July - Chapter Ten

Just as Jeremy was putting on his satchel, there came a knock at the door. Frowning, he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece — it was just past 2:30, and if he didn’t leave now, he’d definitely be late for meeting the others at Sweet Ray’s.

But he got a surprise when he opened the door.

“All right?” said Aggie. She was leaning on the frame, wearing black denim, an old Sweet Ray’s shirt with a few chocolate stains on it, and Colin’s sunglasses. “Come on, let’s get on.”

“Get on where?” Jeremy said, perplexed. “I thought we were meeting in town.”

She shrugged, bending over to give Mozart a tickle under the chin. “Colin called. His da took the truck, so he can’t come to town. We’re moving the meeting to his place.”

“Oh.” He tried not to think about why Colin hadn’t just texted the group chat. “All right.”

“Ready, then? Better not bring her, though,” Aggie said, gesturing at Mozart. “Can’t have her terrorizing the sheep.”

Jeremy nodded. He picked up Mozart and gave her a cuddle, then closed and locked the door. “Let’s go.”

The weather was warm, airy, not too humid. A pleasant breeze stirred the grass around them as they walked over to Aggie’s old Jeep. “Shift go okay?” Jeremy asked her.

“Aye.” She hopped up into the driver’s seat in a quick, bouncy movement. “Apart from a few toddlers who wore their ice cream instead of eating it.”

Aggie’s car wasn’t as clean as Colin’s. Candy wrappers and empty bags of crisps dotted the interior, along with a forgotten to-go cup of iced coffee. Jeremy smiled as he buckled his seatbelt — it reminded him of Jo’s car.

She hadn’t been wrong about the robbery — the news had hit town like an earthquake, and everyone and their great aunt had theories about who did it and why. But, no one had heard anything from the police, other than that they hadn’t questioned Winston yet, which Aggie said was a good sign. It’s the motive thing again, she’d texted him just that morning. They can’t think of why a local would do it, especially bc they left all the $$$.

“You been to the farm before?” Aggie said as they passed the castle.

“No, actually.” Jeremy stared up at the parapets, wondering what his mom was up to. She had shown the cross to the chief just a few hours before, and a fair amount of panic had ensued. “Colin never took me.”

Aggie snorted. “Figures.”

“It’s funny,” he said, determined to change the subject. “Colin’s got a PowerPuff girl on his dashboard, and I half expected you to have one, too.”

She grinned. “You know, I’d forgotten about that. She’s from my seventh birthday cake. It had all three PowerPuffs on it. I gave one to Winston, kept one for me, and gave one to Colin. It was a joke, really, I never thought he’d keep it.”

“So where’s yours?”

“She met an unfortunate end playing fetch with Baggins.”

They were following the same direction Colin took to get to the MacArthurs’ farm, but soon, Jeremy noticed, they were turning a little further inland, into a deep valley creased between a series of steep hills. A few minutes later, Aggie took a sharp right, and a snug white farmhouse blossomed out of the hillside. Around it, fields and fences stretched in a somewhat haphazard, sloppy outline, almost as if the posts had got drunk, wandered off, and sprouted fences where they sat. A few hundred sheep looked up as they approached, and a large, painted sign proclaimed:

T. MACGREGOR

VETERINARIAN

“Colin’s dad has his practice here?” Jeremy said, surprised.

“Yeah.” Aggie pointed to the end of the house, where a much more modern-looking section jutted out into the yard. “That’s his lab and exam area. It’s all very professional, got machines and a separate entrance and all, so you don’t have to go into the house. Everyone brings their pets here. This is where Baggins got his jewels snipped.” She pulled up and parked close to the house. “Come on, then.”

The front door was a beautiful dark green color, and Aggie rapped on it sharply. Jeremy looked around them, at the sheep, the neat landscaping, the immaculate fences, the large but cozy house, and suddenly understood why Colin never slept. Keeping this place ship-shape was enough work for five people, let alone two.

“Oh, and don’t say anything about the chicken coop,” she hissed, as footsteps echoed behind the door.

“What?” Jeremy hissed back, but too late, the door opened, and there was Colin.

“Bloody punctual,” said Colin, amused. But Jeremy couldn’t think about that, because Colin was wearing a goddamn blue gingham apron, tied tight around his waist, clashing beautifully with his red skin, and it was all kinds of very wrong and very right. The smell of cinnamon pooled in the air around him. “All right, you two?”

“Aye, cheers very much for having us over.” Aggie marched past him and into the house. “What’s on the menu today, then?”

“Apple tarts. Close that behind you, yeah?” Colin said to Jeremy, barely sparing him a glance as he turned to follow Aggie.

Rendered mute, Jeremy obeyed, shutting the front door and taking a good look at the house around them. It was similar to his cottage — old-fashioned, wooden, functional, but snug and a little bit beautiful. Shoes and wellies were kept in neat rows on a rack by the door, the coat rack looked practically alphabetical, and the hall rug was clean and bright. Jeremy instantly felt ashamed of the state of his own room, which must have driven Colin insane.

