Page 66 of The Tartan Thesis

“Easy,” I say. “Narnia.”

“Mine too!” he yells, getting a look from a couple headed in the opposite direction. Then more quietly, “I’ve read them so many times. I still turn the movies on for background noise when I clean up around the house.”

“I haven’t seen them in so long,” I say, “though my crushes on William Moseley, Ben Barnes, and Will Poulter all started there.”

He laughs. “I know. I went to see the third movie when I was in middle school with my best friend and his family. I was absolutely in love with Ben but had to keep it to myself, for obvious reasons.”

He says it casually, but I know that feeling all too well. “It’s not fair, is it,” I ask, “having to edit yourself when everyone else gets to say whatever they want, be whoever they want?”

“It isn’t fair,” he replies. “It’s hard being other. But it’s beautiful, too.”

“Agreed,” I say, smiling. “I wouldn’t change that part of me for the world.”

We keep up our banter about books and men, agreeing how cool it would be to have a secret room in our homes that could only be reached through a wardrobe. But once we’re back in the car, we disagree on which Hemsworth is the hottest.

“Our first fight,” Beau says solemnly, looking over at me as he buckles in.

“Not by a long shot,” I say, earning another nudge, this time the back of his hand on the side of my leg, and I can still feel where his knuckles pressed against me when we get to the National Trust for Scotland Visitor Centre that afternoon.

First order of business is food, apparently, because Beau heads straight for the Highland Coo Café and browses the menu. He’s already demolished most of the healthy snacks I packed for the drive, and it’s no wonder. Even without a gym, he’s kept up his fitness routine since arriving at the farm, which I discovered when I received a frantic text on Boxing Day.

Freya

GET TO THE OLD BARN NOW

Thinking there was an emergency, I’d bolted out of the house, across the back garden, and into the barn. Instead of fire or injury, I’d found Beau in shorts, leggings, and a tank top, doing squats while holding a small bale of hay over his head. He’d dropped the bundle of straw and said good morning, his broad chest heaving, sweat darkening the fabric of his shirt, sliding down the thick lines of his muscular arms.

I may have spent an inordinate amount of time in the shower after that.

When we get to the counter, he orders a burger with a side salad and a hot dog with chips. I go for a club sandwich with crisps. Beau pays again, despite me reaching for my card. “I looked up prices of private Highland tours. Getting all this for the cost of a sandwich is a steal.” Can’t argue with him there.

We grab a seat and check our phones. Freya is sending naughty messages involving handsome yanks and being bent over hay bales. I ignore her, but a good bit of blood rushes below the waist at the mental image. Where’s a shower when you need one?

Beau is over the moon when the food arrives, and the burger is gone in a few bites. Then he’s rubbing his hands together before picking up the hot dog. He makes me take a picture of him with it, simply saying, “For The Pigeons.”

His eyes close when he takes a bite, and a moan comes from somewhere deep inside him, sending the blood rushing back to my groin.

“You really like your hot dogs then, eh, pal?”

“I’ve missed these so much,” he says through a mouthful. Beau’s manners are usually impeccable, but not today. The man is clearly in some kind of culinary ecstasy.

“I’ll try to find a Scottish cultural experience near a Costco soon,” I tell him.

“You’re too good to me,” he says, already halfway through the chips.

A pang of shame hit me at his words, remembering how poorly I’d treated him before. Guess I’ll just have to keep plying him with hot dogs to make up for it. Anything to hear that moan again.

Once he polishes off his side dishes, he gets a small fruit bowl. While he’s inhaling that, I get a slice of chocolate cake for us to share. He takes a couple of bites but mostly leaves it to me. “I’ve cheated so much the last few days eating your mother’s baking. Also, whisky.”

His hunger sated, I take him through the exhibits at the center. He’s fascinated by every bit of it—the geology, the history, the mountaineering. All of it. I answer his questions and try to keep from letting my smile give away the coming surprise.

We head out back, where there’s a fascinating reconstruction of a seventeenth-century turf and creel house, but I know there will be no distracting him from the—

“Coos!” Beau yells, trying and failing to sound Scottish, as he literally jumps up and down. “Can we pet them?”

The other visitors give him amused glances. It’s not every day you see such a large man bouncing on the balls of his feet at the sight of miniature livestock.

“No,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder before he does something dramatic like climb the fence. “You can’t touch these, but I promise you will pet a Highland cow before we head back to Edinburgh.”