I’m living in this moment, learning to sail with a man who is equally infuriating and irresistible. It’s liberating—like slipping off too-tight shoes and running barefoot in the grass.
As the shoreline blurs into the distance, I realize that maybe clinging to my old identity isn’t necessary.
“You’re a natural,” Cal says with that dimpled smile that sends warmth flooding through my whole body.
“Maybe I am,” I concede, allowing myself a rare moment of pride. “And maybe... just maybe... I’m starting to understand why this place is so captivating.”
“Just wait till ye’ve tasted my haggis. You’ll truly be under Highland’s spell then.”
“Let’s not push our luck, sailor.”
My quip hides the anticipation already building for the evening ahead. I’m curious about his cooking and whatever else might unfold between us.
The wind whips through my hair with an energy that would make any hairbrush cower in fear as I tightly grip the tiller. The tangy salt air kisses my lips, and for a moment, I close my eyes to savor it all: briny scent and chill sea spray on my cheeks.
“Careful,” Cal’s voice tickles my ear, sending delicious shivers. “Ye dinnae want to be at Moray Firth’s mercy.”
“Is that a concern, or are you afraid I’ll outdo you?” My eyes snap open to meet his gaze.
“A bit of both.” He smirks as he adjusts the mainsail. His hands brush against mine briefly, causing an electric jolt in me that has nothing to do with static in the air.
We work in sync, and an easy rhythm forms between us as we slice through the water. My muscles relax under his subtle cues and silent commands. Each shift of weight, each exchanged glance, draws me closer to him.
“Lean into the turn, Mills,” he instructs me, his breath warm on my neck as he reaches around to show me how it’s done. For a heartbeat, our bodiesalign—two sailors navigating capricious winds and whatever is simmering beneath our banter.
“Like this?” I ask, hyper-aware of his presence behind me—his strong arms enveloping mine, showing rather than telling me how to harness nature’s power.
“Exactly like that.” His approval resonates in his tone, and he doesn’t move away immediately. He lingers in this intimate space, where I can count freckles dusting his strong jawline.
“I’m getting pretty good at this sailing business, right?” The words tumble out of my mouth, sounding way more confident than I feel.
“Indeed, ye are,” he responds, his hand finding a home on the small of my back. Ostensibly to steady me, but there’s more to it.
“Cal—” My voice trails off as I pivot to face him, only to be caught off guard by the unexpected softness in his expression.
“Amelia.” My full name rolls off his tongue. His eyes ask questions beyond sailing lessons and haggis tastings—whispering promises of moonlit walks along the loch and stolen kisses under the shadowy silhouette of ancient castles.
“Keep yer gaze on the horizon,” he suggests, but it’s not the horizon that captures my attention—it’s how the wind tousles his hair, the gold specks dancing in his eyes, and the adventurous promise lingering in his smile.
“Honestly? It’s hard to focus on anything but you,” I admit with a boldness that surprises me. But that’s what these Scottish Highlands do—they strip away all pretenses and leave me barefooted and breathless, ready to step into a new version of myself.
“Then don’t,” Cal replies.
Now it isn’t just our boat that feels adrift. A gust fills our sails, carrying more than sea salt—it also carries away my inhibitions.
I swallow hard. “Alright then, I won’t.” The words escape my lips as a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach, tighter than any ropes we’ve wound around winches.
“Ye look like you’ve seen Nessie herself,” Cal says softly, concern lacing his voice as he moves closer. Our knees touch with every sway of the boat.
“It’s just... this place,” I begin, my words getting lost in a wave of vulnerability I didn’t see coming. “This whole Highland adventure—it’s exhilarating, but it also scares me.”
“You’re scared?” He looks puzzled. “Of what?”
“Losing myself,” I tell him, my gaze falling to my worn-out sneakers.
“Back home, everything is familiar. Predictable. But here with you, it feels like shedding an old skin and not knowing what’s underneath.”
His hand wraps around mine, grounding me as the boat sways. “Amelia, ye’re not losing yourself. Ye’re simply uncovering parts of ye that have beentucked away, just waiting for the right gust of wind to stir them awake.”
