July - Chapter Two

Far too soon after that, Jeremy woke to a sudden thump, followed by a familiar voice—

“Rise and shine, laddie! Get your eggs while they’re hot!”

Jeremy cracked open his eyes. “What the—?”

Angus was standing in the doorway to Jeremy’s room, beaming and cheerful and bright red, as usual. “Come on!” He turned to go back downstairs. “Breakfast!”

Jeremy scowled once Angus was out of sight, then groaned and rubbed his face. The sun was up, that much was true, but clouds were scuttling in from the horizon, promising rain.

Downstairs, he found his mom at the kitchen table and Angus at the stove wearing a bright green apron, which did nothing to distract from his blue plaid utilikilt. Still in her pajamas, Rochelle was holding a mug of tea and looking a little more awake, but she was watching Angus with all the bemusement that Jeremy felt.

“Morning,” Jeremy mumbled to her, sitting down. The small wall clock told him it was 10:15. Above his left eye, the small bruise throbbed.

“Morning. How did you sleep?” She seemed tired, but her eyes were alert.

Jeremy shrugged. “Like a rock.”

“That’s the sea air,” Angus broke in. “Does a world of good.” He was frying something, and the smell was making Jeremy’s stomach twist and growl.

Rochelle nodded. “How are you feeling? Jet-lagged?”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know.” They had never traveled across a time zone before, since most of their vacations had been in different parts of the East Coast.

“Here you are!” Angus turned around and handed him a plate full of… “Eat up!”

“Uh.” Jeremy stared at the food. Eggs, he recognized. “What exactly am I eating?”

“A full Scottish!” Angus boomed, switching off the stove and putting the dishes in the sink. “Eggs, bacon, ham, sausage, tomatoes, mushrooms—”

“And haggis and black pudding,” Rochelle added. “But he didn’t want to scare us, so he left those out.”

“And I normally don’t forgo the baked beans,” Angus said, “but I gather they were last night’s dinner. Otherwise, they’d be center stage.” He followed this with a smile and a wink.

“Right.” Jeremy picked up his fork. “You Scots don’t mess around.” He dug in, and had to suppress a noise that would’ve been far too inappropriate for the breakfast table. The eggs, golden and fluffy, were delicious, as were the ham and sausage. The mushrooms were supple and salty, and who knew that fried tomatoes could taste so good?

“I’ve got to go shopping today, but I don’t know how I’m going to get to town.” Rochelle tsked. “I really do need to get a license and a car.”

Angus waved a hand at Rochelle, sweeping away her concerns. “You’ve got to go to the mainland for all the bureaucratic nonsense, since you’ll be needing a manual license. But until you get properly certified, I can always haul you into town. I go a few times a week for one reason or another. And it’s not exactly a long drive!”

Rochelle smiled. “Well, that’d be very helpful. Were you planning on going today?”

“Aye. I can take you to the store and run my errands no problem. Early afternoon?”

“You’re on. Jeremy, what were you thinking of doing today?”

It took him a moment to catch up. “Uh, I’m not sure. Explore, I guess?”

Angus frowned. “By yourself?”

“Why not?” Jeremy asked him, wondering if there was any coffee in the house because Christ was it too early for this.

Angus held up a beefy, pan-like hand and began ticking off reasons on his fingers. “There are the cliffs. And the hills. And the woods. And you can get lost if you don’t know your way around.”

Rochelle must’ve seen the rebellion squealing under Jeremy’s skin, because she cut in, “What if he rode into town with us, looked around, and walked back here along the coastal path? That’s only a couple miles, and he’d learn his way a bit more.”

“He thinks that’s a great plan,” Jeremy said, raising an eyebrow at Angus.

“Well…” Angus still looked unconvinced, but Rochelle’s pleading gaze won him over. “All right. Leave at three o’clock?” He stood up from the table, kilt swaying dangerously.

“Yes sir.” Jeremy saluted him, earning a grin.

