July - Chapter Four

The day passed in a blur.

Jeremy spent Sunday morning half-glued to his laptop, catching up on the news before he and his mom began the process of moving their books upstairs. Most of Rochelle’s books would eventually end up in her office at the castle, but first she had to decide what she wanted to keep where, and how she would manage to make them all fit in her bedroom. Jeremy left her to it and streamed the new Víkingur Ólafsson release three times over while he sorted and stacked the books in piles along the walls of his bedroom, biding the time until Jo woke up.

When she finally did, they spent no less than four hours on FaceTime, Jeremy rehashing the past day and a half in explicit, unhurried detail. As he’d expected, Jo hit the ceiling over Colin, and was convinced that he had a crush on Jeremy. Jeremy had blushed for the twenty minutes he spent trying to convince her that was impossible before changing the subject to her summer plans.

For all her gritty, alternative appearance might otherwise suggest, Jo was a physics prodigy, and interning at some mythic Georgetown laboratory for most of the summer. “Just you wait,” she’d said, pointing an accusing finger at the webcam, “I’m going to solve the mystery of dark matter. Just me. All by myself.”

After dinner, he’d called her back and they spent another hour rehashing various theories about the current season of Game of Thrones and combing the internet for the worst fanart they could find. When they’d finally hung up with a promise to talk again soon, Jeremy stretched out on his bed, feeling pleasantly drained, and fell asleep.

He woke up late the following morning and reminded himself that he was, in fact, still in Scotland. Jeremy shook his head at the ceiling, which gleamed above him in the sunlight, and resolved to leave the house at some point that day. “Don’t be a slug,” he muttered to himself as he slouched down the stairs.

The kitchen was empty and the kettle was cold. Jeremy blinked and remembered that it was Monday, his mom’s first day at work — she had been bouncing in her seat at dinner the night before. Frowning, he went over to the table and found a note from her. “Jesus,” he grumbled. “Another fucking note.” But he read it anyway.

Jer!

Back by 6. Keep an eye out for the mail —

supposed to get our phones today!!!

xxx

“About time,” he said loudly, turning to face Paul. “I know you don’t know what Instagram is, but I promise that I’ve been dying without it.”

After a quick breakfast of Frosties (“Frosted Flakes,” he grumbled at the box, “your real name is Frosted Flakes,”) and a pot of coffee, Jeremy showered, put together his clarinet, dug up a pair of sunglasses, and went outside.

It was still sunny and bright, though the breeze had a bit of a chill. He guessed it wasn’t warmer than about 60º, but it felt like proper heat in comparison to the cold rain that was still fresh in his mind. “Excellent,” he said aloud, before opening the back door wide enough to drag out one of the kitchen chairs.

Immediately behind the cottage was a small, hodgepodge area of long, yellowish windblown grass, and this was where he decided to park the chair and sit down, facing the ocean. From there, the grass faded into pebbles and rocks, which sloped down and gave way to sand. Some forty feet in front of him, the waves were calmly rolling in, errant bits of foam skirting the surface. To his left, thanks to the clear sky, he could see the town, cheerful and bright against the rocky coastline.

“Excellent,” he said again, lifting his clarinet to his mouth. In a moment of bright stillness, Jeremy took a deep breath, then began to work through his scales.

C Major. It still felt surreal, in many ways, to be sitting on this beach, outside this whitewashed stone cottage, playing to a breeze that still smelled foreign, prickly with heather and salty with ocean spray. Jeremy had wondered, the night before, as he lay waiting for sleep to overtake him, overwhelmed by the nearby sound of waves crashing into shore, if this would ever feel normal, if it would ever feel like home.

E♭Major. Summer was a daunting thing without Jo. They had never spent more than two weeks apart, and even then they had kept in constant touch, Snapchatting and texting the days away. The prospect of making new friends, of reaching out and playing nice to other people his age on the island, especially when he was leaving for a brand new school in two months, seemed exhausting.

G Major. Jeremy wasn’t sure if he and Colin were technically friends. Being stuck in a house together for twelve hours probably bred Stockholm Syndrome instead of friendship. Best to forget about it, to not assume anything, Jeremy thought. Even though they’d probably run into each other at some point.

