“So what was it like growing up in Scotland?” Emily asked. The little bistro table on the boardwalk outside the café offered a good spot for talking over bowls of steaming clam chowder, and gave them a perfect view of the beach and the glittering horizon beyond.
Ian stirred the ice around in his root beer. “I grew up in Paisley on and off. And other places. But Claire and I spent a few summers at the farm with Maggie and my granddad Liam. We helped during shearing season. And for a while, our whole family lived in the old cottage.”
Emily took a bite of the creamy chowder. “That must have been fun, all together like that.”
The cell phone in her pocket chirped, followed by a vibrating hum.
“Fun? It was cramped. And isolated. Claire and I had to go to secondary in Stirling.”
Pulling out her phone, she said, “Secondary? Is that high school?”
He nodded, taking a bite.
Emily checked the screen. Jaye.
Where R U?
Maybe a brief reply wouldn’t be rude.
But brief would never cut it with Jaye.
Yet it was brief or nothing. Emily quickly keyed in At the beach with Ian MacLean and hit Send. Cupping her chin in one hand, she asked, “So how far is it to Stirling?”
He studied his next spoonful thoughtfully. “About a five-hour drive.”
Chirp-hum.
“Really?” She touched the view message button with her thumb, keeping her eyes on Ian. “Wow. That seems like a long way to go to school.”
Ian sipped his soda. The faint curve of a smile peeked around his straw.
Instead of exploring what Ian was finding so funny, she glanced down at Jaye’s message:
What??!?! Friar Tuck or Johnny D??? Photo!! Now!!
Emily looked up at Ian. An amused smile had settled over his face. Biting her lip, she held her breath and selected camera mode. “So ...” She raised her phone above the edge of the table, tilted it to what she hoped was the right angle, and snapped. “How long did you go to school there?” She sent the picture and stuffed the phone in her pocket.
“About a year and a half. But we moved away before I graduated.” He frowned, and it seemed as if he would say more, but instead, he leaned forward and wiped the beads of condensation off his glass. “What about you? You must have happy childhood memories.”
“Tons.” If I go back far enough. “Most from when I was little. I loved to tag along with my mom, especially in the summer when she worked in the yard. Sometimes, I would hide under an umbrella in the corner of our backyard—my secret lookout. I’d lie really still and watch the honeysuckle bushes, waiting for my favorite little visitors.”
Chirp-hum.
“Ah. Let me guess. Snakes?”
“Ew, no. Hummingbirds.” Emily laughed, ignoring her cell phone. “I had this theory. The hummingbirds came to our yard for magic nectar that came only from our honeysuckle. They took it back to the Hummingbird Queen, who used it to make a special kind of perfume.”
Ian smiled. “To attract a hummingbird king, no doubt.”
“Actually, I believed it gave her the ability to protect her beloved colony. As long as she protected them, her subjects would live forever.”
“Forever?” He quirked a frown. “Emily, I hate to tell you this, but—”
“Hey, I was six, okay?” Grinning, she flicked a packet of oyster crackers at him. “The honeysuckle scent was really strong on hot days, which was good because I was convinced the birds needed to smell it to find their way to our yard. One day, it wasn’t very warm and I was afraid they couldn’t smell the flowers and would get lost. Mom joined me at the lookout and we waited together. She whispered, ‘They’ll find their way, Emmy. Don’t worry.’ I remember waiting forever—like two whole minutes—and suddenly, a hummingbird appeared. We held our breath. Her wings hummed as she hovered over the flowers, collecting nectar.”
“Magical nectar.” His brows raised in an exaggerated look of correction.
Emily smiled and watched tiny bubbles fizz around the melting ice in her Coke. “Mom spent a lot of time with me. I had no idea those times we spent together would end up being so priceless.” She rolled her eyes. “I know, don’t say it. I’m horribly sentimental.”
“Oh, aye,” he said. “Horribly. To be honest, I don’t know how you live with yourself.” His soft chuckle brought a sparkle to his eyes.
Chirp-hum.
Something in the way he looked seized her, something tender. As his eyes held her captive, a surge of warmth welled in her chest.
Whoa, chica. Enough of that.
As Emily poked a spoon around in her chowder, a shadowy image came to mind—her dad sitting in the dark surrounded by trash and empty beer bottles. Bitter and alone.
She put her spoon down. As it turned out, she wasn’t that hungry after all. When she looked up, Ian was staring at his lunch. She pushed her bowl away. “I’m ready to conquer some more beach whenever you are.”
“Ready.” He nearly sprang from his chair.
As they headed away from the shops, Emily looked back.
Two bowls of world-famous chowder sat cold, hardly touched. Apparently, he wasn’t that hungry either.
On the beach, colorful kites emerged on the horizon, drawn by the stiffening breeze. Emily silenced her chirping phone and concentrated on keeping up with Ian’s long strides. “Tell me about your nieces and nephews.”
Ian drew a deep breath. “Jack is sixteen, a natural-born leader. Douglas is fourteen and dying to be in charge. Kallie is eight and actually is in charge. Gets that from her mum. Or her great-grannie, Maggie. And then there’s little Hannah, Princess of Faeries and All Things Purple.”
Emily glanced up. The smile etched into his profile as he focused on the sand ahead said it clearly. He was crazy about those kids. “Do you see them often?”
“I try to stop at Claire’s flat when I’m in Glasgow, and sometimes they come out to the farm. Kallie is always hounding me to—”
Emily glanced up.
His lips were clamped tight.
They walked a few more yards in silence, but the quiet only deepened her curiosity. “What does she want you to do?”
It took a moment for him to answer. “She wants me to paint her some pictures. Like the ones I did for Jack.” He scanned the sea’s endless horizon as they walked. “Just something I did for him when he was a wee lad. A long time ago.”
“Painting? That’s a hobby I haven’t heard about.”
He shook his head. “Not a hobby.”
“Really? What then?”
Ian didn’t answer. He stooped to pick up a rock from the sand. “I studied art, did some illustrating. For a short time.” With a forceful snap, he hurled the rock out to sea.
“Really? That’s fascinating.” What other secret talents did Ian have? “I didn’t know.”
He snatched up another rock and kept walking.
“So, you were planning a career as an illustrator?” As the words came out, she winced. Duh, Em. Why else would he have studied it?
They walked on for a while in silence. Finally, he said, “I was. But I changed my mind.” He chucked the second rock, sending it much farther than the first.
How sad that something from so long past was still hard to talk about.
He glanced over. “But, eventually, I became a writer, which is what brought me here. And for that, I’m glad.”
Emily couldn’t help but notice even he didn’t seem all that convinced.