The kitchen was to the left, and he went in. It was old-fashioned, but clearly had been upgraded at some point — the fixtures were fairly new, and there was a marble-topped island. Colin was busy rolling out more dough, and Aggie was sitting on the counter behind him, picking away at a little apple tart that she had swiped from the cooling rack.

“So what’s the news?” said Aggie, mouth full of apple. “Anything juicy?”

“You bet,” Jeremy said, shifting awkwardly. He wasn’t sure if there was anywhere he could sit or put his bag, and he was almost too frightened to ask.

“Tell us, then.”

So he did, telling them everything his mom had told him about the cross. Both Colin and Aggie listened carefully. Aggie even stopped chewing.

“But where did it come from?” said Colin, once Jeremy had run out of steam. He kept his head down, so he was speaking to his little tart pans as he filled them with dough. “How did it end up at the beach, of all places?”

“She doesn’t know. It certainly wasn’t part of any known collections, public or personal. No one’s ever seen anything like it before.”

“What’d the chief say?” said Aggie.

“He was surprised, obviously.” Rochelle had texted him not long after it happened, with lots of exclamation points. “He didn’t know what to make of it. But he didn’t exactly seem, y’know, over the moon about it.”

“Weird. Because this is a big deal, isn’t it? A historical artifact that no one’s ever seen before, even on the mainland?”

Jeremy nodded. “It is a big deal. I guess we’ll have to wait and see how he feels about it going public, because it’s going to put a huge spotlight on this place.”

“A few more tourists wouldn’t hurt,” Aggie acknowledged, polishing off the tart and reaching for another. “Robert’s smart enough to know that.”

“Did they decide when it’s going public?” said Colin, now spooning filling into the dough. There was only one local paper, which was hardly better than a gossip rag, but Rochelle had admitted that a discovery on this scale would likely bring national, if not international, attention.

Jeremy shook his head. “They haven’t decided yet, but probably before the end of the week. My mom doesn’t want it to seem like they’ve got something to hide.”

“I would call that irony,” said Aggie. “Seems like all the grownups around here want to hide stuff from us. Except your mum, of course.”

“Speaking of.” Jeremy reached for his backpack and pulled out the sheaf of copies his mom had made for Colin. “These are for you.”

“Wicked.” Colin waited until he’d put them down on the spare bit of counter that wasn’t covered in flour, then peered at the writing. “She’s still having trouble with the Gaelic, then?”

“Yeah. She said it’s too fragmented for her to tell which bits mean which words. But she wrote a lot of the Latin translations on there for you, in case it helps.”

“So this is the book she found in your house?” Aggie peered at it over Colin’s shoulder. “Wild. It looks like gibberish.”

“I’ll get cracking on it today,” said Colin, and when he looked up, he made eye contact with Jeremy for the first time since his arrival. His eyes were bluer than usual, thanks to the sunburn. “What do I do with my notes? Email her?”

Fighting a blush, Jeremy nodded and put one of his mom’s business cards on top of the papers. “Whatever works best for you. You can email her, or if you’re writing it out by hand, you can just bring it to the cottage whenever you’ve got a good amount of stuff for her to look at.”

“Makes sense.” Colin traded the bowl of filling for a bowl of rough-cut sugar and began sprinkling it over the tarts. “These’ll need a good twenty minutes before they’re done, but after that, we can do something else.”

Jeremy suddenly realized that Colin didn’t enjoy having people at his house. “We could go and look at the tapestry in Aggie’s church,” he offered. “My mom wants to see a photo of it, since the one she’s got on file is pretty much shit.”

“Good idea,” said Aggie. She was crunching on the last bit of crust from her tart. “But there’s a much more urgent matter at hand.” She hopped off the counter and squared up to Colin, hands on her hips. “Jeremy needs a kilt for the ceilidh.”

“No, I don’t,” Jeremy said loudly.

“Get out of it, Aggie. He can just wear some jeans—”

“He is our friend,” Aggie said, voice firm. “He is our friend, and I am not having him show up to a ceilidh without the proper kit.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ—”

“Cute, but not my name.” Aggie was smirking now. “Do you have an old one that’ll fit him?”

“No. Maybe from when I was ten or eleven, but we donated those ages ago.”

“Hey!” Jeremy said, his face heating up again. “I’m not that skinny!”

“Oh, aye, beanpole,” Colin shot back, turning to look at him. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Then, his gaze flitted up and down Jeremy’s figure, and he grinned.

What the fuck. Jeremy tried to swallow, his mouth dry. “I’m feeling very targeted right now—”

“Boo-hoo,” Aggie whined. “It’s settled then. We’ll go to church, then we’ll get you turned into a proper Scotsman.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Jeremy growled, and Colin laughed.