B Major. Logic told him he shouldn’t be worried about being gay, but, for some reason, and in a place deep underneath his stomach, he was. Jeremy had technically been out since he was fourteen, following a clichéd and embarrassing moment wherein Jo had caught him making moony eyes (and thankfully nothing else) at a fire station holiday calendar. When he’d told Rochelle, she’d nodded and smiled, and Jeremy had realized that perhaps he was more obvious than he’d thought. He had no idea if his grandparents knew; he’d never told them anything, and neither had his mom. Even if they did know, they didn’t seem to care. So it hadn’t really been an issue, especially considering he didn’t have many close friends besides Jo and the orchestra kids, and with that group, being gay was normal in comparison to some of the other stuff. And now?

D Minor. It had been a quiet, stretched-out kind of conversation with Rochelle a few days before they’d left D.C. Her calm voice and steady gaze had warned him that they were moving to a very Christian place dominated by an elderly population. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have a coming out party,” Rochelle had said, with a faint smile, “just wait until you’re in Glasgow.”

F# Minor. But maybe Colin—

Jeremy twitched and missed a note. Nope, try again.

A Minor. But what would he do this summer? The days stretching ahead of him weren’t any less frightening now that he’d let them simmer in the back of his mind.

B Minor. I guess I’ll become ridiculously good at my scales, Jeremy thought, then stood up and seamlessly switched into a riff on a Jethro Tull song.

Jeremy had never dedicated serious thought to what, precisely, his musical voice was. He loved playing classical pieces, and always had an easy time picking up and carrying a riff. More than once, the music director at school had tried to convince Jeremy to join a local jazz ensemble, but something in him had always rebelled against the notion, and he would decline. He would sketch melodies and pieces when the mood took him, a skill afforded him by natural talent and a few electives, but he didn’t see himself as a composer, or a songwriter, for that matter.

What never changed, though, was that his brain was like a massive jukebox, and at the press of an invisible button, he could always call up a song, especially in moments like this, when all he wanted to do was riff, rather than practice.

He polished off the riff and paused to catch his breath, then bowed to the ocean and an invisible audience. “Thanks very much, ladies and gents,” Jeremy called out. “And now, for a classic.”

In his mind, the arm of the record player reached out and clicked down, and he began to play, taking the melody this time instead of riffing. The song wasn’t written for a wind instrument, but that didn’t matter. As he played, the lyrics scrolled through his mind.

Hey, let him follow you down

Way underground wind and he's bound

Bound to follow you down

Just a deadbeat right off the street

Bound to follow you down…

Jeremy paused for breath, then continued on to the chorus, ignoring the tremor in his own hands. This song always made him think of Jo’s dad, since he had been the one to introduce Jeremy to what he considered to be “real music.”

And his coat is torn and frayed—

“It’s seen much better days,” a strong tenor voice cut in, loud enough for Jeremy to hear but not so loud as to intrude.

Jeremy’s stomach dropped, but he kept playing, turning towards the voice as he did so.

Of course it was Colin. Leaning against the side of the cottage with a grin, his hair a splash of red against the white, he continued to sing: “Just as long as the guitar plays, let it steal your heart away.”

Jeremy eyed him, then played the lead-up chord, and Colin followed: “Let it steal your heart away.” He drew out the final note with ease, and Jeremy lowered his clarinet.

“Wow, Yankee,” said Colin, switching back to a speaking voice. He was wearing a different kilt today, a khaki utilikilt, and Jeremy again refused to make eye contact with his calves. “I thought you only played keyboards.”

Jeremy’s stomach quivered. He hadn’t realized Colin had noticed. “I play both, and this one best of all. I have many sides, like an octagon or a Swiss Army knife.” He was adamant to ignore the fact that Colin apparently had good taste in music. “If you twist my arm, a corkscrew pops out.”

Colin hummed. “Shame. You haven’t gotten any funnier.”

“And here I thought absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder.” Jeremy began to walk over to him, taking his time. “Why are you here?”

Colin’s grin was blinding. “Is that what you Americans call hospitality?” But he nodded to his right, where Jeremy noticed a large wicker carrying-case sitting on the grass. “Brought you a present.”

Jeremy eyed it. “Is it bread?”