“Good lad.” Angus thumped Jeremy on the back and waved to Rochelle on his way out. “Cheers!”

“Bye!” She waited until she heard the front door close before giving Jeremy a very earnest look. “Sorry. Seems he’s quite the protective sort.”

Jeremy shrugged, polished off the last of the mushrooms. “Is there any coffee?”

“Yes.” She pointed to the pantry. “Just the instant stuff, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right.” Jeremy stood up, reached for the metal kettle on the stove. It was reasonably full, so he turned on the burner. “I’m surprised they got us any. I would’ve thought they’d cut us off cold-turkey, make us go full-on tea and bickies.”

“Look at you, picking up the lingo. Paul and I are very impressed.” She smiled into her tea.

“So what was Angus doing here?” Jeremy said as he searched for the coffee.

“Cooking us breakfast, obviously.” Rochelle’s smile turned into a grin. “I’m starting to wonder if his parents think me entirely incompetent. I guess they’re just very welcoming and they don’t want me to feel overwhelmed.”

Jeremy turned, left eyebrow in danger of hitting his hairline. “So they thought they’d send a walking mountain to force-feed us black pudding?”

“A very cute walking mountain,” she replied, a twinkle in her eye.

Jeremy raised a spoon, pointed it at her. “Disgusting. Don’t do that.”

She was laughing now. “Don’t do what?”

“I’m serious, Ma. Quit drooling.”

Several hours later, Jeremy stared down at where the ocean was crashing into the rocks of the grey Scottish beach and shivered.

The afternoon had, altogether, been a wild adventure.

Dunsegall had two grocery stores. One was a Tesco — not unlike a Kroger, his mom assured him — and the other was a general-shop type place just off the High Street. Angus insisted on the latter, because he believed in supporting small business, thank you very much, and so, onto High Street they went.

The store was much bigger than it looked from the outside and crammed with shelves full of obscurities, including but not limited to pickled eggs and six different brands of black pudding. There was also a surprising amount of fresh produce, more than they had expected for such a remote town, and it left Rochelle gaping and wondering aloud where it had come from.

“Oh, there’s a little coalition of farmers on the island who run greenhouses year-round,” Angus said, picking up an apple and crunching into it easy-as-you-please. “And we get shipments from the mainland a few times a month.” He’d smiled at Rochelle, his eyes twinkling as she filled her cart with vegetables. “We’re not quite so isolated as we seem. It is the twenty-first century, after all.”

“Really?” Jeremy had cut in, picking up a jar of pickled cow tongues and holding it aloft. “Are you sure?”

His mom hummed a tune as she wandered through the shelves and stocked up on all the necessary goods, studiously ignoring the more Scottish delicacies. Angus did manage to convince her to buy chips — crisps, Jeremy corrected — seasoned with something called “Prawn Cocktail” and an entire box of Mars bars.

“You’ll love this,” Angus had insisted, pushing one of said Mars bars into Jeremy’s hand. The ceiling-high shelves had creaked ominously behind him.

Mars bars were pretty tasty, Jeremy had to admit. Not too different from a Milky Way, but he wasn’t about to tell Angus that.

After the shopping trip, Rochelle had zipped up Jeremy’s windbreaker, shoved a bottle of something called Ribena in his hand, and nudged him in the direction of the coast. “Be careful,” she’d called after him, and he’d rolled his eyes.

He had wandered through the town for about an hour, walking quickly to discourage any of the locals stopping him for a “quick chat,” and took stock of the little shops he saw along the way. Books, baked goods, meats, fish, hats, and about a hundred different kinds of tartan. A couple of the store owners had waved to him as he passed, and he’d smiled in return.

The town itself wasn’t very big, but it was certainly dedicated. Shops and houses clustered together like young birds along the winding lines of cobblestone roads. The buildings were old, built mostly from brick and stone and painted a wide range of pastel colors and shades of white. Jeremy couldn’t help but grimace at it; the whole place really was right out of a picture book, idyllic to the point of nausea. His mom would call it quaint.