“Just end it,” said Jeremy, sending his words up to the pale blue sky. “End my suffering now.”

“Ninny.” Colin threw a rag at him. “Get up.”

Groaning, Jeremy obeyed. His arms, legs, and back squealed in protest, and he gritted his teeth, bracing himself against the grass as he slowly stood up.

It was day two of repairing Ewan O’Malley’s back fences, and he was decidedly Over It. He supposed it was technically Aggie’s fault, since she’d been so insistent about the whole kilt thing. Or Colin, who should’ve kept his mouth shut in the first place.

“This isn’t worth a kilt,” Jeremy said.

Colin snorted and went about hammering a fence plank into its notch.

After sneaking into the church and getting a photo of the tapestry, along with a close-up of the tear, Aggie and Colin had dragged Jeremy to “the only kilt shop worth your time.” It was a welcome opinion to have, Jeremy had thought, especially considering there were almost ten different shops just like it throughout the town.

“O’Malley’s Tartans and Wool,” Jeremy read aloud as they walked up to the shop. The building was small, snug, made of brown stone, tucked away off the High Street. Even though the signs in the window had faded from years of sunlight, the tartans on the mannequins below were in rich, vibrant color. “Is he Irish?”

“Technically, yes,” said Aggie, reaching to open the door. “But so is half the island, originally. His family’s been here for literally hundreds of years, it’s a bit of a moot point.”

Richard O’Malley was a small, elderly man with a permanent scowl and bowlegs. “Wondered when I might see youse in here,” he growled up at them, almost unintelligible.

He and Colin exchanged pleasantries — or as close as they could get to it — for several minutes, while Jeremy looked around in wonder. The wood-paneled walls leaned in close, and were covered in tartans and tweeds of every possible kind. On ancient racks and hangers were countless waistcoats, kilts, cummerbunds, shawls—

“Does anyone ever actually wear this stuff?” Jeremy stage-whispered to Aggie.

“Have you met Colin and Angus?” she hissed back. “Yes, of course they do.”

“I understand you’re in need of a kilt, lad,” Mr. O’Malley suddenly barked at Jeremy. “Which tartan are you looking to wear?”

Jeremy was stupefied. “I—”

“Come, now, no need for hesitation.”

“What about Pride of Scotland?” Colin said. “Unless you want to wear the clan tartan.”

“Can I wear that?”

“Of course you can, you bleeding idiot,” came Mr. O’Malley again. “I’ll fetch both, since you’re feeling so indecisive.”

Aggie smothered a giggle into her arm. “Charming, isn’t he?” she whispered to Jeremy.

They decided on the clan tartan, in the end. Seeing himself in a kilt was a very singular experience. “Oh my God,” Jeremy said, staring at his reflection. The breeze between his legs was a bit disconcerting. “I look like I’m in Braveheart.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” barked Mr. O’Malley from where he knelt, pinning the hem. The MacLewan clan tartan was a rich, deep blue, interrupted by seams of bright yellow and red.

Aggie showed Jeremy samples of the other versions, explaining that nearly every tartan had multiple variations. “You’ve got your formal, your hunting, your ancient, your weathered, and sometimes, your modern. Depends from clan to clan.”

Jermey nodded, trying not to wobble as Mr. O’Malley moved to the back of the kilt and continued to pin. “So what’s this one?”

“The MacLewans don’t differ between the ancient and the modern pattern, and this one is considered formal as well.”

“Versatile,” Jeremy observed, and Mr. O’Malley grumbled under his breath.

The real shock of the day came when Mr. O’Malley brought them to the counter, notebook in hand. “That’ll be two hundred pounds,” he said. “And it’ll be ready Friday morning.”

Jeremy felt as if he’d run straight into a brick wall. “Two hundred?”

Mr. O’Malley squinted at him over his glasses, clearly under the impression he was trying to haggle. “That’s a very fair price, for a custom job and a rush order.”

Jeremy turned to Aggie, his heart thudding in his chest. “I had no idea— I haven’t got—”

Understanding flashed across her features. “I can get it,” she said, reaching for her wallet.

As Jeremy tried to process what it must be like to have that much money to hand, Colin spoke up. “Mr. O’Malley, is your son’s back fence still a pile of shite?”

Silence fell, and Mr. O’Malley stared at Colin with hard eyes. After a few moments, his expression unreadable, he said, “Aye.”

“How about I see to it, in exchange for the kilt?” Colin raised his eyebrows. “Seems fair, don’t you think?”

They waited for a response with bated breath, until Mr. O’Malley finally nodded and tore the receipt off his pad. “Go to the farm tomorrow, he’ll be there to meet you.”

That was how they ended up in some random corner of Ewan O’Malley’s back field, ankle-deep in mud and sweat pouring down their backs as Colin hammered a new post into place.

“I don’t remember agreeing to this,” Jeremy said through gritted teeth, bracing the post against the dirt.

