I glance over at the bar where Tommy is sitting, staring at us—well, Kate more accurately. “You’re one to talk.”
She sighs. “I’ll go talk to Tommy if you go talk to Miles.”
I smile. What am I waiting for? “It’s a deal.”
Hopping on my bike, I decide I don’t even have to show him the pages if it doesn’t feel right. Either way, I would get to see him, kiss him, and snuggle in his arms.
That’s it, I’m going.
Once home, I open my laptop back up and print out what I have of the manuscript so far, then head to my room to pack. I’m so focused on my task that I nearly run right into my dad.
“Whoa!”
“Sorry, Dad. I’m going on a little trip. Would you mind feeding the chickens?”
I don’t wait for his answer; I just continue to my room to pack. I need to go now if I want to get there at any kind of decent hour.
Dad follows me. “Can you go tomorrow? I can feed the chickens, that’s no problem. It’s just…I’d like to talk to you.”
Dad’s face is red, and he looks flustered. My dad is never flustered.
I stop walking. “Is everything all right? Are you okay?”
He laughs. “I’m grand. Oh, pet, look at your face.” He smooths the wrinkle between my brows. “I’m great.”
“Can we talk now?”
“I’d really like to talk to you over a proper dinner.”
“Of course.”
He smiles and gives my shoulder a pat. I can leave for Glen Coe after dinner tomorrow. What’s one more night?
The writingin the morning comes like a defective faucet in dribbles and spurts, but I end up with two hundred words, and after the last few days, I take it as a win.
I pack in the afternoon, making sure my manuscript pages are tucked away in the inside pocket of my messenger bag, and toy with the idea of texting Miles to let him know I’m coming. But a surprise would be better. I picture his face as he opens the door to his little cabin, shirtless obviously, because this is my fantasy, and he can wear whatever I imagine. He beams and picks me up, swinging me around the room until we land on the bed—both of us suddenly with no clothes.
The day takes ages to pass by. I fiddle around with the piano, trying to work out the song that seems to always be stuck in my head now. “Somewhere Only We Know.” Our song. I make a playlist on my phone for the drive later that I title “To Miles.”
When dinner finally does come, I’m surprised to see the table is elegantly set, but Thora is nowhere to be seen. I thought they both wanted to talk to me, and I’m a little ashamed of how thrilled I am that it’s just my father and me.
Dad’s made a beef stew. The smell of sage and the freshly made loaf of bread has my mouth watering. I sit. After a few minutes, Dad joins me, coming in with a bottle of red wine.
He pours us each a glass and raises his. “A toast.”
I raise mine as well. “Cheers.”
He mashes his lips together like he’s getting the feel for a new coat of gloss. It’s his tell. He always does it when he’s nervous. “To new beginnings.”
New beginnings? What’s so grand about new beginnings anyway? When Finn got his new start in America, it was the end of us. When Mom took on her new role as a full-time mom and housewife, it meant the end of her singing career. What will this “new beginning” be the end of?
I clink my glass and change the toast, saying, “Slàintemhath.”
Nothing wrong with a little tradition, a little familiarity.
We both drink and tuck into our stew in a comfortable silence. Or what would normally be comfortable, but with the mystery conversation looming over us, it feels like a too-snug pair of pants—not unbearable, but you tell yourself to eat a little less supper tomorrow.
Dad sets down his spoon, takes a long sip of his wine, and then sets that carefully down too. He smashes his lips together. I hold in a sigh. Here it is. Whatever he’s been gearing up to. “Skye. Something quite unexpected has happened.”