The weather wasn’t brilliant — drizzly (“Ah, it’s just a wee spit,” in Angus’ words) with a sharp wind that had cut through any kind of warmth Jeremy tried to knock together. But, this didn’t seem to deter the locals. When he had reached the main road, leaving the town behind him, he was immediately surprised by the number of people walking along the seafront.

Jeremy had worked hard not to slip on the spray-soaked cobblestones that made up the coastal path as it wound along the main road. But, as he continued west, that only lasted about a mile, then the path turned into coarse pebbles and rocks, cutting through the grass and stone that lined the upper edge of the cliffs.

Well. They weren’t really proper cliffs, but Jeremy had no idea what else to call them. There was a tiny amount of beach between the water and the rocks, rocks that rose to varying heights along the coast. Some of the tallest ones, Jeremy noted, weren’t far from his own cottage.

The Ribena was purple and tangy, and Jeremy had licked his lips as he paused to catch his breath. The town had fallen away behind him, the wind had picked up, and he had to keep wiping the spray off of his lenses. He had stared out at the foggy horizon, fancied he could see the dull edge of the mainland, and tried not to think about the mud and grass seeping into his Converse.

“This is fun,” he had said aloud, to the gulls and the wind, and hadn’t sounded convincing in the least. Jeremy then turned, keeping his eye on the one garbage can in sight, and jump-shot his empty bottle. It hit the rim and tumbled in, and Jeremy had let out a whoop. A gull had cawed at him in reply.

Soon, he’d reached the point Angus had told him about, where the path curved away from the coast, across the main road, and through the woods. It was counterintuitive, but as Angus had assured him, it was fine.

Jeremy had looked up as he entered the little forest. The trees were practically iridescent, gleaming bright green in the gloomy sunlight, and every step seemed to sponge with moss. Jeremy had then continued for about ten minutes, water dripping from the trees and down his neck, and when he had reached a fork in the path, he went to the right, thinking nothing of it at the time.

But now, standing at the top of some cliffs of fairly decent size, Jeremy realized that he definitely should’ve thought something of it.

He had mistakenly followed the woods up the slope of the coast, behind Dunsegall Castle, all the way to the western side of the island. Thankfully, the castle was still close by, and Jeremy had a millimeter or two of dry clothing left. He wasn’t more than twenty minutes from the cottage, but the prospect of turning around and going back the way he’d come wasn’t very appealing.

The wind picked up, whistling in his ears and raising goosebumps along his spine. The air was bitter and sharp with salt, stinging in his nostrils. He shivered, but couldn’t stop himself from taking a step closer to the cliff’s edge.

The path was somewhere behind him, closer to the land than it was further south, but once he’d realized his mistake, Jeremy had wandered over to the water out of sheer curiosity. He wasn’t up very high, definitely less than ten feet, but it was a clear drop, and the water below was deep, frothy, and steel-grey, throwing itself against the rocks with marked persistence.

It was there that he heard the first meow.

The sound was plaintive, high-pitched, and soon swallowed by the wind. Jeremy stopped short, checking behind him. Nothing there.

Then a second meow, much more urgent than the first. Frowning, he leaned over the edge, squinting against the spray, and peered down at the water.

A cat, because of course there was a goddamn cat. It was dark grey and smallish, fighting the water, struggling desperately to stay afloat. It meowed again, paws thrashing, and was almost swallowed by a surging wave.

“Shit.” Jeremy was shaking. How the fuck could he save it? “Shit shit shit!”

“Oi!” came a shout from somewhere behind him. “You all right, mate?”

