Kayla is blushing. I love how she’s so confident at times yet always takes compliments with a sense of disbelief, as if she’s never heard how beautiful she is, as if she’s hearing it for the first time. It makes me want to say it again and again and again, until she believes it. If only she didn’t look so bloody brilliant when flushed.
“It’s really nice to meet you,” Kayla says. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
I raise my brows. Actually, I’ve rarely talked about them, but it seems to be the right thing to say because Jessica looks pleased as punch.
“Is that so?” she asks, sending me a questioning look. “Good things, I hope.”
“Always,” I say just as Donald comes forward, offering his hand.
“Glad to have you here,” he says to her. “How are you enjoying Scotland so far?”
“I love everything about it,” she says. “It’s going to be hard to go home.”
If I was numb, those words wouldn’t hurt the way they do. She seems to still a bit after saying it, the smile frozen on her lips, almost hyperaware. She’d told me a few days ago that we weren’t to mention that she was leaving, and we’d been sticking to it, living in a dream of sex and soul, pretending the days were endless and time was only for other people but not us.
“Well, you just stay here for as long as you like,” Donald says smoothly, putting his arm around her shoulder and leading her into the house. “We have a nice cuppa ready for you.”
As he leads her inside, Jessica grabs my arm and pulls me down toward her.
“I just wanted to say,” she says quietly, her eyes bright, “that I didn’t know what to expect when you told us you were bringing over a girl. I don’t want to make this a bigger deal than it is. I know you very well, Lachlan.” I frown at her and she continues, “You’ve never been one for sentiment. But I just wanted to tell you that I’m so happy for you. She seems lovely, and she’s beautiful.”
I swallow uneasily. “Thank you,” I say gruffly, but I don’t add anything else.
“She treats you well?”
I give her a quick smile. “Yes. She does.”
She pats my back, satisfied, and we go inside to the sitting room where Donald is pouring Kayla a cup of tea. I sit in my usual seat, a vintage upholstered chair that Jessica always wanted to throw away because it was threadbare in places, but I’d convinced her to hold onto it. They’ve always been very wealthy and love to show that off in subtle ways. Jessica’s aesthetic for the house is cozy but not enough for ragged furniture. The chair was the only thing I could really relate to though, as daft as that sounds. When you’re an orphan, you look for comfort anywhere you can find it.
While Jessica putters about, getting shortbread and scones for us and placing them on the table with her finest white and pink china, Donald asks Kayla if she’s from San Francisco, which then gets them talking about the city. Donald worked in finance from an early age and a lot of his career had him traveling around the globe. Born to a poor family, he is a completely self-made man and it’s one reason why I admire him so much, other than the fact that he took me in when he did and ruled with an iron fist when he had to.
“And your job?” Donald asks, biting into his shortbread which leads to a shower of crumbs on the carpet. Jessica makes a good-hearted tsking noise and sits down, sliding the plate toward him so it won’t happen again.
This is where I see Kayla stutter. She rubs her lips together, and I know she’s trying to think of the right response. Finally she says, “I work for a weekly newspaper. The Bay Area Weekly. I’m in advertising.”
“Ah,” Donald says, adjusting his glasses. “That must be very interesting.”
Kayla glances at me and then says, “No. It’s not really.” She lets out a dry laugh, shrugging. “I’ve always wanted to be a journalist, to actually write the articles, but it seems no matter how much I try, I can’t get there.”
I clear my throat. “Well actually, Kayla wrote a brilliant article about me and Bram about the work he’s doing over there for lower-income housing.”