“Common sense, Yankee,” Colin replied, tugging on the post to see that it stayed in place. “‘I’ means ‘we.’”

“Oh, thanks, that really clears things up.” Jeremy rolled his eyes at the sky and wiped his brow. “How much longer, do you think?”

Colin shielded his eyes and looked down the field. He was standing with his back to acres of barley, and it swayed like a rich golden sea behind him. In front of him, several yards behind Jeremy, was a sharp drop to one of the island’s many rivers. “I think we could finish today. Just a few more hours.”

Oh, great, Jeremy thought with a scowl. “Just” a few more hours of having to put up with a sweaty, grouchy Colin in the middle of nowhere. Love it.

Time passed more quickly than he’d expected, however, and soon, they were walking back to Colin’s truck, which was parked about half a mile away.

“Want to grab some food?” came Colin’s voice, out of the blue. They were approaching the truck, and he was looking at his phone with a frown. “I didn’t realize it had already gone seven.”

“Wow.” Jeremy blinked. The sun was still bright and the air was still warm. “Yeah, sure—”

“Good.” Colin nodded and got into the truck. “I know just the place.”

They drove about ten minutes down the coast. The O’Malleys’ farm was on the northern side of the island, further from Dunsegall than Jeremy had been before — the land around him was a bit more unfamiliar, a bit wilder. In the valley behind the cliffs, a huge forest sprouted and nestled over the hills, not unlike a patch of moss beneath a microscope. He watched the land rise and fall as Colin drove them south over the cliffs, down to a little tooth of land perched not twenty feet above the ocean.

“One of the island’s best-kept secrets,” Colin said, parking in a rough dirt lot and turning off the engine. “Perfect day for it.”

In front of them was a stretch of long, fluffy grass that quivered in the breeze coming off the water. There was a small playground overlooking the sea, and nearby was a brightly-colored shack. A few families sat around the picnic tables and watched their children on the swings and monkey bars, chatting as the day began to simmer on the horizon. Jeremy could smell fried food, and his mouth watered.

The shack turned out to be Sadie’s Beach Hut, a one-stop-shop for all kinds of carnival food and ice cream bars in every flavor. Sadie herself, a cheerful middle-aged blonde woman in a Rolling Stones shirt, was working the counter. Colin ordered six hot dogs and two packets of fries, then turned to Jeremy.

“I’ll just have two hot dogs,” Jeremy said, feeling a bit lame. “And one packet of fries.”

“Chips,” Colin corrected, winking at Sadie. “Yankee-boy’s still learning.”

They sat at the one available picnic table and spread out their food. Colin was in the middle of chugging water from his trusty Nalgene when he stopped and frowned at Jeremy. “D’you really eat your hot dog like that?”

Jeremy paused, mustard bottle in hand. “What?”

“That’s…” Colin pulled a face. “Not right.”

He laughed and went back to dressing his hot dogs, which were covered in all the fixings Sadie had available — relish, onions, mustard, and ketchup. It was odd, sometimes, to see which Americanisms that the Scots had picked up. “Says the person who eats haggis. Voluntarily!”

“Haggis is delicious,” Colin countered, stealing the mustard bottle. “That over there is just a mortal sin, plain and simple.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, too hungry for conversation. The food was fantastic. Jeremy was halfway through his second hot dog before he spoke again.

“Wanna try it?”

“Ugh, no.” Colin swatted his hand away. “Let me eat in peace.”

After a few minutes, once the food was settling into his stomach, the evening started to properly drape itself around Jeremy’s shoulders. He noticed the wind, the whistle of the grass, the crashing of the waves on the rocks below. Across the water from them to the east, sitting low on the horizon, was the Isle of Islay, a dark green smudge of land that felt much further away than it actually was. He gradually became conscious of the sweat drying in the base of his neck, the backs of his legs — his gaze lingered on Colin’s hands, arms, freckles. The sunburn was fading, and a semblance of tan was beginning to glow on his skin.

“I never said,” Jeremy said. “But thanks for this. For the whole kilt thing. You didn’t need to do that.”

Colin shrugged, suddenly gruff. “It’s all right. Not a big deal.”

“How did you know that? About the fences?”

He smirked. “Everyone knew. Practically notorious for it, the lazy git.”

“But he already had the wood.”

“Kick in the pants never hurt anybody.”

Jeremy tried not to think that that might be directed at him, too.

When Colin dropped him back at the cottage not half an hour later, it was with a smile and a wave. His movements were relaxed as he passed over a stack of his translation notes, but he shifted before their hands could touch.

“Wow, you work fast,” said Jeremy, rolling up the papers into a tube.

Colin shrugged. “I hope some of it helps.”

“I’m sure it will. See you tomorrow?” he said, trying not to sound hopeful.

“Nah, mate. I’ve got practice with the band.”

Oh, right. The ceilidh. “Friday then?”

Colin nodded and put the truck in reverse. “Friday.”