Jeremy whirled around, catching a glimpse of red hair before he slipped on the grass and was falling falling falling—

The water hit him like a punch to the everything, cold and warm all at once and too goddamn strong. Jeremy fought the urge to seize up, grabbed wildly until his hand smacked into a small, furry body, and he clung on for dear life, trying to keep the cat’s head above the surface as they both kicked out, fighting to stay afloat. The water was too deep, currents curling up from below Jeremy’s feet, and he gasped, then choked on a mouthful of salty water. He was starting to sink.

Jeremy forced his head above water, his entire body shaking with the effort, and, not knowing who would possibly hear him, yelled out a (rather pathetic, he thought), “P-please—can’t—swim—”

A wave surged, pushing him under the surface, and water flooded Jeremy’s mouth, ears, nose, the salt stinging his nose and burning in his throat. He tried not to cough, still clinging to the cat, then there was a loud crash next to him, another rolling wave, strong arms wrapping around him, then the hands of a giant pulled him out of the water, up the rocks, and back onto the grass.

The world spun and Jeremy found himself retching, coughing out a small ecosystem of ocean water, his eyes streaming but his glasses somehow still on. “Goddamn it,” he croaked, kicking at the rocks beneath his feet.

“My feelings exactly,” panted the person next to him. The Scottish person next to him.

Wheezing, still groggy, Jeremy decided to ignore that for the moment and looked to his left instead. The cat, which was the dark grey color of the waves rolling in below them, had flopped onto the grass and was making some pretty horrible coughing noises. He reached over, amazed it didn’t fight him off, and pressed hard right below its ribcage. The cat retched, and out came a spurt of water. The last, Jeremy hoped.

“What,” came the voice again, sharper now, “the hell were you doing?”

Jeremy looked back to his right, and his stomach gave an odd sort of tremor. Next to him, splayed flat on the ground, was a boy about his age with the most ridiculous hair he had ever seen, including his own. So red it was practically orange, fluorescent against the muddy grass, and dripping flat over a pair of annoyed, but inquisitive, blue eyes. The boy’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, and his wide, pale lips barked out a, “Well?”

“Freckles,” Jeremy mumbled. They were everywhere on this kid. He was almost more freckle than skin, and what skin he did have was white as fuck, almost translucent.

“What?”

Jeremy cringed. “Cat. I was saving the cat.”

A snort, loud and indignant. “Like hell. Walking too close to the edge is what you were doing. You needed more help than he did.” His accent was thick, coarse, weirdly soothing.

The cat stood up, shook itself, and wandered over to Jeremy. It stuck its nose in his ear, purring, then began to lick at his cheek.

“Great,” Jeremy said to the sky, voice small. The cat’s tongue was warm and rough.

Another snort, somehow louder. “Looks like you’ve got a new friend.”

Ah. Right. “Thank you? For helping me?” Jeremy said.

His companion grunted. “Yeah, whatever.” He sat up, tousling his hair until it was vertical. “You really ought to learn to swim.”

“I’ll get right on that.” The cat, still purring, was giving Jeremy’s hair a good sniff, and he didn’t have the energy to stop it.

“You planning on moving at any point? Rain’s gonna start.”

Jeremy refocused on the sky, and winced when he saw that this was true. Clouds were hanging heavy and grey, and the wind picked up again. He shivered.

His companion, however, seemed unfazed by the weather, even though he was soaked to the skin, his t-shirt clinging to his unhelpfully barrel-like chest and tree-like arms. Really not fair, Jeremy griped. “Come on,” said Mystery Guy, leaning his arms on his knees. “Where d’you live?”

“Cottage by the castle,” Jeremy said, sitting up as well. The mud squelched under his ass and even more water seeped into his underwear. Par for the course, Jeremy thought, trying unsuccessfully to wipe some of the gunk off his glasses.

“Huh.” Mystery Guy stood up, looking at Jeremy anew and apparently unimpressed with what he saw.

Jeremy shoved his glasses back on and noticed for the first time that Mystery Guy was wearing a knee-length kilt, dark green tartan with its seam dripping water, and felt his cheeks flood with heat. Mystery Guy’s calves were far too impressive to be out and about like that.

