Sparks in Scotland Read online

  When the family neared us, I swallowed and crossed my arms over my chest. Then dropped my hands and propped one on my hip. Then dropped that hand too. Good grief, I felt awkward and dorky compared to his effortless movements.

  His mom beamed at my mom, then rushed over to give her a hug. “Oh my God!” the woman said in a bubbly tone as they squeezed each other. “I missed you so much! I can’t believe you’re here. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for this.” When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes.

  I couldn’t help but smile at the warmth between the two women. My mom’s eyes glistened with tears too, and she gushed to Mollie about how beautiful Scotland was and what our trip here had been like.

  Dad stuck out his hand to Steaphan, and the two men introduced themselves. Then Steaphan introduced himself to me and waved Graham over.

  “Good mornin’!” Steaphan said to me with a hearty smile. “Nice to meet ya! This here’s my son, Graham.”

  My pulse thudded in my veins as I shook Graham’s hand, which was warm and firm and so inviting. “Hi,” I said.

  He gave me a curt nod, then stepped away.

  My stomach lurched at his abrupt response, but I made myself smile wider to cover my feelings. Okay then. Obviously Graham didn’t want to be forced to hang out with me today. No biggie—I’d make sure to stay with our moms then. He could walk around by himself.

  I shook off my frustration and turned to my mom. “Ready to go inside?” I asked her in a chipper voice. No way was I going to let this guy get to me.

  She gave my dad a kiss on the cheek. “You men behave.”

  Dad shook his head as he chuckled, while Steaphan winked. Obviously the two would get along fine. They walked away, and our group of four strolled to the ticket line. Mom and Mollie were talking so fast it was almost dizzying. When was the last time I’d seen her this happy?

  It made my heart feel a pang for Corinne. This was a country to be shared with someone you cared about. Not a stranger who didn’t seem to think me worthy of even polite conversation. Corinne would have had something blunt to say about his attitude. That thought gave me a smile.

  The stone walls everywhere were stunning. I took in the old buildings around us, the cobblestones on the ground. I snapped a shot of the castle grounds with my phone—I wasn’t allowed to use it to send pictures, but I could upload them later and send in a chat.

  “So, where to first?” Mom asked Mollie.

  She shrugged, then turned to me. “What do you fancy looking at?”

  I smiled. Her voice held a trace of Scottish accent and slang, even though she’d been an American for the first half of her life. “What if we just wander around and go into buildings as we get to them?”

  Mom nodded, then threaded her arm through Mollie’s, and they walked a few steps ahead of us. Graham fell into pace at my side, maintaining a polite distance between us. His body language was stiff, which made me feel awkward as well. Did he dislike all Americans, or was it just me?

  We made our way into the heart of the castle grounds and looked at the exterior of the Governor’s House, then popped into the National War Museum of Scotland.

  “This place must be super old,” I murmured to myself while I walked. There was a tour guide nearby talking with a small group, so I listened in as the guide pointed out the uniforms and weapons displayed and gave historical background on the battles they’d been used in.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Graham walking along, examining each piece with studious care. The light in the building glinted in his dark hair. He really was attractive. Too bad he wasn’t friendly at all.

  He walked over to Mom and Mollie, and a brief but genuine smile creased his face, which made my heart stop in my chest for a moment. Wow. The gesture really transformed him from brooding and disinterested to engaging and magnetic.

  Apparently it was just me he didn’t want to talk to. But how could I have offended the guy before I’d even met him?

  Maybe he’d gotten a negative first impression of me somehow. Had my mom told his mom something embarrassing or bad? Or was he ticked about being forced to hang out with me when he wanted to be somewhere else?

  Whatever. I ripped my gaze away from them and went back to looking at the exhibits. This vacation wasn’t about trying to get a guy to like me. It was about learning the ins and outs of Scotland. I wasn’t going to get into that dating pattern again.

  Already been there, done that, with David.

  I bit back a sigh. David, my first real boyfriend, who’d captured my heart last year in an all-encompassing way. He sang with our high school’s glee club, was creative like me, and was the life of every gathering. When we’d first started talking at a friend’s birthday party, I’d been so flattered by his attention. He’d given me this broad, charming smile and told me I was the prettiest girl in the room.

  And I’d eaten it up, hook, line, and sinker.

  Our relationship had started so well, I never would have suspected it ending the way it had—with him dumping me so unceremoniously, saying in that cold voice that he’d never really liked me the way I’d liked him.

  Mom and Mollie walked over toward me, whispering back and forth about the exhibits.

  “It’s sad how bloody and violent Scotland’s history is,” I heard Mom said quietly.

  Mollie nodded. “One thing I’ve learned since living here is Scottish pride. Despite their war-torn past, the Scottish still believe in their country and are proud of their heritage.”

  “Da’s drilled that into yer head,” Graham said in a thick brogue as he moved beside his mom. He offered the two women a smile.

  She laughed. “Yeah, your da isn’t shy about expressing his love for his homeland.”

  “Mine isn’t either,” I said to her with a small chuckle. “He’s always wanted to visit here. I think this trip will make him love Scotland even more, now that he has concrete evidence of our family’s roots.”