“Right,” said Aggie, pulling him into her house. “Let’s get started.”

“Jeez—Ag—ow! Slow down!”

They were just getting back from O’Malley’s, and Jeremy’s new kilt was carefully wrapped in a fancy dry-cleaners’ bag. He hadn’t stopped staring at it for the entire car ride back to Aggie’s house — yes, it was sort of a skirt, but it was beautiful.

“I will not! We only have seven hours to go, and way too much to get done—”

“Aggie, what exactly—”

“No time for that!” She dragged him to the sitting room and turned on the TV. Goldfinger began to play. “WINSTON!”

“Stop yelling, I’m right here,” he said, coming into the room behind her. In his hands were a pair of clippers, a cape of some kind, a large tarp, a mirror, and a broom.

Jeremy’s stomach did a flip. “Aggie—”

“Shhh, you’ll look great.” She pushed him down into a chair and knelt in front of him, her eyes sparkling with the kind of madness he usually associated with a round of Marco Polo. “Don’t you think it’s about time we did something with that hair?”

He gulped, then looked at Winston. “Be gentle.”

Winston smirked and turned on the clippers. “Always am.”

An hour later, Jeremy couldn’t stop staring at himself. “This is weird,” he said. “This is very very weird.”

“For the thousandth time,” Aggie huffed. “You look hot as fuck. It suits you.”

“Yes, but.” Jeremy resisted the urge to polish his glasses. “I’ve never—”

“You’re welcome,” Winston said. “But seriously, put the mirror down.”

He obeyed, and was startled to find Aggie on her feet, halfway out the door. “Come on!” she yelled. “I’ve got to teach you the dances!”

Winston glared at her. “If you think I’m going to fix his hair after—”

It wasn’t too difficult, in the end.

“Shit,” Jeremy panted, taking a gulp of water. They were out in the garden, leaning against the table, ceilidh music blasting from Aggie’s Bluetooth speaker. “This is cardio.” And he was still sore from the goddamn back fence.

“Yup.” Aggie pulled off her shirt and wiped her face with it. “I think that’s all of them. The band usually throws in a few waltzes and slow dances for all the couples, but you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Right,” said Jeremy, a beat too late.

Aggie stared at him. “Unless you want to worry about it?”

“No.”

Aggie stared at him some more, and something about her expression, the slight twist of her mouth, made his heart skip a beat — did she know?

“Okay,” she said, then polished off the rest of her water. “Come on, let’s have some food. Then we can put on the finishing touches.”

Jeremy stepped into the front hall of the old manor and took a breath.

The night was warm, full of energy, and people flowed in around him, parting like salmon in a stream. He had no idea there were this many people in Dunsegall — and it wasn’t just the geriatric crowd, there were actually some people his age floating around in little groups, staring at him but trying not to look like they were. Everyone was dressed to the nines as well, with most of the men in kilts and jackets, the women in skirts and dresses and flowy blouses. The hall rang with laughter and conversation, and beneath everything the mingled scent of beer and Scotch hung in a thick cloud.

“Well?” said Aggie. She was smirking, and Jeremy didn’t have to see it to know it. “What d’you think?”

“Crowded,” he said, grinning when she smacked his arm. He was wearing the one white button-down he owned, and he’d borrowed Winston’s old suit jacket, which was in the special cut that went with a kilt outfit. It was warmer than he’d expected, and he immediately wanted to take it off. The building was already steaming from the heat of the crowd, and he imagined it only got worse once the dancing kicked in.

“Is your mum here yet?” said Aggie, tucking her phone into the leg of her spandex shorts, an action he was more used to seeing in the middle of a game of football. On top of them, she was wearing a short black dress that looked absolutely incredible, with a ribbon in the MacLewan tartan tied around her wrist. She’d even put on eyeliner and mascara — more makeup than he’d seen her wear all summer.

She’d insisted on smudging dark blue liner around his eyes as well. Jeremy had worn makeup a handful of times — most of them when he was much younger and Jo had stolen her older sister’s makeup bag — and while he didn’t mind it, it wasn’t his favorite thing, either. “I guess. She rode here with Angus.”

As if on cue, music sounded from the room in front of them — a loud, swelling bellow of accordion, drums, and fiddle.

Aggie took one look at his face and giggled. “Come on, let’s find a spot.”

The main ballroom was massive, big enough to fit clusters of tables and chairs all around the center of the room, along with a little stage for the band. There had to be at least enough room for fifty people to dance at once, and Jeremy felt a surge of excitement in his gut — he suddenly sensed how real this was, that he was participating in a very old and very personal tradition.

The dance floor was full of people and most of the chairs were taken, so Aggie tugged him to the right, closer to the stage and towards a table of very familiar faces.

“All right?” Aggie said to her parents, who smiled and nodded at Jeremy’s greeting.

“Why didn’t we ride with them?” Jeremy muttered, peeling off his jacket. Thankfully, the music was still loud enough that there was no chance they’d heard him.