Colin stopped short and stared at him. “Why would it be bread?”

Jeremy met his gaze. “Don’t all you small-town people walk around with bread in baskets?”

“We have got to work on your manners.” Colin shook his head and picked up the case, which let out a rather pathetic-sounding meow.

Things clicked together in Jeremy’s head. “Ah. Cat.”

“Yep.” Colin didn’t move, apparently waiting for some sort of cue. “I called yesterday, your mum said you’d be here.”

Jeremy stifled a sigh. “Well, clearly, she was right.”

Colin’s gaze darted to the back door, which was behind Jeremy. “Is she home?”

“No, but I’ll still let you sneak in if it’ll make you feel cool.” Jeremy began walking backwards towards the house, and Colin followed.

Colin sniffed. “Nah, thanks, not all of us need to compensate for debilitating clumsiness.”

Jeremy shook his head as he opened the door. “Remind me again why I’ve invited you in?”

Colin passed him, went inside, and gently set the carrying-case down on the kitchen table. “Because I’m charming and adorable.” He flashed a shit-eating grin at Jeremy, who swallowed and closed the back door behind them with perhaps more force than necessary.

“How’s the cat?” Jeremy said instead of what he wanted to say, which was, How about letting me shut you up with my mouth?

Colin nodded, suddenly getting serious. “She’s fine. Approximately a year old, in good nick. No chip, which means she doesn’t have an owner that we know of, so we chipped her for you, gave her all her shots, and got her tubes tied so you won’t have to worry about any little ones running around.” He smiled. “She’s pretty grumpy at the moment, since I had to put a cone on her. But she’ll be fine in a few days.”

“All right.” Jeremy lay his clarinet on the table, safely out of the way. “What do I need to do for her?”

“Well, I assumed you didn’t have any food, so.” Colin reached down to one of his countless pockets and produced, almost from thin air, three purple cans of something called Whiskas. “You need to get more, obviously, but this should be enough for a few days.”

Jeremy smirked. “Yummy.”

Colin walked Jeremy through the rest of the cat care and helped him set up a little den for the cat in the sitting room, since she was supposed to take it easy until she healed. “The beauty of you being first-time pet owners,” Colin was saying as he fiddled a spare blanket into something resembling a bed, “is that you haven’t got any toys around to distract her.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. They were kneeling by the old armchair in the sitting room, constructing the cat’s bedroom underneath it. “From what I’ve heard, cats play with anything regardless of whether it’s a toy or not.”

Colin grinned and sat back on his heels, reaching for the can of food, a spoon, and the spare dish he’d brought with him from the kitchen. “She’ll be chilled out enough not to try very hard.” He popped the latch on the can and spooned some food into the dish. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any cat litter lying around?”

“Fresh out, I’m afraid.” Jeremy sighed. “I had a rough night, used up the last of it.”

“That’s all right, we can pop into town.” Colin turned, reaching for the carrier.

“Hang on, ‘we’?” Jeremy frowned as Colin opened the hatch on the basket. The cat surfaced, much cleaner and fluffier than last he saw her, looking distinctly grumpy and dwarfed by the massive plastic cone around her neck.

“Aye.” Colin gave her some space, patting the blanket. After a moment of consideration, she followed, sniffing her way under the chair.

“But I can’t,” Jeremy said, even as his inner voice screamed at him not to give up an opportunity to spend time with someone other than his mom. “Our phones are meant to be delivered today, and I’ve got to be here to sign for them.”

Before Colin could reply, there came a sharp knock at the front door. Ignoring Colin’s grin, Jeremy stood up, went into the front hall, and opened the door.

“Good afternoon!” came the bright greeting. A very short middle-aged woman with crinkly eyes and a tight bun smiled up at him. The DHL logo blazed bright red on the pocket of her yellow shirt. “Got a package for Jeremy and Rochelle Lefebre?”

“I, uh, yes, ma’am.” Jeremy blinked at her.

“Just sign here,” she prompted him with the electronic keypad. He obeyed, and she gave him another smile. “Welcome to Dunsegall!”

“Thanks,” he replied, and off she went. Jeremy shut the door, propped the box on the hall table, and scowled at Colin, who was still grinning. “Fine,” Jeremy said. “We can go.”

