Sparks in Scotland (6 page)

Graham had completely taken over my mind and senses.

Kylie declared from the backseat, “We should go to Glasgow tomorrow.”

“Oh, aye!” Jamison said in hearty enthusiasm. “I have no plans. Graham? Ava?”

“I'm supposed to go to St. Andrews with my parents,” I said with a sigh. “They want to golf.”

We hit a bump, and Graham's knee pressed into mine, which set off a round of tingles in my leg.

“Do
you
golf?” he asked me.

I shook my head and laughed. “Dad tried to teach me, but it
went horribly. I think I hit the ball once, and it went twenty feet off to the side.”

His eyes flashed as he leaned toward me, and his warm breath caressed the hairs on the side of my face. “Let's ask yer folks if ya can come with us instead. It'll be fun.”

“Aye, what do ya say, Ava?” Jamison asked as he clapped me on the shoulder.

I peered back at Kylie but couldn't read her face. Well, she was the one who'd suggested it in the first place. Maybe she didn't view me as a threat to her relationship with Graham. A small, stubborn part of me actually wanted to be a threat. Wanted Graham to see me not just as a vacation girl but as something that could be more.

Because every moment I spent in his presence made me want that too.

“Let's do it,” I said with a resolute nod. “It'll be fun.”

Chapter
Six

T
his. Is. Amazing.” I snapped
a photograph of Doulton Fountain, an ornate brick fountain in Glasgow Green that spurted water from several spots around its circumference. We'd been dropped off by Graham's dad at the Glasgow park about an hour ago and had spent the morning so far wandering around, soaking in the sunshine of another beautiful day. We'd been blessed by the weather gods so far on this trip.

Jamison nodded toward a brick building off to the left of the fountain. “Over there's Templeton's Carpet Factory.”

I chuckled as I shook my head. Even the carpet factory looked luxurious and important.

Glasgow was nothing like I'd imagined. Art and commerce thrived in this city, which intrigued me with its old and new ele
ments mashed together. One sterling example was the People's Palace, nestled right behind the fountain, with its old brick facade mingled with a glass dome structure. Crazy and fun. Corinne, a classical artist at heart, would probably hate the glass addition. I kind of liked it.

“Ready to go in yet?” Graham asked me with a wave toward the People's Palace.

I nodded, and Kylie and Jamison stepped behind the two of us as we made our way in. I still couldn't believe my parents had let me come, but I'd begged them not to make me watch them golf. They'd laughingly agreed, so long as I checked in regularly. I think part of them wanted to have a romantic day to themselves, something I was all too happy to provide.

After all, it meant another day with Graham.

Plus, it didn't hurt that Graham's dad was going to be in Glasgow all day and would check in with us this afternoon. So we weren't stranded here alone without a parent nearby.

Kylie slipped between me and Graham and shot him a flashy smile. She had on tight jeans and a black shirt that flattered her curves. She really was a lovely girl; several guys had shot appreciative glances her way since we'd arrived at the park. Not that she'd noticed them. She only had eyes for Graham. “We'll go to a chippy after this, aye?” she asked him as she blinked those long lashes his way.

He peered over her head to look at me. “You in?”

“What's a chippy?” I asked.

Jamison laughed, and Kylie tittered. “A fish-and-chips shop,” Jamison said with a wide grin.

“Oh. Yeah.” I should have guessed that—Mom had mentioned before that in Great Britain, they called french fries “chips.” My face flushed a bit, and I gave a stiff nod. “Sounds good.”

I kept my focus ahead as we entered the museum. To my delight, the glass enclosure contained a lush garden. Graham, Jamison, and Kylie were talking about which chippy they wanted to go to, so I slipped away and strolled around the U-shape, snapping pictures of the well-groomed plants.

“Ava!” Graham called out.

I turned and took a photograph of the three of them, standing casual and familiar together.

Kylie stepped closer to Graham and wrapped her arms around both guys. “Wait, I wasn't ready!” she said with a mock pout. “Can ya take another?”

I did, and then took a couple zoomed in on Graham's face. It hadn't escaped my attention that today was my last day with him. The fact that I'd even had these two bonus days was a gift, and I intended to make the most of it.

