It isn’t just the two of us that’s different, though… but her. She’s somehow strong, yet vulnerable. Intelligent, but innocent. And I’m eager to know so much more about her.
I finally fall into a deep and dreamless sleep, content with her by my side.
When I wake the next day, she’s still deep in the throes of slumber. I typically wake early, when the sun rises, for there’s nothing more beautiful than watching the sun rise from my front porch.
It’s the quietest time of day, and I’ve always felt that hope came in the morning. After Tavish died, I lost that hope for a time. I’m fighting to get it back.
I toss on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, careful not to wake her, and go down to the kitchen to put on the kettle. Snow falls heavily from the sky in tiny flakes. We’ve an expression around here.Little flake, big snow. Big flake, little snow.Tiny flakes accumulate the most.
I frown at the white vision out my window. I hope this doesn’t impact our ability to travel to Inverness today. Instead of sitting on the porch, I sit at the rocker beside the window, sipping the bracing cup of strong black tea and watching the snow fall in little flakes outside my window.
I’m on my second cup when I hear a rustling sound in the loft. A few minutes later, Cairstina peeks down, all tousle-haired and cute. When she sees me, she waves, then immediately blushes, as if she’s realized she’s not acted the way she should.
“Good morning, lass. You had a wee bit of rest, eh?”
She nods, as if to wish me a good morning back. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts that’s so big on her it nearly hits her knees, as she turns around and comes down the ladder from the loft.
“Cup of tea? Kettle’s in the kitchen.” She nods, and goes to the kitchen to fetch it.
A moment later, I hear a crashing sound. I put my cup down and run to the kitchen to see if she’s alright. She’s standing over the sink, a dishtowel over her hand, a pained expression on her face. Red seeps through the towel.
“Bloody hell, what happened?”
She points to a shattered mug on the floor. I step over it and walk to her, taking her hand in mine and unwrapping the towel.
“Och, what a mess,” I say as I look at her lacerated hand. “Doesn’t look so deep you need stitches, but we’d best bandage you up. Seems it may’ve startled you more than anything.”
I lead her out of the kitchen to go sit in the living room with the towel wrapped around her hand while I head to the toilet to get some bandages. When I come back, she’s quietly crying.
“Does it hurt badly, lass?”
She shakes her head. Not too painful, then.
“Were you frightened?”
She shakes her head again.
I frown while I take her injured hand into my lap, gently unwind the towel, and disinfect her cut. It’s not much more than a scratch when it’s all cleaned up. I reach for her mobile and hand it to her.
“Then what is it? Tell me.”
She’s clumsy typing with only the use of her left hand.
I shouldn’t have broken your cup. I am sorry.
I shrug. “No use worrying about all that. It had no sentimental value whatsoever.” I don’t even fucking know how it got here. House help or something, I suppose. I only use the one mug I have.
She sniffs again, and she can’t shake the frightened look. Christ, did her family belittle her for breaking things or something similar?
“Is there something else bothering you, lass?”
She fumbles at the phone, clearly frustrated she can’t communicate quickly like she did before.
No one’s ever been tender with me before, and I have to admit, I feel honored because you are not the type to really be tender with… well, anyone.
I can tell there’s so much more for her to say, as her finger hesitates over the keys, but she doesn’t send another message.
I bring her injured hand to my lips and kiss it. “You make it easy, Cairstina.”
