Shaking herself out of her spiraling thoughts, she scanned the street again until her eyes landed on a man holding out a map while his wife pointed down at different spots on it. He looked up and briefly surveyed his surroundings before burying his nose back into the map.
Nora was about to begin to pen down a line when it reminded her that she had a scheduled tour booked for the afternoon. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket to double-check the exact time. The instructions said to meet at Mercat Cross, a historic monument near St. Giles’ Cathedral at twelve o’clock. She checked her phone’s map to see where she was in respect to the meeting location. It looked close and as long as she gave herself enough time she could easily walk there.
She drank the last sip of her coffee, tucked her notebook back into her bag, and went to get herself ready for the day. Dressing warmly in a long-sleeved shirt with a heavy wool sweater, she opted for the warm boots she had worn on the plane instead of the cute leather ones she had packed in her bag. If she was going to be on a walking tour of the city, she damn well wanted to be warm and comfortable.
Women from Boston came to the bakery in Vermont all the time in the winter dressed in leggings and tall leather boots with long oversized sweaters. Of course, they looked stylish, but they also looked like human popsicles. The older she got, the more comfort and warmth won over fashion.Probably another reason I haven’t had a date in two years, she thought.
Her stomach grumbled as she combed her hair. It had beenmore than eighteen hours since she had eaten, and all of a sudden it was catching up with her. She began to get lightheaded, and for a moment she had to sit down to steady herself. She never went this long without eating. She stood back up and grabbed a bottle of water from the tiny refrigerator. It helped fill the giant void she felt in her belly just enough to get her back up and going again. She glanced at the clock above the stove. There was still a little over an hour before she had to meet the tour guide, so she decided to venture out into the streets to find a place to get a bite to eat.
Grabbing her winter hat, a pair of wool mittens, and her down-filled jacket, she headed out the door into the chilly December air. A breeze blew down the street, and the cold bit into her jeans causing her to shiver and raise the collar of her jacket.
The rush of the morning crowd had begun to peter out, and the streets became more relaxed. As she walked down the uneven cobblestones, she continued to take in the stunning architecture of the city. The buildings alternated between gray and tan-colored sandstone, sitting snugly next to each other as if fused together by time itself. There in the long string of conjoined buildings was a turret that sat neatly above a shop that sold touristy goods and trinkets. Painted in the bright blue of the Scottish flag, the shop stood out with its crisp white shutters and a black entryway. Out front a crowd gathered around racks sporting T-shirts and hats with the word Scotland written across them in bright bold letters. Her eyes wandered past the shop and down the street where the buildings weaved along the curving road. Their ornate chimneys filled the cold gray sky with tiny puffs of white smoke creating a light smog that hung just above the rooftops. The sounds of a bagpipe carried on the wind skirted their way through the streets, bringing with them the smell of freshly roasted coffee.
She followed her nose to a small cafe that sat tucked between a clothing boutique and a tiny antique shop. A sign in its window read Mel’s Breakfast and Lunch served daily.Bingo!she thought as she opened the bright red door. A gust of warm air with the rich aromas of coffee and savory spices greeted her as she stepped in from the cold. The cafe was small with a long counter that housed several stools, a window booth, and four tables that ran the length of the room.
Nora chose a small table that sat two by the window and pulled out a chair.
After peeling off her mittens and hat, she pulled out a menu from between a salt and pepper shaker set that sat in the center of the table. The menu included foods she had never heard of, such as Lorne sausage, black pudding, haggis, and tattie scones, along with what she thought were unusual breakfast choices like fried mushrooms, tomatoes, and baked beans. She was relieved to see eggs and bacon on the menu, as well as toast.
Within a few minutes, a waitress came walking over to her with a notepad in one hand and a coffee decanter in the other.
“Hi there, what can I get for you?” she said in her thick Scottish accent as she flipped over a coffee cup and filled it up.
“Hmm, I’m not quite sure,” she said, looking down at the menu as her stomach let out a loud groan as if to say,Hurry up and fill me.
“Sounds to me like you’re in need of a full Scottish breakfast,” the waitress said with a bit of a giggle.
Nora turned a light shade of red and gave the woman an awkward smile.
“What’s a full Scottish breakfast?”
“Well, you got your Lorne sausage, black pudding, tattie scones, baked beans, fried eggs, and bacon, along withmushrooms, tomatoes, and toast. You can also add haggis if you would like.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’m that hungry. How about we skip the black pudding, baked beans, and haggis,” she told the girl.
“You got it. It’ll be right out,” the waitress told her as she pulled the pen from her ear and scribbled on the notepad before walking back into the kitchen.
Nora looked out the window, watching people walk by as she sipped her coffee. It started to snow, and the scene looked like something she had seen on one of her grandmother’s postcards. She thought about the tales her gram had told her when she was a child. Fantastical stories of magic here in this same city. She had always told Nora that it wasn’t until she came to Scotland that her life truly began. Nora clung to this idea, hoping the same fate would await her, that her life might finally begin to take shape with a little help from that good old Scottish magic her grandmother spoke of.
She was only going to be in the city for a few days before she ventured into the Highlands for the remainder of her trip. Nora had chosen to visit the village of Letterfearn, from one of the postcards in the album. As far as she could tell, it was the only spot in the Highlands her grandmother had documented going to. It was quite far north, near the Isle of Skye, and the thought she was venturing there alone made her a bit nervous, to say the least. But she was doing her best to get excited. She had rented a cabin on the lake, or loch as they called it here, for the week. It looked like the ideal spot to hunker down and get in some relaxation and reading.
Nora picked up a paper on the empty table next to her and began reading the local news. She was halfway into an article about a lunar eclipse that was going to take place in the northern part of the country within the next few days when the waitresscame back over. The plate was piled so high with food it looked as if it could have served an army.
“Here ya go,” she said, setting the enormous plate of food down in front of her.
“Wow, that’s a lot of food.”
“I bet you get at least half that in you,” the waitress joked. “Just let me know if you need anything else,” she said as she walked over to a group of people who had just come in.
Nora had no idea where to begin. There was what looked like a sausage patty, fried eggs, bacon, some sort of flatbread, and a load of grilled mushrooms and tomatoes. The first thing she went for was the bacon, then the eggs. She was unsure about the other things on her plate, but she figured, when in Scotland! She forked a heap of the mushrooms and tomatoes. They were surprisingly tasty, and she ate almost all of them. She moved on to the potato flatbread, which she loved with its crispy edges and salty taste. By the time she was done sampling everything, she had almost cleared her plate. She was used to having muffins or scones for breakfast at the bakery, not a three-course meal. She was so stuffed she was worried her pants button might pop off and ricochet across the room.
She looked down at her phone. It was almost time to meet the tour guide, and she had about a four-minute walk to the monument, according to Google Maps. She paid her bill, bundled herself back up, and headed out into the cold, windy street toward the next adventure on her list.
Chapter Eight
Heart of the City
As Nora strolled down Cockburn Street and onto the Royal Mile, an unfamiliar sensation stirred within her. Initially, it felt like the onset of panic but soon morphed into something resembling the pull of a magnet, urging her forward. The closer she got to the monument, the stronger the sensation became until her entire body thrummed with it, resonating like a tuning fork that had just been struck. Snow spun up on the wind, whirling around her in a tiny vortex. Then, as quickly as it had come on, the feeling disappeared, as if whatever unseen force had drawn her toward that section of the street had completed its task and receded into the shadows.
