Sparks in Scotland (17 page)

Chapter
Seventeen

I
collapsed onto my bed
and stretched out, arms reaching above me to brush the wallpaper. “I'm exhausted,” I declared. My feet throbbed, so I toed off my sneakers and flexed my arches.

Mom laughed. “And it's hasn't even been a full day.” She dropped her shopping bags onto the floor in front of her bed and sat down on the edge, legs dangling. “I'm glad you're feeling better, though.”

I paused. “Me too. Thanks.”

After meeting her and Dad for lunch, the three of us had spent the afternoon enjoying the sights of Edinburgh. Walking and walking and walking, mingled with a bit of shopping. I'd finally found the perfect gift for Corinne—nothing like last-minute. But when I'd seen the silky tartan-patterned scarf wrapped around a mannequin's neck, I knew it was perfect for her.

“I need a coffee,” Dad said as he moved away from his computer. “Anyone else want one?”

Mom looked at her watch. “We're heading to dinner soon. Like, in twenty minutes or so.”

He shrugged. “Enough time to enjoy a cup.”

“I'm good, but thanks,” she said with a hearty chuckle. “Have fun breathing in your caffeine rush.”

Dad left, and Mom stretched out and rolled onto her side to face me. She propped her head on her hand. “So, Ava. How come you didn't mention to me before that Graham was moving to Ohio?”

I stiffened. Crud, I'd hoped the shopping trip had become enough of a distraction to keep me from having to address the question until later, when I'd had enough time to stop feeling so raw. My brain whirred for something to say that could put a spin on the whole situation and deflect the heat away from my feelings.

Then I gave a soft sigh.
Stop that, Ava. You promised you weren't going to do that anymore.

That spin-doctoring thing was the same tactic I always used—trying to come up with an angle that didn't make me look foolish or embarrass myself. But where had that gotten me so far with the people I cared about? Nowhere. They had no idea how I really felt, since I shut them out repeatedly.

I turned to my side to face her and mimicked her posture. “I didn't know,” I admitted in a low voice. That sinking weight in my chest came back. “He never told me. I didn't learn about it until you did.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned. She grew quiet, and her eyes grew
sad. “I'm so sorry. That had to be a shock, finding out that way. Why do you think he kept it to himself?”

“I have no idea. I thought we'd been connecting during this trip, Mom. But I must have misread him.” It was hard, sharing the truth with her, but to her credit, she didn't push me to keep talking or make me feel bad.

Instead she got up and sat down beside my head, then drew it into her lap and started stroking my hair. The gesture comforted that aching part of my heart, and I sighed and closed my eyes. Just focused on the feel of being nurtured.

“I don't think you misread him, honey,” Mom finally said. Her fingers brushed my brow, tucked a strand behind my ear. “I saw the way he looked at you. There was a reason Graham kept those feelings to himself. Are you going to ask him about it? You might want to think about doing so.”

My pulse jumped. It was the question I'd been asking myself over and over. Would I confront him, tell him I knew the truth? Or would I sit there tonight at dinner and act like nothing had happened, just wait and see if he'd come to me and tell me about the move?

“I don't know what to do. But a small part of me doesn't want to know why he didn't bother to tell me.” As cowardly as it sounded, it was true.

“I understand that. It might help you get some closure, though, if you did ask.”

Closure. I knew it was important, but I didn't want closure right then. I wanted to feel like I was worth Graham's honesty.
Worth him taking a risk and dating me when he moved to Ohio. His silence proved I wasn't.

No way to avoid the truth staring me right in the face. He didn't care about me the way I cared about him.

There was a knock on our door.

I rose. “Dad probably forgot his key,” I said with a small laugh, then opened it.

Graham stood there, brow furrowed. His eyes looked dark in the dim hallway light. “Ava,” he said in that rumble that still impacted me, despite my best efforts.

“Oh. Uh, hello.” My chest rose and fell with the effort to maintain my cool composure. I straightened my spine and made myself look him right in the face. “Why are you here?”

“I heard ya weren't feeling well. Everything okay?” The earnestness in his voice confused me, flattered me, yet a twinge of frustration prickled at the back of my mind.

He cared enough about my headache to check on me, but not about the fact that he'd been keeping something huge secret? What was with this guy? Did he even know how he felt about me, about the possibility of us? What game was he playing here?

I deserved better than this back-and-forth stuff. No matter how much my heart was leaping at the nearness of him. I swallowed and pushed that emotion down. Then I made myself resurrect a protective wall around my heart. I couldn't let him hurt me again.

“Hi, Graham,” Mom said from behind me. She was seated on the bed, waving at him. “Hon, go ahead and talk in the hall if
you want.” Her eyes encouraged me strongly to do so. I knew she wanted me to get him to open up about the move.

I gave her a nod of thanks and left the door cracked only a fraction so I wouldn't be locked out. I pressed against the outer edge of the door frame. “I'm fine. Thanks for checking on me,” I told him. “Had a headache earlier.”

Graham looked strangely vulnerable, his emotions clear in his eyes. Unlike this morning, when I'd been unable to read him at all, I could now see his hesitation, his nervousness. His jaw ticked, and his fingers twitched just slightly at his sides.

Maybe I could do it. Just blurt out that I knew the truth and see what he said.

But that wouldn't satisfy me. I wanted the words to come from him, not because I dragged them out of him. If he couldn't bother to volunteer the info, I wasn't going to beg for it. Right or wrong, I had too much pride.

And I deserved the effort, the chance. It killed me that he didn't seem to agree, but I'd keep reminding myself of my worth until it soothed away my pain.