  Graham’s gaze drifted to mine, and he blinked, like he was actually seeing me for the first time, despite our earlier introduction. I stood there for a moment, our eyes locked. The guy was super intense, and despite my brain telling me I should look away, I couldn’t.

  From the corners of my eyes I could see Mom’s smug smirk aimed in my direction, and she and Mollie walked off, their whispers fading.

  My pulse thrummed in my throat as Graham took a step toward me. He stopped a couple of feet away, and I craned my head to stare up into his eyes.

  His lips quirked in the corner. “Enjoyin’ the artifacts?”

  I nodded. I couldn’t quite figure out what this guy’s deal was, but at least he wasn’t being a total snob now. “It’s kind of dark and scary, but important.”

  “Wait till ya see the palace. The rooms are splendid.”

  We followed our moms through the rest of the war museum, then went back out into the fresh air. A strange tension crackled in the air between me and Graham, but it wasn’t negative, like it had been earlier. Frankly, I was just glad he wasn’t ignoring me anymore, if only because I didn’t want to spend any more time today crabby and stressed about it.

  I was pretty sure Mom and Mollie had been talking nonstop. When their giggles wafted back to us as we strolled past the Governor’s House through Foog’s Gate, Graham and I exchanged bemused smiles.

  Weird parents—seemed like they could unite just about ­anyone.

  He cleared his throat, and even in the dimmer light I could see his cheeks flush a dark pink. “Erm. Sorry ’bout earlier, Ava. Had a bit of a bad mornin’. Didn’t mean to take it out on ya—wasn’t fair of me.”

  Well, that was unexpected. I nodded as a slight weight lifted off my chest. “Thanks. I understand. Plus, I’m sure you had other things you wanted to do on your Saturday instead of spending it with your mom’s American friends.” Being forced into a social situ
ation by parents was likely to make any teen frustrated and crabby.

  “Nah, that wasn’t it.” An emotion flashed in his eyes but left before I could decipher it. “Been a while since I’ve played tourist around here, yanno. This is fun, and I’m glad I came.”

  I wanted to close my eyes and let the rich brogue of his voice wash over me. There was nothing quite like the sound of a Scottish guy talking. I almost laughed at myself for how ridiculous and moony-eyed I probably looked right now. I tilted my chin up and eyed him. “I haven’t done a lot of tourist things in Cleveland, either,” I admitted. “Somehow I just run out of time.”

  “Cleveland. Yer in Ohio, right?”

  I nodded. “Lived there my whole life.”

  We headed to the terrace in front of St. Margaret’s Chapel and turned to face the panoramic view of Edinburgh. I rested my hand on my chest and just stared in awe. Incredible. The hills rolled on as far as the eye could see, and Edinburgh’s old buildings were scattered everywhere.

  “There’s nothing in Cleveland that compares to this,” I proclaimed as I surveyed the city.

  “Aye,” he said, and I heard the pride in his tone. “She’s a beautiful city.” He looked down at me, and a breeze ruffled the tips of his hair. His eyes glowed a brilliant pale blue, and his face held a hint of a smile.

  Oh wow. My heart almost stopped in my chest. There was something about Graham even beyond his attractiveness that made a girl want to fall into his eyes. He was intense, magnetic. My stomach squeezed in warning, and I swallowed and gave him a shaky smile in response.

  Maybe spending the day with Graham wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  ChapterThree

  After the four of us peered around St. Margaret’s Chapel, taking in the stunning stained-glass window, we popped back out and headed toward the Royal Palace. The rooms in here were quiet, humming with the soft whispers of visitors. Wood panels, thick stones, ornate paintings—the place was stunning. I couldn’t get over how old everything was. What would it have been like to live in this palace?

  “Take a look over there,” Graham whispered to me with a nod of his head to my right.

  I turned and looked . . . and saw the Crown Jewels. With a blink, I asked, “Is that really . . .”

  He grinned, and his teeth flashed in the light. “Aye. The real deal.”

  The bejeweled crown was set on blue velvet, with a sword and a scepter presented around it. My fingers itched to pop it on my head, just to see what it felt like. With all the gold and jewels on it, it was probably heavy. But I didn’t want to get kicked out of Scotland on my first full day.

  “Whatcha smilin’ about?” he asked, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

  “Oh. Um, I was just thinking what it would be like to be royalty. We don’t have anything like that in the States.” Unless you counted movie stars or the president, I supposed. But there was something unique about a monarchy.

  “So tell me about America.” He slipped into an easy pace beside me, and his cologne wafted to my nostrils. His scent was light and fresh, drawing me closer.

  My pulse picked up again, and I struggled to keep my voice even and not give away my attraction to him. “Um, what do you want to know?”

  “Ya go to . . . high school—that’s what it’s called in America, right? What is that like?”

  We walked into another room and eyed the paintings on the walls. A bunch of serious, severe-looking men and women frowned at us from their luxurious clothing and tapestries captured on the canvases.

