Page 69 of The Tartan Thesis

“I learned all this as a lad, and I wanted to do something to counteract the efforts to erase our culture. I asked my parents to take me to Inverness to get my first kilt, and they did. While we were there I found a Gaelic phrase book in a secondhand bookshop and learned to speak it.”

“Really? I’ve never known you to be the defiant sort,” I say, and he grins.

“I don’t usually abide by stereotypes, but I think we can agree that I’m the classic stubborn Scot.”

“I do. I agree. Wholeheartedly.” I chuckle. “And I assume all this kicked your love of history into overdrive?”

“Aye,” he says. “It did that. But it also made me appreciate my country more, how we’ve survived everything that’s been thrown at us and still managed to hold on to who we are. My parents were supportive. They loved seeing me embrace my heritage. Santa even brought me a refurbished set of bagpipes that Christmas, and I learned to play them by watching videos online.”

“Wait.” He glances at me. “You play the bagpipes?”

“Aye,” he says.

“How did I not know about this?”

“It never came up.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I’d put on my kilt and head out into the fields and play. It was nice. It still is. It feels like I’m communing with my ancestors, carrying on our traditions through time.”

“That’s beautiful, Torin.”

“Thanks,” he says.

“I should be the one thanking you,” I tell him.

“Och, what for?”

“For bringing me here. For trusting me with your history. For explaining to me in your own way why you want to do this research.”

“Anytime,” he says with a smile.

The setting sun pokes through a hole in the clouds, a pale ribbon of gold stretching across the valley before sinking slowly behind the hills. The wind off the glen cuts through my coat, but Torin’s arm is still looped around my back, his shoulder warm against mine.

After the conversation we just had, things should feel heavy, but my insides are radiating warmth. The more time I spend with Torin, the easier it becomes to see past the prickly edges he shows the rest of the world and see the incredible man he is inside. And I can’t stop myself from falling for him any more than I can keep the sun from setting.

Maeve’s voice pops into my head—her relentless campaign to get me to stop overthinking and show Torin how I feel. She’s probably right. But for now I’m just enjoying the moment. And what a moment it is.

I’ve been lucky to have so many beautiful experiences in my life, but few have ever made me feel the way I do right now, basking in the last rays of the day’s light with Torin. The man who earns another piece of my heart, every day.

21

Torin

Inverness

Translation: The mouth of the River Ness

Usage: To refer to the capital of the Highlands, a historic city with the most wonderful secondhand bookshop, and the place where the North Sea and the River Ness meet

I feel lighter after opening up to Beau. Even with my other colleagues who appreciate the past, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to show this much emotion. Now I’ve sobbed on this lovely man’s shoulder and ruined one of his handkerchiefs. But I knew it would be okay to have that moment with him.

He’s always so patient and kind, something I’m not sure I deserve, but it’s nice to have his strong arm around me as my emotions settle. I’m reluctant to break the silence, but when Beau’s stomach rumbles, I finally let him go.

I huff out a laugh and step back, letting my arm slip from around him. “I guess I haven’t kept you as well-fed as I’d intended,” I say. “Let’s find a pub. We need to get some food in you.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I’ve got snacks in the car to tide me over,” he says. The air has turned sharper now, the cold biting through my coat as we walk back to where we parked. Once we’re in, Beau digs around in the center console before holding up a protein bar. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

He tosses me one. The wrappers crackle as we tear them open, and Beau lifts his toward me like a glass.