This morning over breakfast, Brodie announced he’d like to take Drew on a romantic date tonight after Fern casually mentioned she was having dinner with the guy she met at a coffee shop yesterday.Graeme had turned to me and said, “That leaves you and me, Pumpkin Spice.Will you be my date for the evening?”
We’ve been on plenty of friend dates over the years, but something has been shifting between us since that day after our hike up Arthur’s Seat.I’ve caught him watching me several times with a pensive expression, and he’s been touching me far less than usual.He also hasn’t been as chatty as he normally is.When I asked him yesterday if everything was okay, he smiled and said, “Everything’s grand, Spicy.”Him asking me on a date for tonight made me think I must have been reading too much into his recent behaviour.
I’d assured Drew I was fine on my own and wanted everyone to stick to their plans for the evening.It felt strange being out in the city on my own—hell, it felt strange being on my own, period—but I quickly got swept up in exploring and taking pictures.The pub we ate lunch at was close to The Meadows, so after exploring a couple of streets I was unfamiliar with, I wandered in the park, admiring the cherry blossoms.We’d already been there a few times and I had dozens of pictures of the trees, but I couldn’t get enough of them.The others never make me feel rushed when I’m in photographer mode, but there are times when I feel bad for taking so long, so it was nice to go at my own pace.
The sun was still shining at that point, so I sat on a bench, unable to contain my grin as soft pink blossoms fluttered around me and accumulated at my feet and in my upturned palms.I watched a group of kids playing rugby, and greeted several enthusiastic dogs who came my way for attention.I had no destination in mind when I set off from The Meadows.Despite the noticeable drop in temperature and the creeping fog, I veered down side streets, checked out a few small shops, and bought myself a couple of Empire biscuits at a bakery.
Traffic noise picks up now as I round a corner.Recognition hits me when I spy the bronze statue of Greyfriars Bobby up ahead.The famous Skye Terrier, who reportedly remained by his owner’s grave for fourteen years until his own death, sits across from the entrance to Greyfriars Kirkyard.We toured the kirk and kirkyard—or church and graveyard—on our first day here, and we’ve ended up there a couple of times since.Something about this place keeps calling me back.
Apparently, it’s calling me again because I find myself passing through the now-familiar wrought-iron gates.A shiver skitters up my spine as I stroll up the first footpath.The fog is still thick, and it clings to the graves, nearly obscuring the nearby cherry blossom trees.During the guided tour we did last week, I was pleased to see how the others hung on the guide’s every word just as much as I did.The graveyard dates back to the late sixteenth century, and is not only one of the most famous in the world, it’s also supposedly one of the most haunted.
Drew had shuddered dramatically at my side as the guide regaled us with tales of ghosts and poltergeists, and told us that many visitors report unexplained scratches and bruises after visiting certain sections of the graveyard.We were particularly creeped out by the graves with cages over them, and were both fascinated and horrified to learn about the history of grave robbing in the eighteenth and early nineteenth century by so-called ‘resurrection men’ who would dig up graves and sell the corpses to anatomists who were in need of fresh cadavers for studying.
I pause by an enormous monument that’s been discoloured by time and the elements.Another shiver rolls through me as I take a picture of the skull and crossbones carved into the stone.A pair of crows call to each other overhead, and I can’t help but smile to myself as I think about how they add to the creepy ambience.I scroll through the last few shots I took on my camera, unsure whether or not I hope to see something on the screen that I didn’t catch with my naked eye.I’ve heard of people capturing strange shadows and ghostly spectres on film, and if it was ever going to happen for me, I imagine this would be the place.
The path I’m on is deserted and the graveyard is quiet, but something makes me lift my head.Goosebumps race across my skin, and I get the strange sensation I’m being watched.I’ve had that same feeling during every other visit to Greyfriars.
My heart leaps into my throat as a shadow shifts up ahead.I try to move, but my feet are rooted to the ground.A choked laugh escapes me when the shape takes form, and Graeme emerges from the fog like some sort of Gothic romance hero.The second he sees me, his eyes light up, and a smile overtakes his face.
“There you are,” he says as he approaches.“Sorry if I startled you.I was walking along Candlemaker Row, and something compelled me to turn into the kirkyard.”He stops in front of me, hooking his fingers gently into the cashmere shawl I’m using as a scarf.“Not sure I’ll ever get over seeing you in my family tartan.”
He’s wearing a similar scarf under his dark peacoat.His hair is tousled, and his cheeks are ruddy from the nip in the air.He’s so beautiful it stirs up the sense of longing I felt earlier.I’ve tried to convince myself the ache is tied to the idea of leaving Scotland the day after tomorrow, but there’s no denying it’s more than that.I can’t stand the thought of leaving Graeme.Of being thousands of kilometres and an entire ocean away from him.
