Scandalous Scotsman - M.J. Fields Page 0,40
and restaurant just a few yards away.
When we get out, I notice she has the empty bottle of wine.
She shrugs. “Please ignore the awkwardness surrounding me. I just really love this bottle and think it’ll make a pretty candle holder.”
“I rather like yer awkwardness, as you call it. It’s enduring, as well as refreshing.”
“Okay, then.” She smirks. “And just so you know, I’m smitten by this side of you.”
“Which side is that?” I ask, taking her hand.
“The gentlemanlike side.”
“Gentlemanlike suggests I’m not truly a gentleman.”
She laughs silently to herself.
“Care to share what has ye laughing?”
“Not particularly.”
“Inside joke?”
“Yes.” She laughs boisterously. “Between me and myself.”
After a few moments of making our way through the now crowded pedestrian walk, I step back and pull her toward me. I cup her face and kiss her, completely taking her off guard.
When I step back and look at her face, her eyes are closed and a smile begins to spread.
“And how’s my not so gentlemanly side?”
Eyes still closed, she whispers, “Perfect.”
“Ye mentioned ye’re a teacher; what made ye change yer major from art to education?” I ask over dinner.
She crinkles her nose. “Did I mention that?”
Fuck, I curse inwardly.
She shrugs. “I must have. Well, after my father’s diagnosis, I took leave from school to look after him and get married. He was strong emotionally, so, so strong, but he worried he wasn’t leaving me with enough to take care of me. And he worried because I’m a bit of a loner. That I’d be alone.”
“So, ye got married?”
“To a man my father never liked, but I did. He liked him after that. Hindsight, he was just happy I wouldn’t be alone, you know?”
I nod.
She takes a drink of her water then shrugs. “Art was mine and Dad’s thing. He was a graphic designer, worked on many huge campaigns. I liked drawing more than design, and there isn’t really a stable job market for that. Russ, my ex, and I talked about it; or rather, I talked and he played his video games.
“And before Mom got ill, she was a librarian. She always told me there was magic in books, and when she was wasn’t feeling well, I read to her, brought her magic. The last series I read to her was Harry Potter.”
“I’m assuming the Harry Potter Lego collection was part of your remembrance of your mother?”
She nods. “Dad kept that magic theme going. And he showed me art was magical, too.”
“That’s beautiful, Elizabeth.”
“And teaching is the best way to share that enthusiasm with kids, give them an escape, and yes, honor the best lessons each of them taught me that still to this day help me cope when I’m feeling kind of lonely.”
After a few minutes of silence as I contemplate what else I can do to elongate the night and avoid the inevitable, she clears her throat.
“Where will Kai attend school?”
As soon as I mention the name of the school, she smiles.
“Is that where ye teach?”
“My mentor retired, and I was given her position. Next week, I won’t just be a substitute, I’ll have my very own classroom.”
“I’m sure yer father and mother would be proud.”
“You think?”
I nod. “Without a doubt.”
“So, is it weird that your booty call will be teaching your daughter two or three days a week for forty magical minutes?”
I clear my throat, and the waiter drops off the check. I slip a few bills in it and tell him to keep the change.
Once outside the restaurant, we walk in silence for a few moments.
“I’m guessing it’s weird, huh?”
“It’s not weird at all, but ye should ken Kai has a condition that doesn’t make her the most eager pupil. In fact, she’ll only be going to yer school on a trial basis.” I look over at her, seeing concern evident in her expression. “Kai has what they are now calling selective mutism. It’s due to an anxiety disorder, and the diagnosis only came when I was able to prove she did in fact speak to me.”
“So, she talks to you?”
I chuckle. “When she chooses to, yes. We’re hopeful that the change of environment will help her.”
“Does she sign?”
“When she chooses to.”
“Well, hopefully, she’ll experience some sort of magic that—”
“I hope so, as well, but it’s been five years. If she never speaks, as long as she’s healthy and happy, that’s all I can ask for.”
“Do you know the cause of her anxiety?”
“Her grandparents have spent years blaming the accident, and using their money in an effort to prove that and