The walk into town was beautiful, the land around them shining in the good weather, and Colin filled the silence with lots of chatter about the animals he had seen over the weekend, including Jeremy’s new cat.

“She’s very mellow,” Colin was saying, kicking absently at a loose rock on the path. “I don’t think you’ll have much trouble with her.” They were coming up on the edge of town.

“We haven’t picked out a name yet,” Jeremy replied.

“Ah, you’ll think of one. Or you could always go the creative route and just call her ‘Kitty.’” Colin smiled at that, and Jeremy looked away, back at the ocean.

“I tried to convince my mom that we should call her Arwen, but that got a veto.”

Colin snorted. “Oh, please. Tolkien? You can do much better than that.”

“You wound me, sir,” Jeremy said, affecting a pompous English accent.

“That is pathetic,” Colin fired back, waving cheerfully to someone driving past. “Brutal, even. You’ve got to work on that.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Do you know everyone on this island?”

“Side-effect of living here my entire life, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, Yankee —” a swift punch to the shoulder “— you’ll catch up soon enough.”

“That’s okay,” Jeremy replied. Now that they were nearing the main beach opposite the town center, which was full of people, he was keeping an eye out to see how much he remembered. “Earthlings are beyond my area of expertise.”

“Oh, aye, you’re an alien, are you?” Colin scanned the crowds around them, waving absently to a few familiar faces. “Can’t say I’m that surprised.”

“I’m on an intergalactic holiday,” said Jeremy. “Just me and my trusty Heart of Gold.” They had reached the first main intersection, and though Jeremy made to continue down High Street, a sharp pull on his jacket stopped him.

Colin dropped Jeremy’s sleeve and pointed up the road opposite, where Jeremy saw a small farm supply shop he hadn’t noticed before. “Don’t go thinking you get brownie points for the Douglas Adams reference,” Colin said as they crossed the road. “This isn’t like America. Everyone and their mum has read Hitchhiker’s.”

Jeremy shook his head. “You say the sweetest things.”

Colin cracked a grin. “I know. Don’t get too used to it.”

The farm shop had everything one could possibly need, from seeds to tools to clothing, but Colin knew exactly where the cat supplies were, and found a box of litter. Jeremy fumbled with the handful of loose money he had leftover from the flight, and the owner, a gnarled old boot of a man, gave Jeremy a squinty sort of grin as he handed over his change. “Don’t be a stranger,” he wheezed as they left the shop.

As soon as they were back in the street and out of potential earshot, Jeremy turned to Colin and said, “So he’s a serial killer, right?”

Colin slowly turned to look at him, and wrinkled his nose. “Morbid.” He tugged on Jeremy’s sleeve again, pulling him across the road and down a side street. “Nah, Ewan’s harmless. Lonely, but harmless.”

Jeremy glanced at him sideways, hitching the box into a more comfortable grip. “Are most people here like that?”

Colin flashed him a canine. “Well, some of us do bite.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Jeremy stopped, forcing Colin to do the same. “Is everyone lonely?”

Colin turned slightly, gave him an unreadable look. “Come on,” he said. “There’s a place I want to show you.”

“Explain something to me,” said Jeremy as they continued on. “I thought most of the people on the island were farmers?”

Colin nodded. “Aye.”

“So then who lives in town?” Jeremy asked. “Besides the shop-owners.”

“Mostly the oldsters.” Colin turned a corner and Jeremy followed; they were walking southward again, towards High Street. “Lots of people retire in town and leave the farms to the younger ones. Then when the younger ones get old, they retire in town, and the cycle continues.” He paused, seemed to consider. “And some out-of-towners as well. Airbnb and things like that.”

“Aw.” Jeremy put on a pout. “You’ve got tourists here? And here I thought I was a shiny new toy.” They were closing in on High Street, the blue ocean and clusters of people gleaming in the relentless sunlight.

“Don’t worry, you’re very special.” Colin suddenly stopped and opened a door to a shop that had materialized on their right. “I promise.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Pinky promise?”

That got him an exasperated shake of the head. “Just get inside, you pillock.”

