“I miss it. Anyway, I think this character is more lithe and less bulky.”
Jake sighs. “Okay, I’ll come up with a plan and email it to you. One more minute. Then ten mountain climbers.”
Thirty minutes later,I hang up with Jake. He somehow turned “just one plank” into a whole circuit workout. I need another shower—well, bath. But I have to find Skye first.
There’s no answer when I knock on her door. I make my way down the stairs and nearly run right into Callum. “Ah, there you are. Dinner’s ready.”
I’ll have to tell her at dinner. In front of Callum. Will he be mad that, because of me, his daughter is all over the internet?
My gut twists, but I smile. “Great.”
Callum leads us through a hall to the side of the staircase, then through a large, ragged stone arch into a grand dining room. The walls go up to a vaulted wood ceiling. Dark oil paintings hang from the walls that look just about as old as the castle: some are landscape paintings, some formal portraits of men in different stoic poses, all with a tartan hanging from a shoulder or in their kilt.
On the far wall is a fireplace with a roaring fire, and the head of an elk hangs above it. A long, almost black wooden table sits in the middle, large enough for forty people. Three place settings are waiting, along with a delicious-looking spread of food. But the room is empty. Skye isn’t there.
“Go on. Pull up a chair,” Callum says as he takes a seat.
I sit as instructed. Skye comes through the doorway, her usually fair cheeks pink, water droplets dripping from her hair. I stand as she enters and looks at me like I’m insane.
I sit back down immediately. What was I thinking, standing like she’s the queen of England?
“I swear those chickens are possessed by the devil himself. They got out again. I can’t even figure out how they’re doing it.”
Callum laughs.
“Ah, so funny. Laugh it up. I don’t see you nearly getting your eyes pecked out by demon chickens.”
This sets Callum off again, his large belly laugh so infectious I can’t help but join in. After a few beats, Skye does too. We dissolve into laughter, and everything feels lighter. Wiping tears from her eyes, she says to Callum, “Pass the wine, old man.”
The roast is tender, the wine rich, and the Yorkshire puddings are little pillows, smothered in gravy sent straight from heaven. How have I gone my whole life without ever having a Yorkshire pudding? In an attempt to make up for lost time, I reach for a third one. Skye gives me a mischievous look across the table that sparks something in my chest.
“I see you're a fan.” She motions her head to the Yorkshires.
“To what I’m sure would be my trainer’s utter disappointment, I am.” Jake. That’s when I remember theYHFphoto. I set down my fork and pick up my wine, taking a fortifying gulp. I can do this. They might think it’s funny. Both of them seem to have a sense of humor. “So, funny thing…”
In my most charming, most jovial way, I try to explain the picture online. Skye pulls out her phone and brings up theYHFarticle in question.
“Oh my God. I look terrible. Look at my hair. It’s a rat’s nest.”
“You look stunning,” I say, not understanding how she can’t see what a goddess she is, striding down the street, wind rustling through her locks like she’s commanding it to do so.
Callum takes the phone out of her hand. “Pet, what are you talking about? You look fetching. You look just like your mother.”
Skye levels him with a stern stare.
Callum holds up a hand. “It’s a good thing.”
She puts her head in her hands, her fingers running through her curls. I’m lost, watching the motion.
She looks up and says, “How did this happen? Does it happen to you all the time?”
I assume the question is rhetorical. When both Callum and Skye continue to stare at me, waiting for my answer, I realize it’s not.
Does it happen all the time? Yes. Do I want them to know that? No. I’m not sure why. I don’t want them to think less of me or worry about the kind of attention the castle might get with me being here.
“Sort of.” I attempt to soften it with a smile. “Really didn’t think it would happen all the way out here, but I guess it did.” My fake smile fades. “Yeah, if I’m honest, it happens pretty much all the time.”
“I can’t believe this.” Skye gets up from the table, grabs her phone from her father, and strides out the door.