“Because they get here like an hour early, and I didn’t want to turn up with my parents,” Aggie hissed back. He began rolling up his right sleeve and she reached for his left. “Besides, my dad’s insufferable about these things, always asking me who I’ll be dancing with—”

“So why are we sitting with them?”

“Prime real estate.” She twisted his sleeve up into a neat cuff. “We’re right close to the stage, and we can leave our stuff here without worrying about losing the spot.”

“Clever.” Jeremy turned, and his heart dropped through his stomach.

Colin was near the back of the stage, laughing and leaning in as he played along, his hand flashing across the drum. He looked incredible — the sunburn had faded into a bright tan, and his kilt and button-down somehow looked freshly pressed and straight out of a magazine. He was even wearing high socks that matched his tartan and lace-up shiny black shoes.

Aggie was laughing by his ear. “I know, doesn’t he look a picture? He takes these things way too seriously.”

Jeremy cleared his throat. “What tartan is he wearing?” It was dark red with earthy green stripes, nothing he’d seen Colin wear before.

“It’s the Boyds’. His mum’s clan.”

Before Jeremy had time to be surprised, he was grabbed by someone and turned around.

“Oh my God, look at your hair!”

He immediately went beet-red and prayed that Colin wasn’t watching. “Mom!”

“I know, I know, but oh my God! Who did it?”

“My brother,” said Aggie, smiling. “He does all his friends’ hair at school. Hi, by the way.”

His mom practically collapsed on the spot. “It looks incredible! Your brother really has a gift! And you look like a supermodel or something—”

“Well,” said Aggie, and Jeremy was shocked to see her blush. “I’ll make sure to tell him.”

“Having fun, mom?” said Jeremy. Angus was grinning at them from onstage, accordion tucked under his arm.

“Yes!” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “You look good, Jer.”

His blush worsened. “Shut up.”

“No.” Rochelle smirked at him. “I never thought you wanted your hair cut like that.”

Winston had taken off most of Jeremy’s hair and given him a fade that would make any barber weep tears of joy. He’d left the top long and combed through just a bit of product, making Jeremy’s curls glossy and tall, curving up and forward over his forehead. “It’s basically a pompadour,” Winston had said when he was touching up Jeremy’s edges, “only cooler.” Jeremy said to her, “I never thought I would, but why not, right?”

“Good. And the kilt suits you.” She squeezed his hand again and let it fall. “Now, I think it’s time I met Aggie’s parents.”

Aggie steered him away through the clusters of people, and as they crossed the room, Jeremy let himself look back at the stage. Colin was still playing, obviously, and he was talking to the fiddle player — Jeremy started to give up hope, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to see Colin’s reaction, because Colin would probably think he looked dumb, a total idiot, like he was trying too hard to fit in—

Colin glanced across the room, and his gaze landed on Jeremy. Jeremy, who immediately blushed, tried to grin and shrug like, what can you do?

Colin missed a beat in the music, his hand slipping across the drum, and he looked away, his ears turning red as he got back into the song. He didn’t look up again.

Stung, Jeremy frowned at him, but he didn’t have time to dwell, because they’d reached a table, and Aggie was introducing him to a handful of other teenagers.

“Nice to meet you, Ralph,” Jeremy said to the guy closest to him, who was gangly and full of mischief. “How’s your Friday night going?”

Ralph grinned and slid a small bottle of rum out from under his sleeve. “All right. It’s about to get a lot better, though.”

Jeremy grinned and reached for the bottle.

The rum was much easier to drink after the third sip. After the fifth, it was practically water.

“Ceilidh is the best,” Jeremy panted to Aggie, who was propped up next to him on the wall.

“Oh yeah?” She paused for breath. “It’s definitely more fun when you aren’t sober.”

Jeremy laughed, just a touch hysterical. “I agree!”

Someone had opened the series of French doors along the back wall behind the stage, and they were standing on the wide veranda outside the hall, trying to cool off. The room was getting hotter and hotter as the night went on, and still Colin hadn’t looked twice at him.

Well, fuck him, Jeremy thought, for probably the fourteenth time that evening. If he wants to be a dick about everything, let him be a dick. No skin off my teeth.

It was now past nine o’clock, and the sun was beginning to wane. He was aware of everything — the heat and energy buzzing under his skin, the rough fabric of the kilt on his thighs, the line of sweat on his brow, the weight of the sausage rolls in his stomach.

“What’s Colin’s problem?” he thought, then realized he’d said it aloud.

Aggie waved a hand, turning to go back inside. “He gets very into the music.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes and followed her.

It was the middle of a dance — “Dashing White Sergeant,” Aggie yelled into his ear above the music — so Jeremy hung back, watching Colin but trying not to be obvious about it.

Look at me! he wanted to scream. Look at me!

But he didn’t, the fucker.

