“You three can argue over the shower at Mum and Dad’s while Abby and I use mine,” he says.As we carry on up the stairs toward his apartment two floors up, I hear Brodie say, “That gives me an idea: Drew and I can shower together to save time and water.”
An image of Graeme and me showering together flits through my mind.With more reluctance than I care to admit, I dismiss it before it can fully form.
We reach the top floor, and Graeme unlocks the large blue door to his apartment.At Drew’s insistence, he gave us a brief tour on our first day here, but we haven’t been back since, partly because Graeme has been with us every waking hour, playing tour guide and chauffeur, and partly because there’s not much to see.His parents rented the apartment to a family friend while Graeme was in Canada, and they wanted to furnish it for him before he moved back, but he insisted that after living in a fully-furnished rental for years, he wanted to decorate the place himself.They got a few pieces out of storage so he’d have somewhere to sit and sleep while he got settled, but he hasn’t had time to shop for anything else.
Without a word, we remove our jackets and boots, and then he leads me into the kitchen, where he puts the kettle on.“If you make us some tea, I’ll get a bath running for you,” he says.“Hopefully soaking in hot water will keep you from getting too sore after your spill.”
He leaves the room, and I poke around while the kettle comes to a boil.I take in the pale wood of the cabinet doors, the two-seater table against the wall, and the pantry.The shelves are bare except for a small group of cans on one shelf.Once Graeme has time to shop, I’m sure it’ll be packed with ingredients.I picture him in here cooking meals for himself and washing dishes at the small sink.I smile to myself when my gaze lands on the washing machine.I’ll never forget his and Brodie’s amused reactions to Drew, Fern, and me being completely baffled by a washing machine in the kitchen of all places.
The kettle finishes boiling, and I find two mismatched mugs and a tin of teabags.While the tea steeps, I wander around the rest of the apartment, finding myself lingering in what Graeme told us will be his office.In Mr.and Mrs.MacKinlay’s place, this is where the room Fern and I share is situated, so the view out the window is familiar, although Graeme’s apartment is two storeys higher.Moray House, part of the University of Edinburgh, is directly across the street, and Arthur’s Seat looms in the distance.The fog has cleared, and the sky is full of fluffy, grey-lined clouds.You’d never know there had been rain of biblical proportions less than half an hour ago.I hear Drew’s laughing voice in my head, saying, “Weather whiplash!”
Back in the kitchen, I get our mugs and take them to the bathroom.Graeme is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring absently into the swirling water as the tub fills.A lit candle flickers on the vanity by the frosted-glass window, and a light floral scent hangs in the air.
“The previous tenants left a few things behind, and Mum left them for me.”Graeme’s voice is soft, but it still startles me from my thoughts.“There was an unopened packet of bath salts, which I thought you might like.”
“Smells amazing.”I move further into the room and hand him one of the mugs.He thanks me, and we sip our tea in silence.After a minute, he sticks his hand in the bathwater to test the temperature, then turns off the tap, plunging the room into silence.Steam wafts from the water, reminding me of the Scottish fog—or ‘haar’ as Graeme and Brodie call it.
Graeme hands me his mug and motions toward the counter.After setting both of our cups down, I take in his wet, mud-splattered clothes.Even his socks are damp, despite the sturdy, well-made boots he was wearing.“You should have showered first.”
“It’s fine, I grabbed a towel to dry off, and I can wash up a bit in the kitchen sink,” he says.“If you leave your clothes by the bathroom door, I’ll scoop them up in a few minutes and throw everything in the wash.I’ve left you some towels and a dressing gown for when you’re finished.”
“You thought of everything,” I say.He always does.
A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.“You can cross something else off your Scotland list now.”
“What, falling ass over teakettle down an extinct volcano?”
He shakes his head and chuckles, long and low.“I meant hiking Arthur’s Seat.And it’s ‘arse over tit’ here, by the way.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh.Graeme’s smile turns into a full-blown grin as I continue to giggle.The fondness painted openly across his features makes my cheeks heat.
“You had a picnic on your list too, didn’t you?”he asks.
“That’s right, I forgot.”I started making a list of things I wanted to do and see in Scotland the same night Graeme told me about the trip.Besides Arthur’s Seat and the picnic, we’ve visited both Edinburgh Castle and the Palace of Holyroodhouse, wandered through Greyfriars Kirkyard, seen a bagpiper in full regalia, gone on a road trip to the Highlands, and tried haggis and Cullen skink.
“If the weather cooperates, we could have more picnics,” Graeme says.“You loved Princes Street Gardens and The Meadows, so we could go back to both.We don’t even have to pack something, we could stop at a chippy.”
Forgetting about my sore hip, I lean against the counter and let out a little gasp.Graeme is looking right at me, so I can’t pretend I’m not in pain.
He waves me over.“Come on, let’s see it.”
I stand in front of him and inch the right side of my leggings down.Graeme grips the bottom of my shirt and seeks my gaze, silently asking for permission before lifting it to get a better look.I hiss when his fingers accidentally brush the inflamed area.
“Och, sweetheart,” he says, barely audible.“That’s going to leave a nasty bruise.Hopefully the bath will stave off the worst of the aches and pains.”
His arm loops around my back, gently gripping my other hip to pull me closer.His brows are pulled together as he inspects the mottled skin.After almost three years of knowing Graeme, I thought I was familiar with all of his expressions, but I’ve never seen this particular one, and I can’t quite name it.He leans in and his warm breath ghosts over my skin a second before his lips touch it.The gesture, paired with the way his eyes slip closed, is so tender it makes me want to cry.
I make a small noise in the back of my throat.Graeme’s eyes fly open, and his hands drop from where they were loosely holding me in place.He stands abruptly, the lengths of our bodies brushing.
“I’m sorry, Abby, I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” I say quickly, cutting him off.The word comes out so forcefully it serves to finally jar his gaze back to mine.I feel a bit shaky, and the uncertainty in his eyes doesn’t help.“It’s fine.You took me by surprise, that’s all.It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to kiss my boo-boos.”
The ridiculousness of my statement has the desired effect, making Graeme chuckle.He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding my gaze once more as he grips the back of his neck.“Happy to help.I’ll leave you to it.Don’t forget to put your clothes by the door, and I’ll grab them in a few minutes.”
Alone in the bathroom a minute later, I strip out of my filthy clothes.The bathroom is at the beginning of the hall that leads to the rest of the rooms, but I still inch the door open and peek out before I leave my clothes outside.I know Graeme meant for me to put them inside the door, but after what just happened, I imagine he’d feel awkward coming in, even though the tub isn’t visible from the doorway.
A prolonged moan of pleasure escapes me as I slip into the hot, fragrant water.I close my eyes, and Graeme’s face flashes through my mind.The almost reverent way he kissed me, his lips feather light on my skin, and his eyes falling shut.The gentle yet firm way he held me in place.In that moment, I felt precious to him.It was comforting and soothing, and yet...something about it turned me on.That wasn’t a friend kissing another friend, at least not in any way I’ve ever experienced.
