“Hmm...” He pretends to ponder heavily. “A gal who isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty but can cut loose and dance like nobody’s watchin’ when the moon is high.”
“That sounds about right,” I answer, feeling warmth spread through my whole body at his words. It’s like we’re engaged in a verbal tango, each exchange drawing us closer together.
As the fair winds down and long shadows drape over the Highlands, bathing them in golden light, Cal and I retreat to what has become ‘our’ cozy knoll overlooking the village. He sits beside me so close that our hands are almost touching on the cool grass.
“It’s stunning, isn’t it?” I say quietly, awestruck by the sprawling vista before us.
“Never seen anything like it,” he replies without taking his eyes off me.
I look at him, vulnerability flitting across his face. I can almost hear his unspoken confession: he also feels the weight of our predicament.
“Thank you,” I whisper, holding his gaze.
“For being here; for making me laugh when all I wanted to do was freak out.”
“Anytime, and in any time,” he vows, his thumb brushing against mine.
The Scottish Highlandsare cloaked in the soft glow of dusk as we stumble back into MacDowells’ Tavern, our feet protesting from the day’s adventures but our spirits soaring.
Fi plies us with her robust homemade bread and stew, and it’s not long before we’re nursing glasses of whisky, the tavern pulsating with Fergus’ lively fiddle tunes. Before I can even protest, Cal is pulling me into the throng of dancers.
“Oh no, no, Cal, I’m going to stomp on everyone!” I yelp, clinging onto him for dear life as we plunge into a raucous reel.
His laughter resonates through me as we spin wildly, my world shrinking to a blur of tartan and the comforting pressure of his hand on my waist.
“Trust yerself,” he says gently, leading me through the steps like we’ve danced together in another lifetime
As the music quickens, Cal and I lose ourselves in its rhythm. The traditional Scottish dance steps fade away, replaced by a haphazard jumble of modern shenanigans. My attempt at breakdancing elicits a burst of laughter from him that lights up his whole face. In response, he tries his hand at a ’60s twist, which gets me giggling uncontrollably.
Our spontaneous dance-off spirals through time. Cal pulls off a ’70s disco spin, only to be one-upped by my ’80s moonwalk.
He retaliates with a ’90s Macarena, and our absurdity escalates as we bring in elements from each subsequent decade until we’re madly flailing about with TikTok moves from the 2020s.
Our foreheads are covered in sweat, our faces flushed from laughter and exertion. Despite being surrounded by Highlanders, we’re alone in our own little world.
It takes Fergus stopping mid-tune for us to realize that we’ve become the evening’s entertainment. Thecrowd encircles us, their faces a mix of amusement and utter confusion.
Caught in the spotlight, Cal and I freeze like deer in headlights, our private moment suddenly very public. I glance at him, noticing he looks just as stunned as me.
With a sheepish grin, he clears his throat. “Well… uh… we thought we’d bring a little bit of... home to ye all,” he stammers out, pulling me closer.
“Is that how you dance where you come from?” Fergus arches an eyebrow at us.
“Um, I-I… had an itch,” I manage to stutter out, still catching my breath.
Cal wraps his arm around me tighter. “And Mills here is just a tad exhausted from all this... fresh air.”
The room erupts into chuckles. The villagers seem to accept our ridiculous excuse, and they relax into smiles.
“Yeah, so tired,” I chime in, forcing down my giggles with a faux yawn.
“Shall we make our escape now, Cal?” I ask him quietly, indicating towards the exit with my eyes.
As we retreat, with the tavern’s patrons still wearing bemused expressions, Alistair calls after us.
“Ye’ll teach me all those steps in the morrow, will ye?”
Cal and I exchange a glance before bursting into laughter.