“What’s gotten into you?” Aggie yelled into his ear. She was staring at him.

Jeremy grinned, or tried to. “It’s the rum!”

They joined in for the next dance, along with Ralph, Maeve, and the others whose names Jeremy couldn’t remember. Ralph was stronger than he looked, and kept trying to spin Jeremy hard enough to lift him off the ground, and Jeremy was helpless with laughter, reeling from adrenaline and alcohol and the rush of air around his calves, feet, arms—

“All right,” came Angus’ boom, silencing everyone within a mile’s radius. “That’s ten of the old clock. Time for the band to take a wee break. Back in twenty minutes, folks.”

Jeremy stared at Aggie. They must’ve been dancing for—

“Going for a smoke,” said Maeve, her blue eyes bright with energy. Ralph and another boy, whose name was maybe Tyler, were standing with her. “Coming?”

“I—” Jeremy turned to Aggie.

“I’m going to see Colin,” she said. “To say hi.”

“I’ll come with,” Jeremy said to Maeve, and followed them out onto the veranda, past the couples trying to catch their breath, and into the little side garden. He didn’t see where Aggie went.

Maeve didn’t waste any time lighting up, inhaling deeply before holding out the joint. “No thanks,” Jeremy said, handing it to Ralph.

Maeve exhaled, smirking. “You don’t smoke?”

Jeremy shook his head. “I just like the smell. And the fresh air.”

That got a laugh. “Why not?” said Ralph, passing the joint to Maybe-Tyler.

“I play clarinet.”

That got even more of a laugh. “Seriously?” said Maeve. “That’s all?”

“You must be good,” said Maybe-Tyler. His voice was quiet. “To be such a prig about it.”

Jeremy smirked. “I’m incredible, actually.”

They all laughed again, easing into the smoke, and he leaned back against the building, relishing the cool weight of the stone against his shoulders. Their conversation went on without him, and he gradually became aware of another conversation, one that was happening just around the corner from him on the veranda, away from the bulk of the party.

“—don’t understand what’s wrong, you’re being such a—”

“Nothing’s wrong, don’t be stupid—”

“Stupid?” Aggie repeated, her voice going up a notch, and Jeremy winced. “I’m not the one avoiding one of my friends for some God-knows-what reason—”

Colin was getting exasperated. “I’m not avoiding him, Aggie—”

“Why are you angry with him?”

Silence. Then, petulantly, “I’m not angry with him.”

Aggie sighed. “Whatever’s going on between you two, I’m over it. Sort it out.”

Silence again. She must’ve walked away. Jeremy looked up at the sky, at the stars awakening from their slumber, feeling more confused than ever.

The night continued, and it seemed like it would never end.

Jeremy danced, drank, ate another sausage roll, nearly fell over during a round of polka, managed not to smudge his eyeliner, and danced some more.

“God, Jer,” Aggie giggled into his shoulder. “I didn’t know you could have fun.”

“I’m the king of fun,” he replied, feeling a little woozy.

Ralph and the others had left shortly before midnight, when things were starting to wind down. Jeremy had no idea where his mom was, and even Aggie’s parents were MIA.

Dimly, he realized they were listening to an Ed Sheeran song. The band had left the stage, and someone had plugged in their phone to the speaker. Couples of all ages were swaying across the floor, their movements loose and relaxed.

Scottish people can really drink, he thought, not for the first time that evening.

Aggie stood up with a groan. “I need to pee. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yessir,” he saluted her, nearly sliding off his chair. Pulling himself up, he turned and looked out onto the veranda. The sky was an inky purple, and he could just make out the telltale gleam of red hair, the glow of a beer bottle.

Don’t do it, he told himself, but he stood up and walked outside anyway.

The air was cooling off, sharp against his sticky skin. The veranda was empty — everyone was inside, or had already left. “You played really well tonight.”

Colin barely moved. He was leaning against the balcony, looking out into the night, his back to Jeremy. He took a sip of his beer, and it was several moments before he spoke: “Thanks.”

“I hear you’re angry with me,” said Jeremy, a sudden and flimsy courage bubbling up in his gut. He stepped closer to Colin. “Can’t say I’m surprised, I figure you’re always pissed at me for some reason, but I don’t get it. I don’t know what I did, and we were fine the other day. I built the fences with you. I thought we were all right.”

Again, Colin was silent. But Jeremy could see that he was clenching the bottle, his knuckles tight and shining in the moonlight.

Anger flashed through Jeremy, hot and fierce, before he could stop it. “Okay, fine, just keep on ignoring me. It’s what you do best, isn’t it? Ignore all the things you need to talk about, go on pretending everything’s normal and fine and that we aren’t friends, that nothing ever happened between us, that your dad doesn’t treat you like shit—”

Colin whirled around, and the next moment, he was in Jeremy’s face, backing him up against the house — his expression was dark, livid, and Jeremy shrank away from him, the stone cool and firm against his back.

