“Vee …” Kenna stalked toward me with narrowed eyes. “You’re doing that twisty thing with your hair. I can read you like a script, remember? What’s really going on?”
Not realizing I’d been tying my hair into a knot, I lowered my hands and pushed out a loud breath. It had always been hard to keep secrets from the girl who knew me better than anyone on the planet. “Remember when I asked if you’d seen that hot blond guy in the kilt earlier?”
“Yesss …”
“Well, I … ah … keep seeing him … everywhere. The same gorgeous boy in a kilt. Even once in Bainbridge, right after I broke up with Eric.” I slumped back against the dresser and stared at my cuticles. It sounded even more insane when I said it aloud. But if I was going to tell her, I might as well tell her everything. “He was here just now. Before you came in, and he … ah … talked to me.”
“Really? You know what my dad would say, don’t you?”
I shook my head. Kenna’s dad taught undergraduate psychology. Growing up, he’d had a psychological reason for everything, even why my dad walked out on us. Kenna crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, staring up at me with grave eyes. “He’d say ‘Kilt Boy’ is your anti-Eric.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s your knight in shining armor. The perfect boy. Someone heroic who’d never choose their own interests ahead of yours.” Her fingers absently brushed the quilted fabric of the comforter as she continued. “Think about it. He conveniently shows up after Eric dumps you, then again after your mom chooses Bob the Slob. Doesn’t that seem a little bit convenient?”
She had a point. He had a knack for appearing just as my life was turning upside down. “So I’m crazy? That’s the explanation?”
She stood and bridged the gap between us in a couple strides. “Actually, you’re one of the sanest people I know. You’re probably just hungry, sweetie. And tired.”
As if on cue, my tummy growled like a ferocious animal.
“See?” Kenna patted me on the arm. “I’m sure you’ll feel better with a full belly and a good night’s sleep.”
Maybe … but that place deep inside of me that insisted I wasn’t delusional didn’t buy into the imaginary hero theory either. But to convince Kenna that I wasn’t cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, I needed some kind of irrefutable proof.
As I followed Kenna down the back stairs to the kitchen, my inner Nancy Drew went on full alert. I’d noticed tons of books in the library downstairs on Scots folklore and history. It seemed like the perfect place to start researching the mystery of the Vanishing Golden Boy. Besides, with the image of Jamie’s pleading eyes as he faded away burned in my brain, getting any sleep was highly doubtful.
CHAPTER 3
Mackenna
Every truly happy memory from my childhood involved an old woman who dressed like a rainbow and the house she adored. I’d come to stay at Dunbrae Cottage the first time when I was six, right after my mom died. I remember living in a world enshrouded with grief, all drawn curtains and mourning clothes. Then Dad put me on a plane—alone—which was terrifying, except I did get as much soda as I could drink. After landing, I emerged from the breezeway to find an old lady wearing an emerald green dress and a fuchsia turban. Clutched in her hands was a sign that said “Welcome Mackenna” in pink glitter.
She hugged me tight, smelling like lavender and arthritis cream, and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here, sweetie.” Then she took me to the airport gift shop and bought me a pink plaid dress. Mostly, I remember laughing with her as we left my black clothes in the airport bathroom trash. That was the first of many joyous summers, filled with wonder and sparkles … Special Scottish seasons of love.