I pause in the kitchen doorway to watch Louisa. A few people have already arrived—the sound of the doorbell is likely what woke me—and Louisa is humming as she arranges finger food on a platter. Her hips sway gently from side to side, making her blue dress swirl around her calves. The tune she’s humming is “Auld Lang Syne”.
“A Scot wrote that song, you know,” I say, stepping into the room.
She goes still for a moment before turning to face me. Her eyes go wide when she sees that I’ve changed from my jumper and jeans into a white dress shirt and kilt featuring the MacKinnon tartan. Her bright smile nearly knocks me back a step. “Robert Burns, right?”
“Aye, good ol’ Rabbie. He clearly knew a thing or two about friendship.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s essentially what the poem is about. ‘Auld lang syne’ translates to ‘old times past’ and is about remembering past times with the people who are important to you. That’s why it’s sung at New Year’s, to honor and say goodbye to the year that’s passed while remembering what’s important enough to take forward with you.”
The sound of laughter drifts in from the living room. Louisa’s lips curve in a small smile. “Very fitting. This has been one heck of a year, hasn’t it? What are you hoping to take forward with you?”
I step further into the room. “You.” No ambiguity. No room for questions or uncertainty.
Her eyes go wide. I want to close the distance between us and reach for her, but I don’t. Not yet.
Her lips move soundlessly. Just one word: ‘me’. She clears her throat. “I wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve done for me this week. You’ve gone above and beyond, and I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
“It’s been my pleasure, love. I mean that. I know you said it didn’t really matter, but I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you with the last two things on your list.”
A myriad of emotions pass over her face, too quick for me to accurately pinpoint any one of them. She clears her throat again and opens her mouth, but no words come out.
Instinct propels me forward until I’m standing in front of her. I reach for her hands and grip them both in mine because I can’t stand not touching her for a moment longer. “What is it, Lulu?”
“Actually…you can help me. In fact, the last two things on the list are kind of dependent on you.”
Hope surges through me, nearly making me lightheaded. I swallow the questions on my tongue and keep my mouth shut, waiting for an explanation.
Her gaze drops from mine to focus on our joined hands. Or perhaps my kilt. I can tell her mind is racing, can practically hear the thoughts as they spin through that big, beautiful brain of hers.
“You could kiss me before midnight,” she says.
“But the list says ‘the man of your dreams’.”
“I know.” The words are quiet, but her expression speaks volumes. She stands up straighter and meets my eyes again, her gaze steady now.
Relief and affection and so many other things wash over me like a tidal wave, causing a surprised laugh to spill from my lips.
Louisa jumps slightly, her brows pulling together. “Why are you laughing?”
She looks ready to bolt like she did last night, so I tighten my grip on her hands. “Louisa Henshaw, are you saying I’m the man of your dreams?”
Her cheeks redden, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “I am.”
I exhale sharply. “You know, I was feeling a bit lost when I came to town,” I say. Understandably, she appears confused at the non-sequitur, so I barrel on. “The only person I knew was Hugh, and he’s been great, but he’s so busy. Then I met Hollie through work, and she introduced me to your group of friends. To you. And from that moment, everything changed. Bellevue started to feel like home. You started to feel like home. It didn’t take me long to realize you’re the woman of my dreams, Louisa. I’ve been falling for you since the night we met.”
Her hands are shaking in mine. I want to kiss her so badly, but I need to hold her first, reassure myself and possibly her that this is real, it’s not a dream, it’s truly happening. I wrap my arms around her and draw her close, and she melts against me. She says my name oh-so-softly a moment before she eases away from me and our lips meet. I thought last night’s kiss was incredible and it was, but this is even better because everything is out in the open now. I can pour all my love for Louisa into this kiss and hope she feels it.
I’m vaguely aware of the doorbell ringing and more voices joining the sounds of merriment in the living room. With great reluctance, I release her, placing small kisses on her lips and cheeks and forehead as she laughs breathlessly. I press my forehead to hers, and we let out twin sighs.
“Can I still kiss you at midnight?” I ask.
“You’d better kiss me at midnight, Fergus MacKinnon,” she says. “And every day and night after that too.” She pulls away from me and looks down at my kilt. “Also, can we talk about what you’re wearing? You look incredible. Would you normally wear a kilt on New Year’s Eve or is this part of my birthday gift?”
I chuckle. “A bit of both. My mum loved Hogmanay—New Year’s—and we always dressed up and had a special meal or even a small party. I wouldn’t be surprised if Hugh wears a kilt tonight too.”
“Will you tell me more about Hogmanay traditions later?” she asks. “I’d like to hear what celebrating the new year in Scotland is like.”
“I’d be happy to.” I stop myself from telling her I’d like to show her firsthand next year. One thing at a time.