“Only ’cause you asked so nice,” Jeremy wheedled, but he followed orders, and found himself assaulted by an overwhelming scent of vanilla and something cakey. Waffles?

“Pink,” was the first thing Jeremy said, because it was the first thing he noticed. The walls, the tiled floor, the ceiling, the various counters and cases, even the spindly metal tables and chairs, were all in different shades of pink. Stupefied, he stood there while Colin took the box of litter and put it down by the door.

“Observant,” Colin remarked with a smirk. “Eggie,” he called out, and a girl their age materialized behind the counter. “Fresh meat for you.”

“I’m thrilled,” she replied, leaning against one of the glass cases that Jeremy realized must contain ice cream. She looked at him with massive brown eyes, and he realized, with an admitted degree of surprise, that she was the first black person he’d seen on the island. “Does he have a name?” Her accent was light and lilting.

“Jeremy.” He shot her a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Aw, come on,” Colin cut in. “You can’t go around being polite to people now that you’ve spent the whole time being such an arsehole.”

“Give him a moment,” the girl replied with a smile. “I’m sure he’ll work up to it. Usual?”

“Aye,” Colin nodded. “Ta.”

“Sorry,” said Jeremy as the girl got to work, waffle cone in one hand and ice cream paddle in the other, “did he call you ‘Eggie?’”

“Unfortunately, yes.” ‘Eggie’ quickly filled the cone with a flavor that looked mostly vanilla with something chocolatey swirled in. “My name’s Aggie, but—”

“I’m guessing there’s a story,” said Jeremy.

“Too right.” Colin leaned against the case with a dry sort of grin. “When we were in primary school, this one decided that she wanted the Easter holidays to start early. So Eggie smuggled two dozen creme eggs into class the Friday before and ate as many as she could until she was sick all over her desk, and mine,” he added, with a hint of chagrin.

“What?” said Aggie, nonplussed, as she handed him his mound of ice cream. “You were annoying me that day, and I had to be as dramatic as possible.”

“Anyway, it worked. She was sent home a half hour later, and we were left to stew in jealousy.” Colin took a huge lick of his cone.

“Thus was born the legend,” Aggie said to Jeremy, “of Aggie the egg-eater. And Colin’s been calling me that ridiculous nickname ever since.”

“Huh,” said Jeremy, intelligently.

Colin was staring at him. “Incredible. First I’ve seen you at a loss for words.”

“Ice cream, Jeremy?” Aggie asked him.

He nodded, looking at the list of flavors hand-written on the chalkboard behind her. There were only six, and none of them were plain.

“I’ll try… Crunchy Raz Wallop?”

“Cup or cone?” she said.

“Waffle cone,” he replied, and watched as she filled one with impressive speed.

“Don’t,” she said as she spotted him reaching for his wallet. “On the house, as a welcoming sort of thing.” Aggie pushed his cone into his hand. “Dunsegall says hello and do enjoy your stay.”

Before Jeremy could thank her, Colin cut in with a loud, “Hang on, how come I never get a free ice cream? That’s discrimination, that is.” But he fished in one of his many pockets as he spoke, and pulled out a few pound coins. Aggie took them with a smirk.

“Wait,” she said, pulling off her (very pink) apron. “I’ll sit outside with you. It’s about time for my break, anyway.” She leaned back towards the doorway behind the counter and yelled, “Winston!”

“Younger brother,” Colin said to Jeremy in an undertone. “Real moody type.”

Jeremy snorted and took a lick of his ice cream. It was incredible — creamy vanilla swirled with rich raspberry sauce and tiny chunks of roasted peanuts. He barely refrained from shoving his whole face in while a tall and broody boy joined Aggie behind the counter.

“Their dad’s obsessed with Ray Charles,” Colin continued in the same low mutter. He nodded at the far wall. Jeremy followed his gaze and swallowed a laugh when he saw an immense portrait of a grinning Ray Charles hanging behind a few shelves of what looked to be—

“Pottery?” Jeremy asked Colin.

“Her mum makes it,” Colin replied, attacking his ice cream again. Jeremy noted that the action was reminiscent of an enthusiastic wildebeest at a watering hole.

“Ice cream and pottery,” Jeremy said to himself. “I guess that’s a small town for you.”