“You’re the new family that’s moved in.”

“Jeremy,” he replied, standing up and avoiding eye contact. The wind cut right through him, and he shivered again, erupting in goosebumps.

Another grunt. “Pleasure. Name’s Colin.” Colin thumped himself on the chest in a distinctly Angus-like manner. “You said you live in the old cottage?”

“Yes.” Jeremy felt the cat nudge against his leg and met Colin’s gaze. “Like I, uh, also said, thank you for helping me.”

But Colin was shaking his head. “Come on. Let’s go.” And he started off towards the castle, keeping close to the coast, instead of turning back to the path.

Outrage prickled under Jeremy’s skin and he stepped forward, dislodging the cat. “I don’t need to be walked home.”

“Just like you didn’t need help getting out of the water?” Colin replied, not even bothering to turn around. His white t-shirt clung unhelpfully to his muscular back, transparent and slick, and Jeremy tried not to see the black lines of a large tattoo that swirled around Colin’s shoulder blade. Ridiculous — it was too cold for him to be wearing just a t-shirt.

And. Well. Jeremy couldn’t exactly fight him on his point.

“Really,” he tried again, following Colin and stumbling through a shiver, “you don’t need to, I can find my own way.” Jeremy didn’t look, but he was sure the cat was right behind them.

Colin chuckled. “You’re from America, right?” He had to raise his voice to be heard above the wind.

“Washington, D.C.” Jeremy fought to keep the tremor out of his words — he really was shivering now.

Colin finally turned, glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Did you ever see the President?”

“Yeah, had him over for tea.”

“I thought you drank coffee across the pond.”

“Only when the tea tax is too high,” Jeremy said, trying not to stare at Colin’s formidable ass.

Colin stopped walking, looked over his shoulder again. “You’re funny, Yankee,” he said.

Jeremy snorted as he (and the cat) drew even. “What, surprised?”

“Devastated,” Colin said, dry as a bone. The wind was howling, tossing his ginger hair into an absurd tangle. There was something in his eyes, the smallest twinkle of amusement, and Jeremy fought the urge to count his freckles.

“Come on.” Jeremy squelched past him, breaking eye contact and whatever else was in the air between them. “I thought you were walking me home.”

Colin snorted but followed. “Always heard you Americans were rude.”

“If you think this is bad, you should see me when I wake up,” Jeremy said, not thinking until it was too late. Heat rushed into his face, but thankfully, Colin was still a few steps behind.

Colin, delightfully, seemed to ignore this. “So it’s just you and your mum, then?” he said, his gruff manner not concealing his curiosity.

“And Paul Newman,” Jeremy replied, then shook his head. He needed to stop sounding so crazy in front of the locals.

A pause. Then, “Sorry, what?”

Jeremy sighed. “I’ll introduce you when we get to the house.”

The wind picked up and they fell into silence, but it wasn’t awkward, much to Jeremy’s surprise. The cat, which he refused to let himself name, continued to follow them, ratty and damp and pathetic-looking though it was.

After a few minutes, he noticed, as if from a great distance, that he couldn’t feel his feet or his fingers, and he shoved his hands into his pockets in a rather belated gesture. Under his shoes, the muddy grass crunched and squished, the land gradually sloping downwards as they approached the castle. The road was visible now, snaking out of the castle’s visitor parking lot and down into the forest, and Jeremy felt a wave of reassurance. Now, he knew where he was.

He looked up at the castle. “It’s quite a beast.”

Colin nodded, following his line of sight. “Aye. She’s a tough old broad. Been here for centuries now, and it takes a lot to ruffle her feathers.”

Jeremy cast him a sideways glance as they stepped onto the road and continued on towards the forest. “Have you ever gone inside?”

Colin nodded again. “Primary school trips and things. And my dad looks in on the family pets every once in a while, and I’ll go with him.” He caught Jeremy’s flummoxed expression and added, “He’s a vet. Only one on the island.”

