The Highland Fling(15)

“Yup,” Dakota mumbles from one of the red couches.

“What kind of game is the sun trying to pull right now?” I fill up a cup and swirl some sugar around in it.

“Summer in Scotland means longer days. Didn’t you notice it was still light out when we went to sleep?”

“I just assumed we were going to bed early.”

“We went to bed at ten last night,” Dakota says, staring out the window.

“What?” I groan. “Good God, where the hell did you take me? Accents, sheep stomach, water buckets for toilets, and endless sun. I don’t think my body is ready for this.”

“It’ll get better, once we’re here for a bit. It’s just a bit of a culture shock at first.”

“A bit?” I ask, sitting on the sofa across from her. “A Scotsman saw me in my towel yesterday and was unfazed when I pushed him with a broom. There is something fishy about the people out here.”

“He’s probably thinking the same about Americans, since you tried to defend yourself with a broom.”

“That’s not being weird—that’s being innovative.” I sip my coffee. “What the hell are we supposed to do for six hours before we open the coffee shop?”

“Explore? Get some food?”

“Uh, earth to Dakota, nothing opens up around here until nine.”

“Oh yeah.” She scratches the side of her head. “Man, I forgot about that. Uh, we could go look at the Penis Stone.”

“Ah yes, six a.m. adventures to go look at a penis stone—that’s exactly what I want to do.”

“There’s food here—I saw some muffins in a cupboard. We can pack them up and go for a walk along the loch, have a picnic breakfast.”

The internet is shoddy at best, there’s no TV in the cottage, and our only mode of entertainment is a bookshelf full of romance novels that I plan on tackling while I’m here, but my eyes are too busted for reading at the moment.

So a picnic by the loch sounds like a plan.

“Okay, let me go change.”

“Yeah?” Dakota asks, looking surprised.

“Yeah.” I nod and stand, taking another sip of my coffee.

I head upstairs, where I unpack a pair of leggings and a long-sleeve shirt. I toss them on quickly before I put my long hair up into a messy bun—a look I’m sure I’ll adopt with the ever-changing weather. No use doing my hair if it’s just going to get rained on all the time. I slip on my workout shoes and then head downstairs, where Dakota is pouring our coffee into to-go cups.

“Did you pack the muffins?” I ask.

“Not yet. They’re in the cupboard above the fridge. I think there are some apples in the fridge too.”

“Perfect.” Dakota brought her hiking backpack, so we load it up and head out the door into the crisp morning air.

Calm greets us. The air doesn’t seem to shift, but it carries a fresh weight that seeps into my bones and wakes me faster than the coffee. Birdsong surrounds us as a light haze lifts off the ground and dewdrops cling to each blade of grass from last night’s rain.

Peaceful.

Serene.

Exactly what I need.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, feeling like if I talk any louder I might wake the entire town, though we’re tucked away in our little grove of trees.

“I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything like it,” Dakota whispers back. She reaches over, grabs my hand, and presses our palms together. “Thank you for coming with me, Bonnie.”

Turning toward her, I match her grateful smile and pull her into a hug. “Thank you for drunkenly applying to the job for both of us.”

She chuckles and pulls away. “From the look of it, we’re not going to have any problem with coffee.” We start down the gravel path as the sun peeks through the leaves, truly making this entire experience feel like a dream. “I did ask for help when it came to the currency here. Finella made a little chart for us so we understand the worth of each bill and coin.”

“Oh crap, I totally forgot about money. Does it seem hard?”

Dakota shakes her head. “Finella did a good job laying it all out. I can show you later.”

“They leave today?”

“Yeah,” Dakota says as we near town. “As we were saying goodbye yesterday, she said the shop was in our hands and she trusts us.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, I guess.” As we hit Corsekelly Lane, we both look left, then right. The stone dwellings are quiet, the street empty. A complete ghost town. Not a soul awake besides us. A stark contrast with LA, where time doesn’t seem to stand still but moves past you at light speed.

In front of us is Loch Duich, the sun glistening off miniscule ripples of water. Off in the distance are the pointy peaks of the Highlands, decorated in green and peppered with evergreens, the perfect view for a deathly-early morning.

“Want to go down to the bank over there?” Dakota asks, pointing. “We can sit on the rocks so our butts don’t get wet from the grass.”

“That’s a great idea. It’s so wet here—completely different from California. I’m going to have to remember that when walking around.”

We find two flat rocks that sit right at the water’s edge and take a seat. Dakota divvies out our breakfast, and together we watch the water rippling in the sun, lapping just below our feet.