Aggie joined them — she was shorter than Jeremy’d thought — and they went out the shop’s front door, where pink tables littered a decent-sized patio. They were next to the road, with a good view of the beach and the ocean beyond. Almost all of the tables were full with young families and couples of all ages, who stared at Jeremy with open interest. Aggie guided them to a space in front of the shop’s windows — behind the glass, the shelves were filled with knick-knacks and old-fashioned ice-cream containers squatting in hodgepodge rows.

It was there, sitting by the windows and looking around, that Jeremy learned the name of the shop: Sweet Ray’s. Of course, he thought.

“So, newbie.” Aggie took a pull off the bottle of something called ginger beer that she’d brought out with her. “Name, quest, favorite color?”

“Uh, I already told you my name, and I’m trying to get a box of cat litter back to the house before there’s an unfortunate incident. And, I guess, blue.”

“Intriguing.” Aggie raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see whiskers on you. Or a tail.”

“It only comes out on Sundays.”

“And how did you meet our Colin?” Aggie replied, with just the hint of a smile.

“This one got it in his head that he’d like to play the hero,” said Colin. He had a smear of chocolate on the left corner of his mouth. “There was a cat — the same one as is demanding the toiletries — stuck in the water by the castle cliffs, and I happened to be going past right as some idiot decided to go in after her.”

Aggie made a noise of understanding. “How does saving a cat make Jeremy an idiot?”

Jeremy opened his mouth, but Colin, unfortunately, beat him to it: “It wasn’t the saving so much as it was jumping in the water when he can’t swim.”

Jeremy blushed, his ears going hot with embarrassment. Of all the ways to be introduced.

“What?” Aggie stared at Jeremy and let out a laugh. “You can’t swim?”

“No.” Jeremy took a lick of his ice cream and tried to kick Colin under the table. He didn’t need the whole town knowing.

Aggie hummed. “We should do something about that.” She reached out and tapped the neck of her bottle against his cone, then winked. “Cheers,” she said, and Jeremy rolled his eyes.

“She’s a good mate,” Colin was saying. “Really, she is.”

“Is this a sales pitch?” Jeremy asked him. “Your friend for my clarinet?”

Colin snorted. “A jumped-up flute? No thanks.”

Jeremy grunted in reply.

They were lying on a large, grassy patch at the top of a cliff somewhere along the coastal path. Jeremy wasn’t sure where, just a random spot between the town and the woods.

He couldn’t quite remember how they’d ended up here on their way back from town, but they had, and he couldn’t remember how long they’d been lying here for, but it had been a while. The sun was warm, once you were out of the direct wind, and the grass blew lazily around his body, whispering against his windbreaker. He kept his eyes closed, watching the shifting patterns of red and orange dancing across the black of his eyelids, listening to the quiet roll and crash of the waves below. Apart from that, the only sound was an occasional breath or rustle from Colin.

A few peaceful minutes passed before Colin said, “So how often do you practice?”

“At what?”

“Your little flute.”

Jeremy imagined rolling his eyes. “Every day.”

Colin was silent again, then: “Makes sense. You’re not bad at it.”

“Fuck you, I’m great at it.”

Colin laughed, a short, bright sound. “What’s your favorite thing to play?”

Jeremy considered. “Everything.”

“Huh.” He heard a quiet snap, and when Colin spoke again, it was clear there was a blade of grass in his mouth. “You could make a decent bit of money doing that. Playing gigs.”

“I didn’t think anyone would turn up to hear a jumped-up little flute.”

“Did I say gigs? I meant a traveling circus. You could be the variety act.”

“I’d have to grow a beard.”

“Or a tail.”

Jeremy smiled. Colin wasn’t bad at this.

“Oh, hello,” said Colin, his tone changing completely.

Jeremy frowned, and when he turned to look, he said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Colin ignored him. He was sitting up with a hand carefully extended into the grass, and a small rabbit was sniffing his fingers. It made quite the picture, rustic red-headed Highland boy in the middle of some fluffy grass with an equally fluffy little animal approaching him.

Jeremy cocked his head. “Are you Snow White? Have you been lying to me this entire time? Are you about to burst into song and immediately fall into a coma?”