And that included not being bugged by my jealousy of Kylie. Well, as much as humanly possible, anyway.

I popped the lens on my camera and said, “Let's go inside.”

The museum was eclectic, packed with displays set up to show what Glasgow homes looked like in earlier times. We wandered with the flow of the crowd for an hour or so, moving from exhibit
to exhibit. When a woman holding a baby tried to shove her way through our group, Graham took my hand to pull me out of the way. It was so hard to let it go.

After we left the museum, we found a chippy. Our meals were wrapped in newspaper, which was a bit odd, but the fish was to die for. I devoured it and the chips, which made Jamison laugh.

“I have a hearty appetite,” I said with a laugh. “And I'm not ashamed.”

“Every lad likes a lass who enjoys food,” Jamison replied.

I had to admit, the guy was really attractive. Something about the open friendliness on his face drew me to him and encouraged my own responding smiles. He made me laugh a lot, and I found him fresh and entertaining. But Jamison didn't make my skin ­tingle, didn't impact me the way Graham did.

I liked him, but it wasn't
that
kind of like.

“Where to now?” Kylie asked as she dabbed the corners of her mouth. Every move of hers was delicate and feminine.

“Can we find an art museum?” I asked them. “Or I'd love to check out a gallery.”

“Wait, I know where we can go,” Graham said with a smile. He eyed me. “You'll like it, I'm sure.”

We tossed our trash and walked until we made it to the front of a large stone building with Grecian-like columns. The small set of steps leading to the entrance beckoned me.

“The Gallery of Modern Art,” I read on a sign, and clapped with glee. I turned to him. “That's perfect! I love modern art.”

Kylie sighed. “Can we go shopping instead? I'm a bit museumed out.”

Jamison shoved against her side and shot her a warning glare.

I swallowed down my flare of irritation and gave her a smile that I hoped looked sincere. “I'd be happy to go shopping after we finish looking around here. Or if you want to go ahead, I can meet you when I'm done.” Because there was no way I was leaving without taking a peek in here.

Her gaze darted to Graham, then back to me. “No, no, I'll go with ya.”

As we walked inside, Jamison said from behind us in a smooth voice, “Did ya know this building used to be the mansion of a tobacco lord? Since then it's also been a bank, a library, and now it's a museum.”

I blinked and turned to face him. “How did you know all that?”

He held up his phone, opened to a browser page, and shot me a wink. “The World Wide Web,” he declared.

With a laugh, I shook my head. “I should have thought of doing that. Good idea.”

We made our way inside and moved through the exhibits. When we saw one that was a precarious pile of colored chairs and purses, sitting in the middle of a black-and-white tiled floor, we stopped in unison.

Kylie tilted her head. “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea,” I murmured.

“I'm not sure it even matters what it means,” Graham said in an offhanded tone.

Kylie shot him a strange look and moved toward the cluster of chairs.

As she and her brother circled the exhibit, I turned to him. “Why do you think it doesn't matter?” I asked in a quiet tone.

He pursed his lips, deep in thought. The bold dark-green shade of his long-sleeved shirt made his eyes pop, and I could smell that fresh-soap scent coming off him. I took a step closer and let myself breathe him in.

“Art is so personal, so intimate,” he said on a soft exhale, and I swallowed in reaction to the soft cadence of his words. “Meanin' can vary by person—even vary by day, depending on yer mood.”

“That's true. I guess there's no sense in trying to label something when each person is going to give the work of art their own label.” I crooked a smile his way. “Are you into art?”

“Me? Nah.” A dimple popped out in his left cheek. “But music is similar. I love songs that take risks, that challenge us.”

My chest warmed, and I nodded. “Me too. I love it when art makes you think. When it isn't safe or predictable and can't fit in a neat little box. My friend Corinne, she's in an art workshop this summer with an amazing African artist. I'd been tempted to sign up for it, but I decided not to. Now I'm glad I didn't.” A slow burn crawled across my face when I realized what I'd said.

“Why are ya glad?” His eyes seemed to bore into mine, and the soft noises around us faded away.

