in their late teens or early twenties. Yet despite all their differences, the two groups intermingled like they’d know one another forever.
At a table on the opposite end of the room, I spotted Ezekiel and Jerimiah in animated conversation with a group of guys. From his gestures, I surmised that quiet little Jerimiah was telling a story—a good one from the looks of it. Both of the boys were laughing, their carefree smiles radiating across the hall.
Experiencing a touch of high school cafeteria déjà vu, I shuffled into the dinner line wondering if, after I got my food, I should insert myself into an existing group, or just go for the first open spot and eat alone. If this had been school, I’d be eating with my bestie, which I’d done from kindergarten through junior year. My friendship with Vee had, among other things, saved me from a decade of lunches eaten in a bathroom stall.
“Beautiful evening, dinna ye think so?”
I blinked out of my glory days reverie and into the smiling face of Fiona’s mom as she handed me a plate heaped with stew, bread, and some sort of greens. Since I’d started training with Duncan, I’d taken most of my meals at Dunbrae Cottage, so the change in dining wear caught me off-guard. The plate was one of those fancy disposable, three-section deals that I remembered from picnics. “Paper plates?”
Caledonia Fairshaw made a sound of correction that was uniquely Scottish. “Not paper, lass. Recycled sugar cane. They’re biodegradable and a mite easier on the cleanup than traditional plates. They just go in that tub and then at the end o’ the evening we put ’em on the composting heap. Flatware too—on Prince MacCrae’s recommendation. Such a time saver.”
For a millisecond I thought she meant Duncan, until Alasdair’s face appeared over her right shoulder. Of course, he was the Prince MacCrae she was referring to—I’d have to get used to there being two of them around the camp. “I’ve been introducin’ the good ladies ta the conveniences o’ the modern world. No sense in not enjoyin’ them while we’re on this side o’ the bridge, right, Missus Fairshaw?”
“Oh, m’Laird,” she chided, spearing him with a sidelong glance as she batted her eyelashes. “How many times must I insist ye call me Caledonia?”
Leaning in so that his bulbous nose practically grazed her neck, Alasdair replied in a low voice, “I’ll call ye Caledonia, Missus Fairshaw, when ye start callin’ me by my God-given name. Alasdair . . . Say it just once in that temptress voice o’ yours.”
Fiona’s mom ducked her head in an effort to hide the blush that was spreading across her face. Without meeting my eyes, she said, “Enjoy your meal, Mackenna. And please forgive Alasdair. I’m afeared all this modern livin’ has made him far too cheeky for his own good.”
Thoroughly creeped out, I hurried away from—whatever that was. Scanning the room, I spied Fiona sitting with Cheska, Greta, and a few others. As I approached, Greta and Cheska slid apart, making room directly across from Fiona.
Before I sat, Greta pointed to the backs of the two girls at the two girls on the opposite of her. “Lee and Natasha,” she mouthed. Apparently crossing the bridge as besties had elevated them to rock star status.
I slid into the open spot and let Greta handle the introductions. After greeting the newcomers, I cast a playful look at Fiona. “So . . .” I drawled. “Your mom and Alasdair . . . What’s that about?”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Dinna get me started on those two.” She nibbled on a cracker. “My da’s barely cold in his grave and my mum’s taken up with a man old enough to be her—her—I canna even wrap my mind around him ta figure out what he is!”
“At least he doesn’t sparkle in the sunlight,” I replied. Fiona and the rest of the Doonians stared at me as if I’d started speaking in tongues, and I realized my smart remark had been for Vee’s benefit . . . only she wasn’t around to hear it. My throat tightened as tears began to well in my eyes.
Suddenly Cheska’s hand covered mine. “I was always more of a Jacob girl. Now my best friend Danissa, she loooooves Edward.”
Greta leaned in with a frown. “Who are Jacob and Edward? I’ve not met them. Are they newly arrived?”
Cheska giggled as she lifted her hand from mine. “No. They’re from a book series—and some movies.”