Nearing the bookstore, Nora paused at a street vendor to purchase a cup of coffee. With a busy schedule ahead, she knew she was going to need the pick-me-up. Not only that, but she needed something to wash down the remnants of the two-day-old gingerbread man. It was then she saw a place from the album she had missed the first day she had walked on the Royal Mile. An old church-style building fronted with a statue of a man named Adam Smith stood before her. She pulled out her phone and tried to capture a photo that looked like her grandmother’s, then tucked her phone away and kept moving down the street.
She passed the little wine and spirits shop where she had bought the bottle of wine and began scanning the street for the bookshop. Nora knew the bookstore was just a few shops up the street from the liquor store, but she couldn’t find it. Confusion overtook her as she approached the top of the street without spotting the quaint little store. Turning back, she slowed her pace, scanning every inch of the street in search of the elusive bookshop. Could it be in the opposite direction of the wine shop?My jet lag was pretty severe that day, she thought as she peered down the other end of the street. Dismissing the idea, she remembered taking a photo when she stepped out of the shop—she should be able to spot the bookstore in that image.
She pulled her phone from her back pocket again and scrolled to the picture. She was definitely standing in the right spot as there was a little candle shop across the street from where she stood in the picture and where she was standing in the present. But there was no bookshop, just a small bar and a clothing boutique. Scrutinizing the photo, she saw the bookshop’s teal door right on the edge of the picture next to the pub, but when she looked in front of her there was nothing there but a brick wall between the bar and boutique.
“What the hell?” she said as she looked around completely puzzled. Her head was spinning as a dizzying array of questions played in her mind like the triangle in a Magic 8 Ball, bobbing in and out.
What was going on? A whole bookshop doesn’t just up and disappear. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe she was on the wrong side of the street and wasn’t getting the correct angle. She walked across to have a look, but there was still no bookshop in sight. Completely perplexed, she stood for a long time looking back and forth between the photo and the street before her, hoping beyond hope she wasn’t imagining things. Was she going mad? Had the stress of the trip and the fact she had put off telling her parents about not wanting to take over the bakery made her crack?
She glanced back down at her phone and noticed she only had a few minutes to get to Edinburgh Bus Station. She pulled up Google Maps and began walking the route toward the station as snow started to fall softly, landing on her phone screen, and melting away into tiny droplets of water that obscured her view. She was wiping them off when she caught a glimpse in the reflection of her phone of a couple standing in front of a large storefront window.
Nora looked up to see one of the grandest wreaths she had ever seen. A couple posed for a photo, sharing a kiss within the wreath’s center. A pang of longing swept over her, and in that moment, she missed Sam. She shook her head, blinking away tears that threatened to spill forth. She hated herself for still missing him, even after how badly things had ended between them. His final words still echoed in her head.I need a partner with a clear vision for the future, someone who knows who they are and what they want.Even now after two years, those words stung, mostly because she knew they were true.
In that moment she realized his words had made her retreatinward, building a wall around her heart for safety’s sake. After the breakup, she had always chosen the safe, easy way, and maybe that was part of her problem. Look at her now, though. She had pushed herself to take this solo trip to Scotland, marking the first genuinely daring and exciting thing she had done since their relationship had ended. She was trying to change, to break out and become her own person, to find what made her tick and she was proud of that.
Nora reflected on her reluctance to take over the bakery. Maybe her subconscious was rebelling against the safety and predictability that path would take. The more she thought about it, the more the mysterious little red book and the disappearing bookstore seemed like her mind’s way of injecting a bit of excitement into her life. As she came up to Edinburgh Bus Station, the idea made sense to her.
The bus station stood apart from the other buildings with its sleek modern look. The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, a symphony of departure announcements and hurried footsteps matched with the rhythmic clatter of train wheels from Waverley Station next door, creating a mosaic of sounds. Travelers lugging backpacks and dragging suitcases weaved through the vibrant tapestry. A distinct scent of freshly roasted coffee combined with a hint of train exhaust clung to the air. Ready to head to the next stop on her adventure, Nora found her way through the organized chaos to Bus 19, to Kyle of Lochalsh.
She weaved through the people and walked the long row of buses to where hers was boarding. Handing her bags over to a man packing them below the bus, she got in line. The bus was nearly full when Nora boarded, and luckily she managed to secure a seat close to the front, knowing it was going to be close to a six-hour ride. Past experiences had taught her that her stomach preferredthis location on a bus. The memory of her sixth-grade field trip to Montreal flashed in her mind, a lesson learned the hard way. Back then, thinking she was cool sitting in the back, she ended up vomiting all over Tommy Hood, her unfortunate seatmate. Nora cringed at the recollection; it had taken her ages to live down that embarrassing mishap.
