a member of the family.
Kirk hangs back, perched on the rim of a window seat.He seems completely at ease here with his family, but his eyes remain glued to mine.If I'd imagined meeting a boyfriend's parents would be rather uneventful...well, I was dead wrong.But is Kirk my boyfriend?We're still basically strangers, though I've already begun to feel as if I'm part of the family.
Tam hands me a freshly baked blueberry scone.Jeez, I think I've eaten enough desserts to feed a rugby team, but I can't resist just one more.The dogs are sacked out on the kitchen rug, snoring softly, missing out on the goodies.When Kenina asks about my family, I catch Kirk's eye peripherally and can tell he's intrigued by the thought of learning more about my parents.He even slants forward a touch.
Kenina hoists herself up on the stool beside mine, wriggling to get comfy."You know about our clan,gràidh.Now please, tell us a wee bit about yours."
"My parents?Well, we don't have a clan like you guys."I peel off a teeny bit of my scone, all that's left now, and speak while chewing."My mom is Alvena Carver, and she teaches music to children and adults, right in her home.She could've retired, but she loves her work.As for my dad, Bert Carver was a security guard at a local museum in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, but he's retired now."
"They sound like lovely people.And what do you do for a living, lass?"
"My job is boring."
Kirk clears his throat."Dinnae downplay your job.Be proud of what you do and let everyone hear about it."
"Honestly, being a virtual assistant isn't a thrilling career."I pick at the crumbs of my scone but don't eat any more of it, staring down at my lap."I handle things for my clients like answering emails, data entry, social media management, website design, bookkeeping, and a lot of other things.Bascially, if you need something done for your business, I can do it for you."
Kirk lifts a brow."That doesn't sound dull at all."
"You're being kind.But there's no need to make me feel better.I know my work isn't glamorous."
"But you are, lass."
"What?"That single syllable becomes a hiccupping laugh."Did you drink a vat of beer while I wasn't looking?That's the only explanation for what you just said."
He places a hand on top of mine, smiling sweetly."You are glamorous, Gretchen Carver.Anyone can see it.Even Mam.EspeciallyMam."
I feel my face flame and bite my lip as the whole table goes silent.Even the dogs don't stir, as if Kirk's declaration is shocking.
"That's exactly the sort of cheesy pickup line my roommate would text a stranger at three a.m.," I say, scrunching up my face, embarrassed by my bluntness, though nobody here seems offended.
"Americans are very honest," Tam says.
"I like her," Kenina declares."She's got a heart of gold, and she's not peely-wally like the other lasses you've dragged in."