“Ah.” Jeremy frowned at him again. “Why didn’t you help the cat?”

Colin looked down, where said cat was happily jaunting along. “You handled it just fine, and, funnily enough, I don’t think he’s dead.”

“Ha-ha,” Jeremy snarked.

As they entered the forest, keeping to the road, the light dimmed, giving everything an eerie, grey-green glow. Even the wind faded into the background, a gentle howl that rippled through the trees and under their feet. Colin’s hair was positively neon. The trees were in full leaf, sprouting from skins of dense, fuzzy moss and clusters of bright, brittle ferns. Moisture hung thick and cool in the air, and Jeremy had to keep reaching up to wipe off his glasses.

“D’you ever wear contacts?” Colin wanted to know after watching this happen twice.

Jeremy shook his head. “Tried them once, didn’t take.”

“Don’t your glasses get annoying?” was his next question.

“Well.” Jeremy considered this. “Sometimes. But I’ve avoided any major catastrophes, like losing them or breaking them. And I’ve got a spare in case that happens.”

Colin hummed. “Are you nearsighted or farsighted?”

“Near.” Jeremy turned to frown at him. “What is this, twenty questions?”

Colin gave him a toothy and far-too-gorgeous grin. “Just trying to make conversation.”

Time to change the subject. “D’you know who the cat belongs to?”

“Search me.” Colin looked down at the cat, and the cat looked back at him. “He’s young, but he’s been weaned and he seems perfectly healthy. Maybe one of the castle cats had a litter we didn’t know about.”

Jeremy hummed. The road forked ahead at the mouth of the woods, and the right side would get them to the cottage. “Well, I wish he’d go back to his family.” He veered toward the right fork of the path, and Colin did the same.

“I’ll get my dad to chip him, see if he has an owner,” Colin replied. “Most people on the island do that nowadays. He’s not the only cat who likes to wander. But he didn’t stop at the castle, so maybe you saved him from a jailbreak gone wrong.”

They were approaching the end of the trees, and Jeremy thought he’d try one last time: “You know, I think I can find my way from here, if you wanted to—”

“Fat chance, Yankee,” said Colin. The trees fell away, and the ocean wind whipped across their faces, ice-cold and vicious.

Jeremy gritted his teeth. The nickname appeared to be staying. “Don’t body-shame chances.”

“Now that wasn’t funny.” Colin looked up. “Oh, shite—”

That was all he could get out before the heavens opened, and a freezing, biting, torrential rain sliced through the wind, smacking them in the face, eyes, arms, legs, like a thousand tiny needles.

Jeremy froze where he stood, anger boiling up inside him. He turned to the sky and bellowed, “HOW?!”

Colin, ducking against the elements, whirled towards him. “What?!”

Jeremy ignored him, the rain soaking him to the skin, again. “HOW! IS! THIS! SUMMER!”

Colin swore in something garbled and thick — Gaelic? Jeremy paused to wonder — and grabbed Jeremy’s arm. “Come on!”

Jeremy gave in and let himself be pulled towards the cottage. The gate creaked, the grass squished under their feet, Colin’s hand was hot on his wrist, and then they were at the door, and Colin was knocking, pounding, the door was thrown open, and Rochelle was staring at them with a mixture of relief and horror.

“Jesus, there you are!” she cried. “Get inside, both of you!” She grabbed Jeremy’s other hand and all but yanked them both in, the door slamming shut behind them. The change in volume was shocking, the storm now muted and grumbling behind the walls, and for a moment, Jeremy could only stand there, dripping a small river onto the hall floor. Colin dropped his arm, but the point of contact burned.

Something warm and fluffy hit him square in the face. He caught it automatically as his mom disappeared into the kitchen, then he registered a faint, not-very-wind-like yowling just outside the door. Jeremy met Colin’s wide gaze, and then Colin was lunging for the front door, opening it just enough for the cat to come barrelling into the house at full speed, disappearing into the kitchen in a streak of mud and rain water.