“Stuff it,” Colin muttered, the blade of grass bobbing in his mouth. The rabbit appeared to trust him, and hopped closer. “That’s it,” Colin said, guiding the rabbit into his lap, where it settled, nose twitching.

Jeremy watched him pet the rabbit for a moment before saying, “Does this happen to you often?”

Colin shrugged. “I like animals.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Jeremy looked away, towards the ocean. Everything was calm, and the water was bright, shining, with hints of turquoise in the sun.

“Are you scared of it?” Colin said.

“The sun?” Jeremy quipped. “No, we brown people don’t burn as easily as you do.”

“The water.”

Jeremy sighed, feeling a spike of irritation. Colin was like a dog with a bone. They still hadn’t talked at all about the other night, and it made him feel on-edge, ready for something, but he didn’t know what. “I don’t know, I guess. Maybe.”

Colin didn’t say anything after that, and time fell back into a gelatinous slip-and-slide. The wind blew, the grass danced, the ocean swayed, and finally, Jeremy said, “I should get back.”

They continued down the coastal path without any rush. Once again, Jeremy found himself staring up into the tree canopy, hypnotized by the bright, jewel-tone greens shining through the air. “I like the sun,” he said, before he could stop himself.

Colin snorted, hefted the box of litter up under his arm. “Then you moved to the wrong place, Yankee.”

“I’m beginning to see that now.” Jeremy wiped at his glasses. Even in the warm weather, they steamed. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here by choice.”

“What, really?” Colin grinned. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Oh, shut up and sing to the birds,” Jeremy huffed.

“All right,” Colin said, then whistled a sharp, not unfamiliar tune. A moment later, a robin landed on his shoulder.

Jeremy snorted. “Definitely Snow White.”

When they got back to the cottage, they were surprised by the cat, who had come to meet them at the door.

“Hey, what you doing?” Colin traded her for the box of litter, carrying her back to the sitting room. “You know you need to be resting.”

“You’re a mean doctor.” Jeremy followed him and took the tray of sand, which had served as a makeshift litter box in their absence, and carried it out to the beach. Colin joined him just as he was dumping it, the cat still in his arms.

“What happened to resting?” Jeremy asked him, and Colin shrugged.

“She misses the sea air. She told me so.”

Back in the house, with the litter pan properly set up, Jeremy wandered into the kitchen and picked up his clarinet. He had no idea when Colin was planning on leaving and it made him feel weird. Restless.

“Sorry if I disturbed you earlier,” Colin said, leaning in the kitchen doorway with a grin that was far too cheeky.

Quit following me, Jeremy wanted to say, but he didn’t. “No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Colin agreed. He pushed himself off the doorframe and headed for the stove. “Shall I put the kettle on?”

“If you want.” Did that mean he was staying?

Colin filled the kettle and put it on a burner. “Afternoon tea is kind of the expectation around here. You could try to shoulder a few of our traditions, Yankee.”

Jeremy put his clarinet to his mouth and began to play “God Save the Queen.”

Colin grinned, crossing his arms against his chest. “That’s a good trick, but you should learn some Scottish songs.”

Jeremy stopped playing and sat down at the table. “Like what?”

“‘Scotland the Brave,’ for a start.” Colin considered. “You know, Angus plays the bagpipes. He could probably teach you something. Shit,” he swore, straightening up suddenly, looking at the clock. “I didn’t see the time. I’ve got to go, I was due at the MacAllister’s farm ten minutes ago.”

“Oh,” said Jeremy. “That’s all right.”

Colin gave him this look that was impossible to cipher, then bent and retrieved a piece of paper from one of his pockets. “Invoice for the cat’s treatment,” he said, tucking it under the salt shaker. “Your mum can just mail a check. I’ll see you around, Yankee.”

Feeling bold, Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Like when?”

That made Colin pause on his way out of the kitchen, with just the hint of a smile. “Tomorrow after lunch? I could do with a spare set of hands on my farm rounds. If you’re not too busy with your little flute.”

Jeremy smirked and sat back. “It’s a deal,” he said, then resumed playing “God Save the Queen.”

Colin grinned and began to sing along, his voice carrying rich and warm as he made his way down the hall and out the front door. On the stove, the kettle started to whistle.

