Echo (Black Lotus #2)(27)

I drive in silence, taking in the landscape, and before I know it, I’m in the city. After parking the car, I wrap a scarf around my neck and pull my coat tighter around my body. I begin wandering around the Grassmarket with the Edinburgh Castle towering above. The cobbled, winding streets are lined with a vast array of shops from designer to vintage. I pick up a few things from various stores: soaps, perfumes, a pair of shoes, and an old necklace with a weathered lotus charm. I’m not sure why I bought the lotus necklace, knowing the sadness it’ll undoubtedly bring when I look at it, but I just had to buy it regardless. I buy because I don’t know what else to do.

My gut is hollow. I’m in a never-ending state of anxiety, and this is my attempt at distracting myself. It’s not helping though, so I find a pub to grab a drink, and when I walk into The Fiddler’s Arms, I immediately make my way to the bar. The place is filled mostly with men, drinking lagers and whiskey. I spot an empty stool and take a seat.

The bartender places a drink napkin in front of me, saying, “What can I get you?”

Taking a quick look at the tap handles, I don’t recognize the names, so I randomly pick one. “Stropramen.”

He gives me a nod, begins to fill the mug, and then sets it in front of me. I slip my coat off and hang it on the back of the stool, and then take a long, slow drink in hopes that it dulls out the intensity that’s inside of me. I lean forward and close my eyes, focusing on the noise around me, wanting to get lost in it, and when I open my eyes, I spot familiar ones staring back at me from the opposite side of the bar.

A grin grows on Lachlan’s face, and he nods to the empty seat next to me in a gesture to join, and I give him a small, inviting smile.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says when he approaches and sits down.

“Wanted to do a little shopping before I head back home,” I lie, and my stomach knots at the pathetic deceit.

“You’re going back to the States?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Short trip,” he remarks.

“I suppose.”

He takes a sip of his whiskey and sets the tumbler down when he asks, “Any plans on returning?”

“Doubtful,” I reply and take another drink.

I turn to look at Lachlan watching me intently. He’s a stately man in his trousers, button down, and tailored sports coat. His hair is lightly gelled and styled to perfection with a dignified part.

His eyes continue to linger on me with a soft expression.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I peacefully ask.

He takes a moment, and then responds, “You seem down.”

“Just worn out. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“You left abruptly the other evening after your run-in with Declan,” he states. “Perhaps that has something to do with your lack of sleep?”

“Nosey,” I accuse with a playful smile.

“Just observant.”

“Is that all?”

“You want more?” he lightly chuckles.

“You flirting with me?”

“You’re what? Twenty-some odd years younger than me?”

I nod.

“A man like me would be foolish not to flirt with a woman such as you.”

“Such as me? And what’s that? What am I?”

He takes another sip of his whiskey and then leans in a little closer to me, answering, “Exquisite, my dear.”

His flirting isn’t meaningful, but more of humorous banter, so I know he doesn’t think it rude of me when I begin to laugh.

We both take another sip through our smiles, and he breaks his mock flirtation when he says, “Seriously though, is everything okay? It looked like you and Declan were having a much too dire conversation for a party.”

“Just hashing out some unsettled business, that’s all. Do you always make it a habit to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?” I tease.

“Always,” he boasts, and we both laugh again.

“Well, at least you’re honest about it.”

“Can I ask you something?”

I nod.

“What brought you here to Scotland?”

I look up at his face, and I don’t see any ulterior motives in our exchange other than a man who genuinely wants an honest conversation, so I answer, “Him.”

“Him?”

“I came to see Declan. I hadn’t spoken to him since he left Chicago, and I guess . . . I guess I just wanted to see him.”

“Lovers?”

“Again . . . nosey.”

He smirks at my jab.

“Does he have many of those?” I ask.

“Would you feel jealous if I told you yes?”

Straightening my neck, I state, “I don’t get jealous.”

“You’re a wicked woman, Elizabeth.”

“What makes you say that?”

“In my experience, women who don’t get jealous do so because they’d rather get even,” he says and then winks.

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m a woman of revenge?” I question in jest, but secretly, I want to know how he truly perceives me.

“You know what my mum always told me?”

“What’s that?” I laugh.

“She told me that while the rest of the species are descended from apes, redheads are descended from cats.”