seven
JULIETTE
Blinding light pours in from the window. The sky outside is a flawless blue, not a cloud in sight. I peel myself out of bed, my feet dragging across the old wood floors in slow, clumsy steps. Everything aches in that soft, heavy way that only sleeping in a strange bed can give you. But then…salvation.
Coffee.
The scent winds through the little cottage like a thread pulling me toward the kitchen. I follow it blindly with bleary eyes and wild hair and pour myself a mug like it’s the most sacred thing I’ll do all day.
The first sip? Bliss. Hot and bitter and alive. My brain slowly starts the uphill climb, breaking through the fog.
Behind me, a creak sounds from the doorway. A second later, Aunt Rose pops her head into the room. “Well, look at you,” she says, grinning like she just caught a rare animal in its natural habitat. “Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
I snort quietly into my mug. “Sure,” I say, my voice still rough with sleep, “something like that.”
She breezes in, already dressed and ready for the day likeshe’s been up since dawn, which, knowing her, she probably has been.
“Have you had your coffee yet?” I ask.
“Nope, just brewed it. You can put it in one of the travel mugs for me, please.”
I fill the mug, casually leaning against the counter as I hand it to her. She takes a sip and lets out a content hum. “What are your plans for today? I do need to head into the office, but you can drop me off if you’d like to use my car for the day.”
I shrug. “I hadn’t really thought about it yet. I might just hang out here, but I wouldn’t mind having the car, just in case. As long as you trust me to drive on the right side of the road,” I add, raising a brow.
“Oh, you,” she chuckles. “I have faith.”
“Are you ready to head out soon? I can get ready pretty quick.”
“Ready when you are. Did you want to drive over to the distillery?”
I shake my head. “I’ll let you drive first. I need to watch you again to make sure I’ve got the hang of the whole wrong side of the road thing. Maybe take some notes,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, and a few minutes later, we’re coasting down a narrow road with the windows cracked just enough to let the crisp air in. The drive there is smooth, but it’s the building that really stops me. I don’t know what I pictured exactly. Something rustic, maybe. A little rough around the edges like the distilleries I’ve seen in documentaries or splashed across whiskey ads. But this? This is something else entirely.
I take in the stone walls weathered smooth by wind and rain. Tall, arched windows frame intricate ironwork that catches the morning light just right. The oak doors appearheavy enough to withstand almost anything. It’s beautiful in that intimidating, old money, deeply Scottish kind of way.
Aunt Rose pulls up directly in front of the doors, leaving the car running as she turns to face me. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here today, but I can give you a call when I’m wrapping up?”
I nod. “Works for me.”
I make my way around to the driver’s side, feeling oddly like I’m gearing up for battle.
I take my time, settling into the seat slowly and adjusting it forward a few notches to account for the fact that I’m only five-two. I go as far as angling the mirrors until they give me a fighting chance of survival and make sure I know where all the buttons are that I might need.
As I pull out of the lot, my breath comes faster than it should. For about thirty whole seconds, I almost convince myself that I’ve got this. I can totally do something as simple as drive a car in a different country.
I take it easy, softly pressing my foot on the gas as I hyper fixate on the lines of the road. I squeeze my eyes shut, but just briefly, and then settle my gaze back in front of me, even if I am tempted to look at the passing greenery, which is exactly when I see it.
A massive pickup truck barreling straight toward me. My heart stops.
Wait.
Oh, god.
Wait.
My eyes go wide as the pieces fall together in slow, horrible clarity.