I thrust my chin in the air. Suddenly I wanted to prove to him I could be happy without him. That he didn't hold my heart in his hands, that I could be strong and independent. Even if I didn't feel it right now.

“In fact, the headache's gone,” I told him, “and I had a great time with my parents this afternoon. We went shopping and walked around Edinburgh. It's been a great last day for my trip.
One of the best I've had so far here in Scotland.” So not true. But my mouth and my pride wouldn't stop with the story. “I'm looking forward to getting home and seeing my friends again.”

I saw the moment his emotions shut down, and he leaned back against the wall opposite me. The way his brow rose, it was apparent he didn't believe me. No doubt I'd poured it on too thick and he saw right through my story. “I see. Well, glad to hear the day went so well for ya.”

My heart twisted with guilt over my blatant lie, and I wanted to dig my way out of this hole. But I couldn't open my mouth to tell the truth. All I could think was that it was hypocritical of him to be upset with me, given the way
he'd
lied to
me
by omission.

How tangled this whole thing had gotten. Sorrow swept through me, and I dropped my gaze to the floor to regain the rest of my rapidly fading emotional strength. I just had to get through dinner. Then I wouldn't have to fake this anymore.

And Graham would never know how deeply I was grieving.

Dad walked down the hallway, holding a coffee cup, and stopped when he reached us. His smile faded as he eyed me, then Graham. “Everything okay here?”

“It's fine,” I told him in a falsely bright tone as I kept my gaze away from Graham. “We ready to go to dinner?”

* * *

My meal smelled delicious, a true Scottish cuisine of grilled salmon, potatoes, and a fresh salad. Too bad my stomach was such a mess that I couldn't seem to enjoy it.

Graham and I sat opposite each other, both in relative silence, as our parents talked and ate, their forks waving in the air to punctuate their running commentary. Thankfully, Graham's move to America wasn't brought up at all, possibly because Mom was doing her best to deflect the general conversation to more adult and neutral topics.

That alone made me glad I'd talked to her about it—she saved the awkward conversation from being forced on us. I made a mental note to hug her for her thoughtfulness when we got back to the room.

Graham nibbled on a slice of bread, and I sipped my water. We each peppered the general conversation with occasional thoughts, so we wouldn't look like total downers. Both of us employing the same social strategies to avoid the tension between us, thick and heavy.

I picked at the remains of my salmon and felt his gaze on me. I didn't dare look up; my heart was ragged from hiding my emotion, and I didn't want to make a scene.

Keep it together a little while longer.

Finally dinner ended, and we exited the restaurant into the cool summer night. The sun was almost on the horizon, and the cloud-scattered sky shone in brilliant shades of blues and pinks.

A beautiful evening.

Our parents walked down the sidewalk, just strolling and talking, and Graham and I were left side by side. I remembered the pressure of his hand in mine just a couple of days ago.
Seemed like longer, given the current circumstances.

His hands were tucked casually in his jacket pocket, and I did the same to avoid the temptation of touching him one last time. Stupid heart didn't seem to realize I was trying my best to protect it from getting even more hurt. Stupid nose dragged in his scent and tried to fix it in my memory. And stupid eyes kept glancing at his profile, the sweep of his lashes, the line of his lips.

I never got that kiss.

“I hope ya have a safe trip home,” Graham said, breaking the tense silence between us. “What time do ya head out?”

“Our flight leaves early,” I told him. “We go to London and have a layover, then back to New York City and then Ohio.” My heart stuttered when I realized he'd soon be making this very flight. On his move to my own state.

Graham would be an hour's drive away from me, but it might as well be Scotland for all it mattered.

Lamplights flickered on as dusk fell. Warm golden light spilled from pubs and stores all along the street, and couples walked arm in arm.

Doubt started to flood my mind. Was I being too stubborn, too self-protective? Even if he didn't want to be with me romantically, I could still be a friend to him in some way. After all, he was moving to a whole new country. That had to be scary. Surely he'd be missing his Scottish home life and might need some help transitioning to American culture.

My heart battered at the invisible wall I'd put up around it. I should give him a chance to explain why he never told me. Maybe I could throw something out there that would invite him to open up. But what could I say that wouldn't sound confrontational?

Or am I making assumptions here?
my head retorted. If ­Graham wanted my help, my friendship, wouldn't he have voluntarily shared info? Wouldn't he want to seek me out?

“You're thinkin' awful hard,” Graham murmured. “What's on yer mind?”

I swallowed and paused to find the right words. Peered up at his face and drank in the sight of his features, now so familiar to me. Splashes of darkness cast shadows across his eyes, so I couldn't read them the way I wanted to.

“Just . . . thinking about Scotland,” I answered him in a weak voice. I'd chickened out; my pride had kept me from letting myself show him how I felt.

If he wanted to talk to me about his move, he'd had ample time to do so. But he'd chosen to keep it quiet, so I'd respect his wishes and not push myself on him.

Even if it broke my heart to do so.

It was better this way, anyway. And if I kept telling myself that, I'd even start to believe it.

He nodded, and our families stopped at the corner of the street.

“Our van's over here,” Mollie said, her voice thick with sadness as she hugged my mom. “I'm going to miss you so much.”

Mom hugged her back, and the two friends whispered in each other's ears, tears streaming down their faces. It hurt to watch their grief at parting, and I turned away to give them privacy.

“Thank you for the tour of Scotland,” I told Graham past a rapidly tightening throat. I gave myself the luxury of staring at him, implanting his face into my memory. “You helped make this vacation amazing, and I can't thank you enough for it.”

He paused and chewed on his lower lip, his brow furrowed. “It was a pleasure meeting ya, Ava.”