I should’ve left the vintage at home.
The fur coat I’d stolen from the photoshoot wasn’t doing much against the biting wind. It sliced through the fabric like it was nothing, leaving my fingers numb and blue as I clung to the handle of my Louis Vuitton suitcase.
The walk felt endless, until, through the swirling snow, I spotted salvation: a pub. Its sign hung precariously in the wind, but the lights inside glowed warmly, a beacon in the white-out.
I hobbled the remaining distance, pushing through the doors. The heat hit me first, the wonderful, beautiful warmth. Almost instantly, the tiny icicles that had formed in my hair melted away. Then, I noticed the total dead silence. Thirty sets of eyes were all set upon me, silent in their judgment as I stood there. I was used to being watched, but this felt…wrong. Frozen in the doorway, my fight or flight instincts fought to be the victor.
With an awkward wave, I said, “I’m looking for a taxi?”
A disgusted sigh broke out along the patrons, every single one turning around with the same single word on their lips.Tourist.
As though that hadn’t happened, the crowd moved back to what they had been doing, many taking a sip from their pints to wash their aversion away.
I considered heading out into the storm and accepting my fate. But if I could handle starved models and pretentious photographers, then I could certainly handle a pub full of surly Scots. So, I dragged my suitcase behind me as I pushed forward, the wheels rattling against the bare floorboards.
Squeezing in at the end of the bar, I took a moment to catch my breath. After all the travel trauma, I was dying for a drink. Normally, catching a bartender’s attention wasn’t much of an issue. In the north, apparently, I did not hold much sway. Instead, the old man stood as far away as possible, grumbling to another group who already had drinks. He even looked myway, eyeing me up and down as I smiled and tried to look as friendly as I possibly could, before returning to his conversation as though I didn’t even exist.
“You could dance like a monkey and that man would never take your order.” A deep voice with an unusual lilt said. I glanced over my shoulder; my eyes met a deep hazel.
“Excuse me?” I blinked, assessing. Even with my 5'10 height and the extra inches from my heel, he was still much taller. His hair was a mess of dark curls like he’d just rolled out of bed, and he kept a shadow of stubble across his jaw. But he had a wide, goofy smile across his lips, eyes glinting with a streak of confidence. He was rather cute.
Maybe this trip wasn’t a bad idea after all.
He motioned across the room, towards the roaring fire, where a sign read in big, bold red letters: ‘NO TOURISTS’
I gulped, looking back up at him. “I’m not a tourist. I’m from London.”
He cracked a smile so gorgeous that I no longer regretted coming north of the border. “Same difference.”
I took in the cozy pub. It was a little rundown, the decor mostly pine with some tartan accents, but every stray glance my way was filled with apprehension and judgement.
My brows furrowed. “Well, judging from the accent, I’d argue I’m a hell of a lot more local than you.”
American,I placed.There are still worse things to be in the world.
He laughed, and I swore everything was a fraction brighter with that sound. “Oh, they won’t willingly serve me either.”
My eyes narrowed on his glass. “Then how did you get that?”
“Public humiliation,” he replied easily, before taking a long sip, finishing the rest of it off. Reading the ever-growing confusion across my face, his attention moved past me, his head flicking up.
I spotted the bartenderfinallyheading our way, and I prepared myself to make my order. Instead, the stranger spoke, his voice changing and coming out with the worst noise I have ever heard. “Oi. Ach laddie, can me andthe bonnie wee lassget a drink?”
The bartender nodded once. “What will it be?”
“Mm, a coke for me, a…” the stranger replied, the accent continuing as his gaze slid to me.
Stuttering, I said, “V-vodka soda.”
“That for thelass.”
The bartender took one moment, an assessing gaze floating between us, before with a solemn nod he said, “Aye. Coming up.”
“What on earth was that?” I hissed as the bartender stepped away. “Are you trying to fool them that you’re a local?”
“God no,” he wheezed. “I worked out that if I make myself sound really idiotic, they take pity and serve me.”
“What was that evensupposedto be?”
