Chapter 1
Bea
Bea Gracie peered out the grimy window of her Edinburgh apartment. Rain was thundering onto the ground and the dark skies were sinking lower. Back in her home of New York City, Scotland’s capital had seemed the perfect place to spend three months getting over her ex and writing her next novel, but now she was here, Bea wasn’t sure that those three months wouldn’t feel like three years.
Plus, the apartment was awful. After the taxi breaking down on the wrong side of The Meadows, resulting in a quarter mile walk in the rain, and now damp to her core, Bea met dirty wallpaper, equally filthy floorboards and furniture that was new in the late 1990s – not what she’d pictured when she chose Scotland as writing inspiration.
Bea’s late father was Scottish and had grown up in Edinburgh. He had told her stories of ghosts that lurked down closes, of rogue merchants and devilishly charming and tenacious local businessmen who built Edinburgh up from a slum to the thriving city it was today. Fascinated by these tales, Bea couldn’t wait to use all the city offered towrite a story of her own, but all she cared for at this moment was a shower and a nap.
Perched on the edge of the bed, Bea wondered what her ex, Josh, would say if he could see her now. He’d gloat, no doubt. She could hear him: ‘What did you expect, Bea? You have to work if you want a good life and it’s only me that knows the meaning of hard work in this relationship.’
Five years Bea had spent with Josh, five years before he’d decided he no longer wanted to be with an unsuccessful novelist whom he claimed leaned on him for money, and, instead, he would be coupling up with a successful trust fund baby whose father owned a highly lucrative shipping company. Josh and his new girlfriend could lean on her father for money instead.
It had all come spitting out in their last argument. Bea was working solidly on her latest romance novel, but every night Josh had come home and asked her what she was going do to ensure that this one would be successful.
‘I’m drafting and redrafting,’ Bea explained. ‘I’m working all day until I go to the bar in the evening.’
‘Yes, but nothing’s happening, is it? How can you not know how to get readers when there’s a mountain of information out there on the internet about how to snag an agent or even self-publish successfully?’
‘I have fans, Josh. And maybe with this book I’ll get more. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. One day, people will realise that they want to read my books, and until that day I’ll keep plugging away.’
But Josh had little faith in romance writing (and little understanding of romance, Bea thought) and couldn’t see how it might be a career option. He didn’t want Bea doing her night job either.
‘To be honest, Bea, I don’t think you should work in abar. It’s not right for a woman in her thirties. And it’s certainly not the place you want to be if you’re planning to fall pregnant soon.’
‘I had no idea I was planning to fall pregnant soon,’ Bea countered. ‘I’ve only just turned thirty.’
‘That’s exactly my point. Wake up and smell the coffee.’
And that was their last argument. Looking back, Bea couldn’t understand why Josh had talked of her falling pregnant when he was clearly cheating on her, as the next week he told her of his decision to leave. A week after that she was on her way to the airport – a flash decision to get out of New York and jump-start her writing in Scotland, maybe even meet a muse. Had it been the wrong decision? Bea wiped away a slight tear, then caught herself.
Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a grown woman who has chosen to have a working-vacation in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Why are you crying? Okay, so your apartment is a little grubby, but you have escaped that awful man. You’re here to write and you can do that in coffee shops, even parks – if it ever stops raining.
Thunder rumbled outside.
Bea reached for her phone.
‘Hey, babe,’ the comforting tones of Bea’s best friend, Amira, came down the line, helping to soften the edges of Bea’s discomfort. ‘How’s it going? You got there safe?’
‘Well, yes and no,’ said Bea. ‘I’m here in body. But I’m not sure this was a good plan. This place is so wet. It hasn’t stopped raining since I arrived, and my apartment is disgusting. I think I’m running away from things back home, which will mean that when I get back I’ll be where I was when I left, but everyone else will have moved on.’
‘Ah, come on, it can’t be that bad,’ Amira soothed. ‘Can I remind you how much you wanted to go on this trip.You’ve put your life savings into getting there and staying there, so I think that’s what you need to do. New York isn’t going anywhere.’
Bea nodded at her friend’s advice. She knew it herself, but it was comforting to be reminded of it by someone else. ‘That’s true.’
‘And besides, how am I going to live vicariously through you snagging a hot, sexy Scotsman if you hop on the next plane because of a little rain? It rains in NYC too, you know, except we don’t get wet Scotsmen here. Imagine him, standing in the rain asking if you love him like he loves you. You have a chance to experience that. You’re so lucky, Bea!’
Bea laughed. ‘That is a good point; the chances are always higher in a place with such a high concentration of Scotsmen. And I guess I did come here to write, rain or shine. But, Ams, in all seriousness, what guy will want me? Poor, lacking in self-confidence, on the rebound?’
‘Does it matter if you’re on the rebound? You’re not planning on staying there forever. If you ask me, the circumstances are perfect for a temporary liaison with a smoking hot Scotty who you can immortalise in between the sheets of your next book. It might do wonders for your self-confidence.’
Amira knew Bea so well. Her confidence was in the gutter because of Josh. ‘I guess it might.’ She hoped that her friend’s optimism was right, as it often was. ‘But how do I get one of these smoking hot Scotties when I feel about as attractive as last week’s newspaper and people here are walking around staring at their soaking wet feet?’
‘Well, I can’t stop the rain, hon, but my advice would be to channel old Bea, pre-Josh Bea. Remember her?’
Bea pulled at a loose thread on the bedspread. ‘Kinda.’
‘I fully do.’ Amira’s voice was full of the encouragementBea needed to hear. ‘You’ve got looks and personality in spades, Bea. Only, Josh has kicked the confidence out of you. But you’ve also got a clean slate. Nobody knows you over there; you’ll fly home in a few months. Scotland is your stage. Go out there and flirt and grab yourself that man. If not for yourself, then do it for your readers. Fake it until you…’