“Shut up,” Colin growled. They weren’t even touching, but Jeremy could feel the heat radiating from his chest, and he suddenly realized that Colin could beat the shit out of him, no contest. Behind them, what was left of the party continued, oblivious.

“Okay,” said Jeremy. “But you have to talk to me.”

“Like fuck I do,” Colin snapped. “You don’t tell me shit, either.”

Jeremy gaped at him in shock. What?

A beat passed. Then two. Jeremy could hear actual crickets in the bushes, and he wanted to sob and scream and laugh all at the same time.

Colin’s hand came up to grip Jeremy’s shoulder. “That prick was watching you tonight.”

More confused than ever, Jeremy shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

Colin grunted. “Blond kid. Tattoo on his arm.”

Jeremy’s thoughts whirled. “Who? Tyler?”

Colin nodded, and his grip tightened. “I didn’t like it.”

“Okay,” said Jeremy, giving up all hope of understanding.

Colin looked at him again, his eyes dark and his face very close. He smelled of sweat, beer, and weirdly, freshly-cut grass. “Your hair looks good.”

Jeremy’s heart pounded in his ears, a ceaseless loop of what the fuck. “Thanks.”

“It suits you,” Colin said.

Jeremy looked at him, close enough to count his freckles, and then Colin leaned in, and this time, Jeremy didn’t stop him.

Colin tasted like beer, and he was shaky, uncertain, but Jeremy didn’t care, pulling him closer and closer until he relaxed, easing in with a groan. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and Colin’s hands were everywhere, and Jeremy couldn’t even think, could only feel the way his body ached for it, the way every part of him surrendered to Colin’s touch. Finally, some part of him chanted. Finally finally finally.

Something flickered, and they began to fight for it, rough, like drowning men gasping for air, and then Colin pushed him, and they weren’t on the veranda anymore, they were somewhere in the garden, sprawling on the damp grass, and Jeremy couldn’t get enough of it, couldn’t stop reaching, couldn’t hold back a moan when Colin slid his glasses away and pressed kisses to his throat, cheeks, nose, chin.

It all happened very quickly after that, but he chased every moment with a kind of frenzy, desperate to remember every detail. He tried to memorize the feeling of Colin’s hair under his fingers, the sound of his breathing, the gasps he made, the sweat on his skin — but it was all too frantic, too rushed, too much anticipation fading into the sparse air between them.

When it was over, he panted into Colin’s neck, then kissed the skin, lazily sucking and licking.

“What,” Colin mumbled. He was boneless, his arms draped around Jeremy, his kilt still half-undone and his skin glistening in the night air. “Are you giving me a hickey?”

“No.” Jeremy nipped at him, and Colin gave a full-body twitch.

“Jeremy!” came a faint call, from a voice they knew all too well. “Are you out here?”

“Shit. Aggie.” He fumbled for his glasses. “I have to go.”

Colin nodded. “I know.”

Jeremy looked at him, and the reality of what had just happened hit him like a wave. The sight of Colin, sated and sprawled in the grass like a mythical god, made his stomach clench. He ducked in and brushed a kiss to his mouth, just because he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get to again.

Colin smiled, but kissed him back before pushing him away. “Go.”

Jeremy turned and left, fastening his kilt as he walked up the steps to the veranda and back into the hall.

It was still warm and well-lit, but the music had stopped and people were folding up the chairs, collecting empty bottles, rolling up the table cloths. Oh, he thought. Party’s over.

Aggie was at their table, mid-text on her phone. She looked up as he approached and gave him a fresh scowl. “Jesus, there you are. I tell you not to wander off and you bloody wander off. What were you doing out there?” Her gaze dropped to his legs and her scowl deepened. “And why are you covered in mud?”

“Had to puke,” he said, then cleared his throat for full effect. “Fell into the bushes.”

She scoffed, shouldering his jacket. “Idiot. Come on, let’s get out of here before they rope us into cleaning up.”

Jeremy followed her out of the hall, his mouth numb and his knees shaky. He didn’t look into the garden as they walked to her car, and stopped himself from wondering if Colin had left yet.

When he got home, the cottage was dark and quiet — his mom must have gone to bed. Still jittery, Jeremy stripped and showered as quietly as possible, watching the streaks of mud melt off his skin. He had no idea if he was awake or asleep, if he’d dreamed those moments in the garden or if they were real. It definitely felt real, he thought, shuddering at the memory of Colin’s touch, his mouth, his weight on Jeremy’s legs.

The bracing air of the bathroom didn’t help much, and he made his way to bed in a dazed fog. He curled up in his covers, Mozart tucking herself against his chest, and pulled out his phone. Logic told him he could just text Colin, but something about that was frightening, so he didn’t.

Instead, he pulled up his contacts. He listened to the line ring for a few seconds, the tone echoing in the silence.

“Jo,” he said, as soon as she answered. “I think I fucked up.”