  “I just finished my sophomore year—I’ll start eleventh grade in the fall.” I tilted my head and studied the jewel-draped woman in front of me as I thought about how to describe American high school. “Basically, it’s chaos,” I said with a light laugh. “We have classes on many subjects, on many different levels, depending on where you placed—regular, honors, advanced. I don’t have a lot of classes with my friends, but I can choose which kind of math or history or science I want to take, which is nice.”

  “What classes did ya take this year?”

  I described my sophomore year schedule, including how I’d lucked out and got to take both art and photography. “So I was able to get out of study hall and do more art.”

  “I just finished my fourth year of secondary school,” he told me. “From what I understand, our school systems are quite different. For us, secondary school starts when yer eleven or twelve, and ya go for up to six years.”

  “So you guys basically group middle school and high school together. Interesting.” I’d never imagined how different school systems could be, depending on where you lived in the world.

  We walked into the Great Hall, which was a large red and wood-trimmed room lined with swords and armor. It was massive and imposing, and I couldn’t stop staring.

  “Oh wow,” I breathed. “This is gorgeous.”

  Mom pointed out a display case to Mollie, and they walked over to study it.

  “So what do you do when you’re not in school?” I asked him. What was life like for the average Scottish guy?

  “Well, I put on a kilt and run through the Highlands as my friends and I dance to the bagpipes.” His lips quirked as he stared at me with a lifted eyebrow.

  I scrunched up my face in mock consternation. “Okay, you’re putting me on.” Though I had to admit, his comment drew a huff of laughter out of me.

  “Maybe a wee bit,” he admitted with a grin. “I go on my computer, talk to friends, play the drums—”

  “Oh, you’re a musician.” My heart thunked. Stupid weakness of mine; I loved guys who were musically inclined. “I wish I could play something. I tried trumpet in middle school and I was awful.”

  “I started when I was a lad. Da taught me. I’m in a band, actually.”

  “That’s so cool,” I breathed. “What kind of music do you play? Do you do covers of songs or write original pieces?”

  “We do both. I’ve written a couple of songs, but we also cover popular rock groups. We’ve played a few parties, that kind of thing. We have another gig in a few weeks, actually.” I could hear the pride in his voice.

  We walked in companionable silence for a moment. Wow. My first impression of Graham was nothing like how he really was. All his earlier attitude was gone—either he’d gotten over whatever had made him crabby, or he’d decided to let it go and try to enjoy the day.

  We followed our moms and wandered around through the rest of the building, but I had to admit, the castle didn’t hold as much of my interest as Graham did. As we walked, he offered commentary on a few of the portraits, relaying strange and quirky facts about the castle’s inhabitants.

  “How do you know so much?” I asked him.

  His face was deadpan. “All Scots know these things.”

  “Really?” Wow, that put us Americans to shame. Probably half my friends couldn’t tell me the names of the last five presidents.

  He chuckled. “No, I’m teasing ya. My da—”

  “Come on, guys,” Mollie interrupted, reaching out to tug his hand. “You’re dragging along, and we’re hungry. Let’s finish touring the castle and get something to eat on the Royal Mile. And kick up our feet for a bit too—mine are aching.”

  The rest of our tour went a little faster. We poked around the War Memorial and the Half Moon Battery, then left the castle. I’d gotten several good photographs I was happy with.

  “That was incredible,” I told Graham in a rush.

  “ ’Twas,” he agreed.

  The sun was warm, so I stripped my fleece off and tied it around my waist. Graham’s gaze raked over me, and then he quickly looked away. Luckily, he didn’t see the flush crawl across my cheeks. I turned my attention to the Royal Mile, a long stretch of old buildings as far as the eye could see. It bustled with people walking to and fro.

  A band of men wearing kilts and carryin
g tiny accordions went walking by, playing and singing loudly as they danced their way down the street. We cheered them on. A crowd of a dozen or so little kids followed behind, tiny hands clapping as they screamed for more music. One of the men, who had a huge mustache, shot me a bold wink as he passed, and Mom giggled as she elbowed me in the side.

  “That’s hilarious,” I said, my stomach hurting from laughing so hard. “They looked like they were having a blast.”

  “Never know what yer gonna see here,” Graham said with a grin.

  Mom and Mollie stopped us at a pub with outdoor seating. We popped into the metal seats, and I sighed in relief to get off my aching feet for a few minutes. All that walking was adding up. The waitress, a young blonde in her twenties, came out and cheerfully took our sandwich orders. Graham’s long legs were splayed under the glass-top table, and his knee brushed mine as he shifted in his seat.

  I sucked in a shaky breath, torn between wanting to move my leg and wanting to push it closer to his. Good grief, this guy was causing some crazy, mixed-up reactions in me. And I’d practically just met him.

  I cleared my throat. “So, Mom,” I said in an effort to distract myself from his nearness, “tell me more about how you and Mollie met.”

  That worked. The two women talked over each other, spilling the story of their friendship. Apparently, they’d met back in elementary school when they’d been assigned to work at the same art station. When they’d both realized their favorite color was green, they’d become instant friends, the way little kids often bonded.

  Our food was delivered, and we noshed as they continued to talk.

  “Before the Internet, we would write letters back and forth,” Mollie explained to me and Graham. “It was one of my favorite things back in those early days, getting a letter from your mom.”