I take a step back.His hands fall from my scarf and drop to his sides.Confusion flits over his face until I raise my camera and aim it at him.His smile returns, although this time it’s soft and affectionate, and I swear it holds a bit of the yearning that’s swelling inside me.I want to remember him in this moment, my handsome Gothic hero surrounded by fog in a city I’ve fallen in love with.
“What do you feel like doing tonight?”he asks after I’ve lowered my camera.“If you want more time on your own, we can meet up later.”
“No, I think you found me for a reason,” I say.
He hums in agreement, shifting to look over his shoulder, and murmuring something that sounds like, “I do too.”He shoves his hands in his pockets as he turns back to me.“Feels like rain.Want to get inside somewhere warm?”
“Good ide—” The words turn into an indignant gasp as the sky opens and rain pelts down, landing like icy needles on my face.Graeme helps me put my camera away, then grabs my hand and pulls me toward the nearest tree for shelter.
“Great day to decide not to wear my mac,” he says wryly, referring to the waterproof jacket he usually wears.
I don’t tell him how sexy he looks in that peacoat or how the sight of him in it will no doubt fuel illicit fantasies for months to come.“I didn’t expect it to be this cold here,” I say instead, inching closer to him for warmth.He puts his arm around me and draws me against his body.We’re mostly protected from the rain under this tree, but the occasional droplet falls on my hood with a loud plop.“I feel like a bad Canadian for complaining about the cold.”
He chuckles.“It’s a different kind of cold here.The damp can seep right into your bones, and you rarely get the sun for long enough to warm you up.”We’re quiet for a minute, watching as the rain slowly clears the fog away.Graeme’s hold tightens on me when I shiver.“Do you still love Scotland despite her unpredictable, ever-changing weather?I’ve always thought of you as a sunshine girl.”
“I think my love for this country is officially unconditional,” I say, tilting my head up to look at him.“Dreichweather and all.”
Graeme’s smile holds a hint of pride at my use of the Scots word for dreary.Brodie spent several minutes the other day getting Fern and me to say it properly, with the guttural ‘ch’ sound at the end.
It hits me suddenly how close our faces are when Graeme laughs under his breath, and the warmth of it ghosts over my lips.I’m about to duck my head when he grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding me in place.His eyebrows bunch together as his gaze sweeps over my face, landing briefly on my mouth before returning to meet my eyes.His face and hair are damp from the rain, with droplets glistening in his dark tresses and eyelashes.
The cerulean depths of his eyes hold a question I’ve only seen once or twice before.The last time was the night of my breakup with Tripp, when Graeme told me about Scotland, and I threw myself at him in a hug.We’d been this close then too, faces just a breath apart, bodies pressed together.
My fingers act of their own free will, tightening in the front of Graeme’s coat.He lowers his head slowly, our eyes locked until mine fall shut.His lips brush mine so lightly I might be imagining it.A sigh escapes me as his mouth presses against mine, firm and soft at the same time.My eyes fly open when he releases his grip on my chin, but in the next instant, his hands cup my face, thumbs sweeping over my cheeks.His cool skin sends tingles racing through my entire body.
That question is back in his eyes.I nod this time, certain of what I’m agreeing to.There are a million reasons I shouldn’t want Graeme MacKinlay to kiss me right now, but I don’t give a damn about a single one of them.
He tilts my face and lowers his head, letting his lips trail over mine in a whisper-soft tease.He presses a kiss to one corner of my mouth, then the other.When I let out another soft sigh, the puff of air on my skin tells me Graeme is laughing softly, but I don’t open my eyes.I want to see him, want to know what his expression is in the instant before he finally kisses me for real, but I’m afraid opening my eyes will somehow break the spell.
His lips meet mine in earnest, all hints of teasing gone.I let out a soft moan when our tongues touch, and he drops one hand to the small of my back to haul me closer.The damp chill in the air fades along with the pitter-patter of rain around us as my senses are overtaken by Graeme’s taste and scent and the feel of his hands on me.My hands roam, caressing the rough stubble on his jaw, then diving into his hair.When a full-body shiver rolls through me, his mouth leaves mine, eliciting a whimper that makes me bury my face in the front of his coat.
I can’t hear him laughing, but I can feel the vibration of it, just like I can feel his heart knocking against my cheek, even through the layers of his sweater and coat.My own heart is racing so fast it’s reverberating throughout my entire body.
Graeme holds me close, his hands gliding over my back in a way that’s both soothing and arousing.“Think it’s sacrilegious to make out in a kirkyard?”