“A cat?” came Rochelle’s shrill cry. “A goddamn cat?!”

“Sorry,” said Jeremy, his voice weak, and he finally realized that the thing in his hands was a towel, and he buried his face in it with a groan.

“Careful, now.” Colin was smug. “You’re not alone.”

Jeremy lowered the towel to glare at him, but then Rochelle reappeared, another two towels in one hand and a towel-wrapped bundle hitched high on her other shoulder. Jeremy and Colin each took another towel, and Colin said, “Thanks very much, ma’am,” suddenly all charm in a way that was very irritating and not at all attractive.

“You’re welcome,” Rochelle replied, rubbing the bundle vigorously. Jeremy assumed it must be the cat. “Now, Jeremy, are you going to introduce us?”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and began to wipe himself down. “Mom, Colin. Colin, mom.”

“Colin MacGregor, ma’am. At your service.” And then he inclined his head in a sort of half-bow. His hair was vertical and half-sideways. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid my own is a wee bit muddy.”

Rochelle chuckled, clearly amused. “That’s all right. You can call me Rochelle. And how did you two meet on this fine summer afternoon?”

“At the harbor,” Jeremy blurted, darting a sideways glance at Colin and hoping he’d play along. “Looking at boats.”

Colin was staring at Jeremy, but then he said, “Aye. I live up past the castle so I joined him on his walk back. That is, until the rain stopped us.” Then he chuckled, and Jeremy fought the urge to gape at him. Turned out Colin could sometimes not be a little shit.

“Well, Colin, welcome to our home.” Rochelle brought the bundle down into her arms and pulled away the edge. The cat, fluffier than ever, poked his head out, and his purring was loud enough to hear from down the hall. “And what about this one?”

Jeremy shrugged. “He joined us somewhere on the path and followed us here. We don’t know if he belongs to anyone.”

“A traveler in a storm.” Rochelle smiled down at the cat, patting his back as if he were a baby, and the cat rewarded her with a head-butt to the chin. She began to laugh, then turned to the boys. “All right, you two. I’ve got a pot of tea brewing and dinner’s almost done, but you need to get out of those wet clothes, and maybe a hot shower while you’re at it.”

Jeremy fought the urge to blush, but then Colin spoke up: “Actually, ma’am, I can just start heading home, I don’t wish to impose—”

“Colin,” said Rochelle, tone firm. “Don’t be ridiculous. And if you think I’m going to let you go back out in that storm in good conscience, you’ve got another thing coming. Do you need to phone anyone to let them know you’re okay?”

Colin nodded. “My dad, but he won’t be worried.”

“Sounds like a plan. Now get upstairs. Don’t worry about tracking water,” she added as they approached the stairs, “and watch your head, Colin! The ceiling gets low.” Colin’s answer was a rumbling laugh as he ascended, and Rochelle snatched Jeremy aside before he could follow. “Lend him some clothes, Jer, and be nice.”

“Sure, let me just learn a spell to make my clothes bigger,” Jeremy hissed back. He turned away from her smirk and marched upstairs, where Colin was waiting on the landing. He instantly made the space look three times smaller.

“That one.” Jeremy pointed to his room and Colin led the way, treating Jeremy to another glimpse of that ridiculous tattoo through his shirt.

“Nice view,” said Colin upon entering, pointing to the storm raging outside Jeremy’s window. Rain was streaking down the windows, and the sea was a rolling, dark grey mass capped with white gurgles of foam, tossing boiling waves up on the shore. Around them, the walls and eaves groaned in the wind.

“Soothing, isn’t it?” Jeremy went over to the dresser and began to dig for his biggest shirt and sweatpants.

“What’s your last name?” Colin said, and, what.

“Lefebre,” Jeremy said, turning to frown at him. “It’s French. Why?”