I swallowed as my stomach gave a nervous lurch. Did I dare tell him the truth? What did I have to lose, really? “Because if I had taken the workshop, I wouldn't be here in Scotland walking around with you.” My pulse pounded hard in my ears, and I felt a slight tremble in my hands.

Graham took a step toward me, numerous emotions flickering through his eyes. We were so close I could practically feel the crackle in the air between us. “I'm glad yer here, Ava. I said it before—I've had a lot of fun getting to know ya.”

“Me too.” I bit my lower lip. Graham was full of layers, an intriguing puzzle, and I wanted to pick his brain more.

His eyes darted down to my mouth, then jumped back up again, and I saw his jaw clench for a moment. What was he thinking about? Kissing me? I'd give anything to know what was going on in his head right now.

My phone buzzed, and I gave an awkward laugh as I dug it out of my pocket.

Hey, honey! Having fun? Where are you guys? :-)

“A text from my mom,” I said to him. “She probably wants to make sure I'm still alive.” I took a picture of the chair and purse exhibit and sent it to her, along with a brief description of what we'd seen in Glasgow so far.

“Graham?” Kylie said from behind us. “Check out these paintings over here. They're just stripes and patterns.”

I followed behind and watched him and Kylie talk. His body language with her was different than it was with me. Was that bad? Or was it a good thing? I kept getting these vibes from him that made me think he wasn't only interested in being my friend.

The last thing I wanted to do, though, was read a message that wasn't there—or make it have more meaning than it actually did. Being burned so badly with David had made me cautious.

Jamison grabbed my elbow and, with a smirk, nudged me up behind Graham and Kylie. We stared at the two large paintings mounted on the half wall in front of a row of columns.

“Seriously,” Kylie declared, “I don't get how this is art. It's just patterns.”

“To some people, patterns are art,” I replied. “There's beauty in the repetition.”

She shrugged. “I guess.” It was obvious by the look on her face that she wasn't trying to be rude or insulting. She genuinely didn't understand.

“My friend back home is the same as you,” I offered. “She prefers classical art and paintings to modern works. I don't think there's anything wrong with having particular art tastes, for what it's worth, so long as you have respect for other art. It doesn't mean you have to like everything. I think good art challenges us to think outside our regular world and view things differently.”

Her eyes flicked to me, and she gave me a brief but warm nod. Her demeanor relaxed a bit when she apparently realized I wasn't going to insult her. “Yeah, that's a fair point. Thanks.”

We continued walking through the gallery, and as Jamison took Kylie over to a brightly painted canvas on a creamy beige wall, Graham stepped to my side.

“That was nice of ya,” he said. His hand brushed my lower back for the briefest of seconds.

My pulse fluttered. “Oh, uh, thanks.”

“She's a kind lass if ya get to know her,” he offered.

“How long have you all known each other?”

He and I strolled around the perimeter of this room, pausing before each painting. They consisted of thick slashes and blobs of rich-colored paint splashed across large canvases.

“A long time. Since I was a young lad. We live in the same neighborhood.” The fondness ringing clear in his voice and eyes made my heart sink a touch, and I instantly chastised myself for the reaction.

Graham's arm brushed mine. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I'm startin' to think she has a wee crush on me.”

I bit back a barking laugh. A “wee crush” to say the least. “Yeah, I think you're right about that.”

As he pulled back to look at me, his lips twitched. “It's obvious to you, eh?”

Like I could blame the girl for how she felt. I had a crush on him too. I couldn't hide from my feelings anymore, even if they'd happened crazy fast. I'd known this guy for a few days, but already he'd started working his way under my skin with his charm and wit and intelligence.

I stared down at my feet, unsure what to reply and suddenly feeling like my emotions were on display for him, for everyone in the gallery to read. If I could sense Kylie's crush, surely others could sense mine.

He nudged me with his shoulder, and I looked up. “She and I are just friends, yanno,” he said quietly. “It's not like that.”

My heart jumped to my throat. I nodded in response, though the gesture was wooden. They might only be friends now, but that didn't mean it would always be that way. “Do you, uh, have a girlfriend?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Do ya have a boyfriend?”

I shook my head, and we both gave awkward chuckles.

“Kinda surprised ya don't,” he said, and I could hear the ­earnestness in his tone. “Yer a bonny gal.”