Jeremy was in the kitchen when his mom came home, and when he turned to greet her, he almost didn’t recognize the woman standing in front of him.

She was beaming, her eyes shining with glee. On her lapel, there was a large silver pin that he vaguely recognized as the MacLewan clan crest, and on her feet were a pair of muddy rain boots that he had never seen before in his life.

“Well.” Jeremy smirked and turned back to the stove. “That’s a fashion statement.”

“Shut up.” Rochelle smacked him on the arm then ducked in to give him a kiss on the cheek. She dropped her bag on the table and sat down to yank off her boots. “What’re you making?”

“Poulet aux Noix, and rice and beans,” he replied, then continued in French: “It needs about twenty more minutes, if you want to go change.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, grabbing her boots and running upstairs.

Dinner was a noisy affair. Rochelle was in high spirits, and she told him all about her day between mouthfuls of chicken and rice.

Apparently, the museum did in fact need a lot of work if it was going to continue as a worthwhile tourist attraction. Most of the exhibits were long outdated and dull, and the clan’s archives were missing stacks of family heirlooms and documents that had never been catalogued. So Rochelle had her work cut out for her, but, as she said, “Lord MacLewan is so nice, Jeremy, and his wife is so funny. It’s clear that they love this place to pieces and want to do whatever they can to protect it.”

It sounded a bit like she’d drunk the Kool-Aid, but Jeremy went along with it, not wanting to rain on her parade. She’d spent a large part of the day going around with Angus, getting an in-depth tour of the castle, its extensive garden and surrounding grounds (“—you should see some of the cliffs, Jer!” — Jeremy went pink and stuffed his face into his food before she could catch on), and even some of the cellar, which seemed even more haunted than the castle.

“Where did you get the boots?” he asked her as he helped himself to another portion.

Rochelle laughed. “I had to borrow them from Lady MacLewan. She said I could keep them, but I think I’ll give them back when I get my own pair. Speaking of…” Rochelle eyed Jeremy’s Converse, which were by the back door. “Maybe you could do with some wellies.”

“A little mud never hurt anybody,” he said, sitting back down. This was being generous. The Converse were now more mud than shoe.

“Yes, but it’s just going to get even more wet and muddy,” she replied with a smirk, already pulling up Amazon Prime on her tablet. “Well, I’ll buy you some, and you can wear them if you want to. But at least my Mom Conscience will be at rest.”

“Wellies?” He puffed out his cheeks at her. “Cliché.”

“You’re in a good mood.” Rochelle smiled at him over the rim of her wine glass. “What did you get up to?”

Jeremy grunted in what he hoped was a noncommittal manner. “Practiced for a while. Colin came by, brought the cat back. Oh, and we got our phones.”

But Rochelle had already stopped short, wine glass halfway to the table. “Cat?”

“Yeah, she’s in the sitting room.” Jeremy grinned. “Colin got his dad to fix her, so she’s in recovery mode.” He moved his plate and pulled the invoice out from under the salt shaker. “Here’s the bill.”

Rochelle looked at him for a moment. “I think you needed to tell me this, like, ten minutes ago. You know, when I walked in the door.” She stood up and left the kitchen, and Jeremy heard her gasp and coo at the cat.

A minute later, she reappeared with a frown. “Seriously? That was your solution to the litter problem?”

“What?” Jeremy blinked at her. “It works just fine!”

She sighed and sat back down. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

‘Tomorrow’ seemed to be the magic word that night, as they finished dinner and talked about getting the cat more supplies. Rochelle wanted to hear all about Jeremy’s day with Colin and Aggie, and as Jeremy spoke, she gave him a small, pleased sort of smile that he normally only associated with a good test grade or a sleepover at Jo’s.

They avoided the question of how new everything still felt, but Rochelle was insistent about reconnecting to the modern world, so they frowned and swore their way through setting up their new cell phones. It was close to midnight by the time Rochelle fell into bed, Jeremy following suit.

He shut himself in his room, watching the slow, leisurely sunset and listening to the waves crash below his window. And then, because he could, he sent a Snapchat to Jo and posted a picture to his Instagram story, telling himself that at least the sunsets here were a lot prettier than they were in D.C.