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“So there’s this taco truck down by the marina,” he said, and her smile widened. “Any interest?” When she didn’t answer right away, he raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’d prefer not to…”
She laughed. “Let’s go, Bartleby,” she said, and so they did.
14
It was better outside.
They were better outside.
As they walked toward the harbor, a few inches between them, Lucy could feel the horrible awkwardness begi
Out here, they could both breathe again. And as they walked past lit restaurants and darkened bars, Lucy couldn’t help glancing sideways at Owen, reassured by the sight of him: his white-blond hair, which had grown longer, curling at the ends; that loping walk of his, which made him bob like a puppet on a string. When he’d looked at her across the table in the restaurant, his eyes had been darting and nervous, but now they met hers with a brightness that matched her memory.
He lifted a long arm, pointing at a street that ran up a steep hill. “Our place is up there,” he said. “If you look out the bathroom window, you can sort of see the water.”
“No better place for an ocean view.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I can think of a few.”
“But in the bathroom, you can sit in the tub and pretend you’re a pirate,” she explained, as if it were obvious, and he laughed.
“Shiver me timbers,” he said, then steered them toward a square blue truck that was parked outside an Irish pub. Two men in white aprons were taking orders from a large open window that stretched across one side of it, and the striped awning above them flapped in the breezes from the nearby water. “You’re going to love these. I’ve only been here a few days and I’ve already had about a million.”
“I can’t wait,” she said as they joined the small line. “I’m completely in love with everything about Edinburgh except the food.”
“Not even the haggis?” he joked, and she rolled her eyes.
“Especially not the haggis,” she said. “Do you even know what’s in that stuff?”
“Only the best ingredients around,” he said as he dug his wallet from his pocket, his eyes on the menu. “Sheep’s heart, sheep’s liver, sheep’s lungs…”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t know about the lungs.”
“It’s a delicacy,” he said with a grin. “A Scottish delicacy.”
“I think I’ll be sticking with tea and biscuits.”
When it was their turn, Owen insisted on paying and Lucy let him, even though she wasn’t sure if his dad had found a job yet and guessed that money might still be tight. But there was something endearing about the way he waved her off, and now that they’d finally found a kind of hard-won rhythm again, she didn’t have the heart to spoil things over a few dollars.
As they strolled down toward the harbor, they could hear the boats knocking against the docks and the slap of the waves. A few gulls circled lazily overhead, and when they were closer, Lucy could see the tall masts of the many sailboats, which made a series of zigzags across the horizon. They found an empty bench along a path filled with bikers and joggers, and they sat on either end of it, the bag of tacos between them.
“Much better,” Owen said, leaning back with a happy sigh.
“I think we’re better suited to picnics, you and me.”
“Apparently,” he said, handing her a taco wrapped in tinfoil, which was warm against her half-numb hands. The cold here wasn’t like Scotland, with its raw, battering winds, but the evening air still had a bite to it. Lucy was grateful for this. It was the middle of the night in Scotland right now, and the chilly weather was helping to keep her awake.
She hadn’t slept much on the long flight, and when they’d arrived at the hotel a few hours ago, she’d been too anxious to nap. Her parents had immediately disappeared into their room across the hall, insisting they were ready to pass out, but she knew that wasn’t true. Dad’s phone had been glued to his ear ever since the plane landed. Even as they’d waited for their luggage, he was pacing along the serpentine perimeter of the conveyor belt, and he spent the whole limo ride into the city bent over his phone, furiously typing e-mails. Lucy had raised her eyebrows at Mom in an unspoken question, but she only shook her head.
At the hotel, they’d waved to her before ducking into their room, which was right across the hall from Lucy’s. “Have fun with your friend,” Dad said, and just before the door closed, she could hear the sound of his phone ringing again.
Lucy had told them she was having di
Still, she wasn’t exactly sure why she’d lied, or why it seemed to be coming so naturally these days. Two nights ago, back in Edinburgh, she’d done the same thing to Liam when they’d gone to see a movie.
“It’s a film,” he was correcting her as they walked in.
“A movie,” she persisted. “Which you see at a mooooovie theater.”
He rolled his eyes. “A cinema,” he said, then pointed to the counter. “Would you like some sweets?”
“I’d like some candy,” she said with a grin, and he threw his hands up in defeat.
In the half-darkened theater, they talked while they waited for the movie to start. Liam’s family was going to see some relatives in Ireland over the break, and Lucy was busy peppering him with deliberately silly questions about shamrocks and rainbows, when he finally managed to get a word in edgewise.
“So what about your trip?” he asked, rattling the bag of chocolates, then offering it to her. “You must be excited to see your brothers.”
“I am,” she said. “It’s been way too long.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to San Francisco.”
“The wedding’s in Napa, actually.”
“Ah,” he said, glancing over at her. “So you won’t get to see any of the city while you’re out there?”
They’d been angled toward each other, but now Lucy turned to the screen with a shrug. “Not really,” she said, and left it at that.
But throughout the movie, she found herself sneaking sideways glances at him, studying the sharp line of his jaw and his neatly trimmed hair, his steady, straightforward gaze. Deep down, she knew she was comparing him to Owen, but the differences were so obvious there hardly seemed to be a point. Besides, Liam was right here. With Owen, the details were a bit foggier. He was a voice in the dark. A presence beside her on a kitchen floor. A series of letters across the back of a postcard.
Liam was a possibility. Owen was just a memory.
So why was she still thinking about him?
Even now, sitting beside him on the bench, she couldn’t seem to keep hold of her thoughts, which were skittering around in her head like marbles. It was only when their eyes met that everything went still again, and a familiar ease settled over her. Just being with him like this again—it was almost enough to make her forget it was only temporary.
As they ate, they filled in the gaps.
From him: stories of the road trip (the cities getting smaller as the spaces between them got bigger; the cheap motels and fast food restaurants; the endless cornfields and far-flung skies; him and his dad and the ribbon of highway and a good song on the radio), and of Tahoe (the blue lake and the ring of mountains; the tiny apartment and the restaurant below; the luckless job search; the short and unremarkable stint at a school there); and, finally, of San Francisco (where things might be different).