Sitting at the antique desk, I gaze out at the sea, my fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard. I can’t focus. I’m trying to make sense of the month… or centuries? Time travel is tricky like that. It’s been an emotional tornado: fear, excitement, passion... and now, confusion.
Cal isn’t acting like himself. He’s normally Mr. Confidence with a side order of ego and a generous helping of self-deprecating humor for dessert. But the whole walk home, he was distant; his usual quick-witted banter replaced by an unsettling silence.
Is it the whiplash from our sudden return? Or does he regret what happened between us in 1645? Is this his way of putting up walls?
A part of me wants to march right up to his cottage and demand answers, ask him why he’s turned into a stranger since we got back. But then there’s another part that worries his answer might be something I’m not ready to hear.
As I stare at the mocking blankness on my screen, my mind keeps circling back to that moment when we took our leap into Loch Ness together, hand in hand, when our world did a complete 180. Did something change in this time? Has it changed Cal, too?
I shake off the doubts and start hammering away at the keyboard, spilling all my thoughts, fears, and questions into a document that probably won’t see the light of day.
But as words fill up the screen, it hits me. It’s not just about Cal acting differently; it’s also about me.
The woman who first set foot on Scottish soil isn’t the same one typing out her story now. I’ve changeddrastically. I’ve tasted love, formed friendships, and been brave in ways I never thought possible.
But now, back in my own time, with my flight home looming like an executioner’s axe... I’m at a loss about what to do next. Is there a future for us? Or did we leave our shot at happiness back in 1645?
24 hours. That’s all the time I have left to figure it out.
Chapter Thirty
Jolted awake,I’m unceremoniously ripped from the comforting arms of slumber. Waking up at Rosewood Cottage has evolved into an Olympic sport, complete with twists and turns to avoid a head-on collision with low-hanging beams. But this morning feels different.
After locking horns with wild Scotsmen and taking a dip in a magical loch, I feel like a new woman—one who can remember to duck under an attic bedroom ceiling.
“Score one for Mills,” I whisper to the barely lit room, my lips curling into a smirk as I stare at the ceiling.
The familiar scent of sea salt intertwined with aged timber fills my nose. I take another moment to appreciate the cottage’s quaint charm—its blue floral wallpaper, the seashells, and thesand-dollar collection displayed on floating shelves. A solitary ray of afternoon sunlight sneaks through lace curtains, casting playful shadows over my favorite pair of beat-up sneakers at the foot of the bed.
Reality seeps back in slowly but surely, cold and unwelcome like water invading a leaky boot. A pang of longing hits me hard—for tartan kilts and morning porridge, for Cal and his ancestors’ Scottish accents echoing off ancient stone walls. Yet here I am, nestled in the last cottage on Moray Firth’s tranquil cove, all by myself.
Swinging my legs out from under the covers, I stand up and catch sight of my reflection in an antique mirror.
“Holy moly,” I mutter under my breath as I squint at the sleep-deprived monster staring back at me. “I look like I’ve been through four centuries.”
My usually vibrant green-gold eyes look like they’ve gone ten rounds with Father Time himself.
“Get a grip, Mills,” I tell my reflection. “You’ve survived the shark-infested waters of online dating, weathered your parents’ marital hurricane, and time-traveled to and from 1645 without GPS. You can totally handle a bit of post-time travel jet lag.”
My eyes flick to the clock on my bedside table. 3:15 pm? I’ve slept like a log—or rather, like a Scotsman after a victorious battle and a hefty swig of whisky. But if it’s late afternoon already, why hasn’t Cal shown up yet?
I shuffle towards the window to look out at the Firth, tripping over last night’s discarded breeches. The sunlight outside promises to be the ultimate pick-me-up. I’m stronger now; Cal’s love and a dash of adventure have seen to that. A little romantic uncertainty isn’t going to break me.
“Sunshine is the answer,” I proclaim to the sea shore, my hand splayed against the cool window glass. It’s either this or surrender to the lure of bed, and Amelia Sutherland doesn’t wave her white flag so quickly.
“Even if Cal has become as elusive as Nessie,” I mutter, half-hoping the legendary loch magic might sprinkle some clarity my way—or at least prevent me from nose-diving into my coffee.
Resting my forehead against the windowpane, I let the sun’s warmth seep into me, its rays promising a salve for my chaotic thoughts. Outside, it’s like someone hit pause on life—only the trees sway rhythmically in sync with the breeze, seemingly performing for the waves that brush against the shoreline with each rhythmic lap.
“Maybe tree-whispering should be my next career move,” I muse aloud, “Seems less heart-wrenching than trying to understand men.”
My gaze follows a pair of robins darting around in the greenery. The tranquility of it all makes it hard to believe anything could be wrong. But then again, it’s equally challenging picturing Cal not burstingthrough that door any second with his trademark lopsided grin and a ‘wee story’ about his latest highland cow friend.
A pang shoots through my chest at the thought. His presence has become as predictable as a sunrise, woven into every part of my day-to-day life. Yet today? Today feels hollow without him.
“Where are you hiding, Cal?” I whisper to myself before quickly erasing the heart I drew on the foggy glass.
“Pull yourself together,” I think, tugging on a t-shirt and my go-to dark jeans. “You’ve navigated rougher waters than an MIA boyfriend... Wait, he is still my boyfriend, right?”