“Your mum’s nice, but.” Colin half-smiled. “I don’t call parents by their first names.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and went back to his dresser. “Of course you don’t. Seeing as you’re the guest, you can shower first.”

Colin snorted. “If you’re that put out about it—”

Jeremy found something acceptable and slammed the drawer shut. “I’m not put out, I would just rather—” He turned around again and found himself faced with a very shirtless, very nonchalant Colin. “And your shirt’s off. Holy shit. Okay.” Jeremy threw the clothing at Colin and pointed at the bathroom. “Go.”

Colin was smirking, almost laughing. “What’s the problem, Yankee? Have I offended your delicate sensibilities?”

Jeremy fumed, ignoring the blush that swept up his neck and onto his ears. “Just be quick about it.”

Colin relented. “All right, all right.” He turned, displaying his toned back and the full extent of that swirling, sharp tattoo, which tapered all the way down to his hip, and disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, Jeremy heard the water switch on, and he took a shaky breath.

“Calm down,” he muttered to himself. Jeremy suddenly became all too aware of the way his clothes clung to his body. He had always been on the skinny side, lean muscles and pointy elbows, but now, in comparison to Colin, he felt like a twig.

Jeremy wrestled with his shoes and socks, shuddering as the air hit his damp feet. There were little puddles on his floor now, too, and as he dug for his own clothes, he found himself staring at Colin’s crumpled shirt. Something about the sight of it on his floor made his stomach clench.

Colin was quick. Mere minutes later, the bathroom door popped open and he emerged in a clichéd cloud of steam wearing nothing but a towel. At least his hair was more orderly, and his skin was pink from the heat. Oh, and he looked pissed.

“What?” Jeremy demanded. Better to distract from his blush, which had come back with full vengeance. Colin actually had freckles everywhere and they were very hard not to notice.

“Pants, Yankee.” Colin dropped the clothes Jeremy had given him onto the spare chair and put his hands on his hips, which only accentuated his muscly bits. “You forgot pants.”

It took a moment for things to click together in Jeremy’s brain, and when they did, he whipped back around to his dresser. He grabbed the first pair of boxer briefs he laid his hands on, threw it at Colin, and stalked past him, down the hall, and into the bathroom.

The scalding heat of the shower brought him back to his senses a little, if only because it pointed out a few new scrapes and cuts. Brown streams of mud spiralled down the drain, along with a few chunks of seaweed. “Keep it together,” he said to himself as he soaped up and scrubbed his hair. “You just happen to have a supremely attractive Scotsman who saved your life wearing your clothes and staying for dinner. This happens all the time. Perfectly normal business. And he’s kind of an asshole, so don’t get attached, no matter how cute he is.”

When Jeremy reemerged, fully clothed because, unlike Colin, he had some manners, he found Colin dressed and looking at a book Jeremy had left on the desk. His back was to Jeremy, but Jeremy traced the invisible lines of the tattoo with his eyes, noticing the way Colin’s shoulders stretched his old orchestra t-shirt.

Jeremy shook his head, opening the door to the closet, and Colin turned at the sound. “You like Neil Gaiman?” he said, pulling out his favorite hoodie and tugging it over his head.

“Never read him,” Colin replied. He was holding Good Omens. “Seems all right.”

Jeremy nodded. He left his hood up and his glasses in the kangaroo pouch. “He’s pretty good.” He pointed at Colin’s kilt, which, like the shirt and Colin’s sneakers, lay on the floor. “Any particular way I should hang this up?”

Colin seemed surprised. “Nah. It’s pretty sturdy.”

“Got it.” Jeremy picked up Colin’s clothing and their wet towels, then turned. “You should go downstairs.”

“All right,” Colin replied, almost hesitant, as Jeremy went back to the bathroom and busied himself hanging their wet clothing above the tub. The steady drip drip drip almost distracted him from the way Colin paused outside the door on his way downstairs.