The Highland Fling(8)

Framed in white clay like the rest of the town, its only distinguishing features are a red door and a sign above it that spells out COFFEE. Two weathered picnic tables rest under each red-framed window, but that’s as far as the charm goes.

Uh, we left Los Angeles for this?

It looks like the door is one gust of wind away from being torn off its hinges.

Where’s the charm?

Where’s the cute wooden sign?

Where’s the plaid? Shouldn’t there be plaid somewhere?

For heaven’s sake, where is the plaid?

“Yes, it is,” Dakota says, not even fazed.

“Wow, they sure know how to advertise their wares.” I chuckle. “Where’s the cute name?”

“They’re direct. That has to be admired. Finella said there’s parking around the corner, where we’ll be staying.”

“Okay.” I round the corner and follow a gravel driveway that takes us under a canopy of trees. “Are we going the right way?” I ask as the road gets tighter and tighter.

“I think so. She said the cottage is just past the trees.”

Driving no more than ten miles per hour, we bump along the road and finally reach a tiny white clay cottage with a thatched roof.

“Umm, did we just drive into a Disney movie and I didn’t notice?” I ask.

A thatched roof . . . a legit, real, thatched roof. I think the last time I saw one of those was in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

And . . . is that a . . . ?

“Oh hell no.” I shake my head, pointing to the well that’s right next to the house. “Does this place not have plumbing? I did not sign up to fetch the water for the bath.”

“It has all the amenities we need,” Dakota says, opening her car door.

I grip her arm and keep her in place. “When you say ‘amenities,’ does that include running water?”

“Yes,” she says, exasperated. “You act like our plane was a time machine and I brought you back to the Middle Ages.”

“Sorry if I’m startled by a thatched roof and a well, but that’s a legit concern. Did you see the gas station back there? I’m not sure it even works.”

“It’s called a petrol pump, and it works. This isn’t LA, Bonnie, something you should keep in mind. This is a simpler way of living. Relax and enjoy the slower pace.”

She’s right. Before making assumptions, I should really get to know the place first.

I’m here for adventure.

I’m here to figure out what I want to do with my life.

And making prejudgments is not going to do me any good.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I let out a deep breath. “The road trip was long, and my hand is sore from holding the rope. I promise once we get some food, I’ll be much better.”

Just as we exit the car, the front door to the cottage opens, and a short lady who looks to be in her sixties steps out. She has dark-brown hair, peppered with silver streaks, and an apron cinched around her waist.

“You must be Dakota,” she says, walking over with a welcoming smile.

Dakota was right—a very pretty accent, and one I can easily understand.

Thank God.

“Finella, it’s so great to finally meet you.” Dakota hugs the woman and then beckons me over. “This is my best friend, Bonnie.”

“Aye, Bonnie, ’tis a beautiful name. Means ‘pretty’ here in Scotland, and it seems to fit you perfectly.” She looks me up and down with a kind smile.

“Oh, thank you. I’ve been told I’m one-sixteenth Scottish.” I smile.

“Is that so?” She raises an eyebrow. “How lovely.”

I feel a surge of pride to be standing in the lands of my ancestors. “It’s good to be home, where my ancestors once walked. I can truly feel their presence.” When I glance at Finella, I catch the smallest of smirks on her lips. Okay, sure, I’m only one-sixteenth Scottish, but that means something. I take in a deep breath. “It’s nice to meet you, Finella. I can’t get over how green it is here. Coming from a dry environment, it’s refreshing to have nature all around us.”

“’Tis beautiful here.” She rests her hands on her hips, a wry smile tugging on her lips. “We’ll miss it, but we’re excited to go on a much-needed holibags.”

Holibags?

What the hell does that mean?

“Come, come,” she says. “We’ll talk more inside. You two must be hungry. I’ve fried up some haggis for you with some tatties and neeps.” She grabs both of us by the hands and guides us into the cottage. As we step inside our new home, I’m shocked at just how spacious it is. Off to the right is a stone fireplace and wood-framed hearth with a cast-iron stove in the middle. Two red couches sit on either side of the white-walled room, facing each other, with an oak coffee table in the middle.

To the left is a tiny kitchenette equipped with a two-burner stove, minifridge, and sink. Minimal cabinets, and instead of doors under the sink, the nook is blocked off with a white-and-red-checkered curtain. Okay, that’s kind of adorable. To the back is an open door leading to a narrow set of stairs. No pictures adorn the walls, and there are no decorations to speak of. The rest of the space is dominated by a two-person dining table, laden with dishes of food. Quaint, but just enough.