Under the table, his shoe brushes against mine, and my body reacts, leaning toward him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says softly. His hand travels across the tablecloth, inching toward the spot where mine rests, our fingers almost touching.
“Would you—” He stops, his full lips closing, but I can’t look away. His eyes are bright, his stubble glinting under the overhead light. I remember the way he kissed me that morning, when we’dwoken up together the first time, the way I felt the faint sandpapery texture of his skin against my cheek.
His hand slides forward, the edge of his thumb brushing against my pinky, sending sparks along my skin.
“Would you maybe—”
“Iain,” a woman’s voice calls. “It’s going to be all right!”
A second later, the door to the kitchen swings open and Iain steps out, a thin sheen of sweat on his pale forehead.
“It won’t be,” he says, his brogue thick. Elsie follows him, stopping when she sees that Jacob and I are in here.
Jacob rises to his feet. “Sorry,” he says. “We were just leaving.”
Elsie waves a hand. “No, no. Take your time. There’s no hurry.”
“No hurry,” Iain mutters, shaking his head, and Elsie shoots him a look.
“We have hours until we need to be there, Iain.”
“Yes,” he says. He frowns, his mouth twisting under his neatly trimmed white beard. “Only hours to sort all of this out.”
I get up as well, placing my napkin on the table. It’s clear the two of them need some privacy.
I try to catch Jacob’s eye, but he’s looking between Elsie and Iain. They’re both clad in formal attire. Elsie in a long-sleeved, starchy black dress, and Iain in a black suit.
“You’re closing to go to a funeral today,” Jacob says, the words coming out more as a statement than a question.
Elsie looks up at him. “Yes,” she says. “For Iain’s brother.”
“I’m sorry,” Jacob says.
Iain nods, but otherwise barely acknowledges him. He’s staring out at something, his pallor a bit concerning.
I take a step toward them. “Is there anything we could help with?”
“No,” Elsie says. “It’s kind of you to ask, but we’ve just had a last-minute setback, that’s all.”
“Setback,” Iain grumbles. “Of all days for Colin to be sick.”
“He can’t help it,” Elsie says gently. “But we can have the service without him.”
“We can, but we shouldna have to.” Iain sighs. “It’s all he wanted. The same song that was played at our grandad’s funeral.”
“What song?” Jacob asks.
“ ‘Abide with Me,’ ” Elsie responds. “It’s a—”
“I know it,” Jacob says. He pauses. “Colin was your bagpiper?”
Elsie gapes. “Yes, but—”
“I can do it. I have my pipes upstairs.”
Iain’s mouth parts, disbelief on his face, and I don’t know why, but I feel the need to chime in. “He can,” I say. “He played at my father’s wedding.” I leave out that that wedding ended in shambles. After all, that had nothing to do with Jacob’s piping. “He’s very good.”