As the bus began its journey, Nora watched the ancient city faded from view and the vast countryside expanded before her. They soon ventured onto a large bridge with huge white steel cables, fanning out like sun rays drawn by a child, spanned across a large body of gray water that mimicked the sky at that very moment. The farther they drove on the M90, the wider and more rigid the landscape began to look. She watched as the sun crept in and out of the thick gray clouds, as if it were trying to escape its confines and race the bus, keeping steady pace beside it.
Nora retrieved her notebook. The couple kissing in the wreath’s center and the resurfacing emotions about Sam had her feeling a bit raw. She knew writing them down in verse might help them escape her mind, so she began to pour her emotions out onto the page. It was the third verse she wrote that stopped her in her tracks:A heart not broken but drowned instead. In depths of sorrow, lost and misled.Nora realized the extent to which Sam still held a piece of her heart, a piece she had freely given away and never reclaimed. She knew she needed to let him go, mend the missing pieces of her, and move forward with her life. But these things were easier said than done.
She decided to write a list of all the things she enjoyed doing that did not include the attention of a man. The list began with the obvious things, such as reading and writing, then moved on to things like gardening, crocheting, ice skating, and hiking. She surprised herself by filling out almost two full pages before herstomach let out a groan of hunger. Unzipping her shoulder bag, she rooted around for the last gingerbread cookie. She had been so caught up in finding the bookshop that she had neglected to eat breakfast. The lone gingerbread man would have to tide her over for the four remaining hours she would be on the bus. Things weren’t looking in her favor, but she would survive.
After finishing the gingerbread man and jotting down more thoughts in her notebook, Nora found herself playing the mental game of “Guess Their Job” with the couple ahead of her. The man, middle-aged with clean-cut hair and a freshly shaved face, was dressed in a North Face jacket and a pair of well-worn Salomon hiking boots. Judging by his polished appearance and high-end yet not overly flashy hiking gear, Nora figured he was in middle management, possibly in corporate finance. The woman, noticeably younger, had freshly bleached hair and sported new hiking boots and a rain slicker she had forgotten to remove the tags from. Nora guessed she was probably his secretary who was trying to impress him but had absolutely no hiking experience whatsoever.
Eventually, Nora decided to rest her head and attempt to sleep. All this thinking about Sam had her mind still spinning, and she figured a quick nap might do the trick of washing him free of her thoughts. She managed to doze off for a few hours until a sudden kick to the back of her seat jolted her awake.
Waiting for her eyes to adjust, she turned around and peered through the crack between the two seats to see who had so rudely interrupted her nap. There, seated next to a petite woman in her fifties, was the arrogant man from the Christmas Market.
Chapter Seventeen
Sassenach
As she peeked through the crack, Nora’s eyes met his, and she quickly turned around, her mouth going dry at the sight of him.
“You,” she heard him say in a disgusted tone of voice.
She had had enough of this guy’s attitude. What had she done to him anyway, other than get a bit of meat pie on his chest?
Nora pulled every ounce of courage she had and popped her head up over the seat and said, “Yes, it’s me. Is there a problem?”
“If by ‘problem’ you mean that my country has been infiltrated with Americans coming over here to go on Outlander tours, then yes, there is a problem,” he said in a smug voice. The woman beside him looked over and gave him a scowl, then slowly pulled her jacket over a shirt that said Sassenach.
“I’ll have you know that I am not here for an Outlander tour. I’m here to experience my roots.”
“Let me guess. You took a DNA test and found out you’re two percent Scottish, so you decided to fly over to Scotland to try to figure out where this fits into your life. Maybe meet a rugged Scotsman and fall in love, yadda yadda yadda,” he said in such a condescending tone she wanted to reach over the seat and slap him across the face. Instead, she just turned back around and crossed her arms.
“Nailed it, didn’t I?” she heard him say.
Nora peeked her head back up to face him again.
“Why on God’s green earth would I want to fall in love with a Scotsman? From what I can see, they are arrogant dickheads,” she said in such a forceful tone she surprised herself. This guy really got under her skin. She turned back around to face the front of the bus again but not before she saw the woman beside him give her a thumbs-up.
That had shut him up but had also sent her head spinning. Half of what he said sounded like her life story, and she hated how it sounded coming out of his mouth. She spent the rest of the bus ride ruminating on what that meant but came to no conclusion other than she loathed him.
