Our Song (23 page)

“That sounds amazing,” Jacob said. “But Nell, are you sure? You're not just doing this for your grandma, are you? Or—”

He hesitated, but clearly he was feeling the same urgency I was. He didn't want to waste time being shy, worrying about the right moment or the right thing to say.

“Or for me?” he said.

I smiled big and giddy. Telling Jacob about this freshly hatched decision made it real, somehow. I'd never before felt this excited about an idea—especially a
musical
idea.

Jacob was looking pretty glowy too.

“It's not
for
you,” I assured him. “But I'm pretty sure it was inspired by you.”

Jacob's eyes widened.

“No, that's not right,” I said, putting a finger on my lips and frowning in thought. “It's more like, like you're the glasses I didn't think I needed.”

“Oh, you smug people with twenty-twenty vision,” Jacob murmured.

I laughed.

“I just mean, you helped me see things differently, things like music and my family and even myself.”

I put a hand on Jacob's knee and whispered, “How did you do that?”

Jacob inhaled sharply and stared at my hand—my anvil-scarred, short-nailed hand—as if it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Maybe it was.

“I've been so dumb,” he said. “How could I have thought that we should just be friends? When every day, every
moment
—especially this one—all I've wanted to do is kiss you.”

The burst of energy that had brought me up to my knees suddenly left me, like a lightbulb flaming out after a power surge. I slumped down to my backside and braced myself with my hands, my stomach fluttery.

“I wanted Camden to be all about my training, my music,” Jacob explained to me. “The stakes felt so high, and I worried that you'd be a distraction. And then there was the way you felt about music and the fact that we live so far away from each other. Well, it just seemed impossible.”

“And now it's even more impossible,” I said. “We leave tomorrow morning.”

“We leave tomorrow morning,” he repeated.

And then he kissed me.

And all those fantasies I'd had about kissing Jacob? About glasses removal and interlaced fingers and gentle embraces? Those slipped out of my mind as easily as a dream forgotten. The reality of this kiss was
so much better
. It felt impossibly good to have Jacob's arms around me and his lips—so soft, but so insistent—on mine.

Now that we were finally kissing, I couldn't imagine why our lips hadn't been locked all summer long.

I think Jacob felt that same regretful pang as we shifted from kiss to embrace. We sat there, our legs tangled in the sand and our arms wrapped tightly around each other. I laid my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

“I guess I don't care that this is impossible,” Jacob whispered into my hair. “Not anymore.”

Then I was the one kissing him, with my fingers tangled in his hair and my body pressed against his and my mind filled with the sounds of the creek and the cicadas and Jacob's quickened breath. All those sounds swirled together like . . .

Like music.

And then it was a long time before I could think about anything at all.

But at some point, we drifted from kissing back to hugging and then, to talking.

“I forgot to tell you the other part of my plan,” I told Jacob. “I want to come back to Camden next summer.”

“Really?” he said.

I nodded.

“I want to teach,” I said. “My own class, not assisting Nanny's. I mean, if they'll let me. I want to teach kids how to love music. How to make it their own, and nobody else's.”

“But how can you do that without technique?” Jacob asked. “Isn't that kind of like running before walking?”

“Oh, there'll be technique,” I promised. “They'll do so many scales, they're gonna feel like human escalators. But I'm also going to teach them to see music as a joy, not a chore.”

I shrugged.

“It won't work for everybody,” I said. “But for some kids, for the other me's out there, maybe it'll make a difference.”

Jacob nodded slowly.

“It sounds amazing,” he said. “Do you think Mrs. Teagle will let you do it?”

“Well, I
am
a Finlayson,” I said, puffing out my chest and putting on a haughty voice.

“Yeah, you're also the girl she caught breaking into the infirmary,” Jacob said.

“Oh, that,” I said with a cringe. “Well, if Nanny
and
you vouch for my character? Do you think that'll help?”

“It better,” Jacob said, drawing me close again. “Because I'm coming back too. I don't care how many groceries I have to bag, I'll be here.”

I buried my face in his T-shirt, so happy. The only thing that stopped me from grinning was Jacob, kissing me again.

Even as we kissed, trying to make the moment last as long as possible, I could hear the burble of the creek. It danced in my head, along with the rhythm of our breaths, the low whistle of the breeze, and the beat of my happy heart.

TURN THE PAGE FOR MORE FLIRTY FUN.

M
y entire body ached as
I stretched each limb and popped my back, trying to shake off the effects of the long, long trip. Cleveland to New York to London to here—I still couldn't believe we'd left home yesterday afternoon and had just arrived in Edinburgh's airport a couple of hours ago.

But as I stared out our hotel window overlooking Princes Street, with Scotland's rolling greens and ancient buildings staring back at me, the stiffness in my body faded away. I was really here. And it was breathtaking so far. I couldn't wait to see what other sights Scotland held.

There was a lovely park area in front of our hotel with rich green grasses and trees, and beyond the park there were rows of ancient-looking buildings lined along the street, pressed side by
side with pubs, shops, and churches. This whole city was steeped in history. I was crazy excited to explore.

My mom stepped behind me and gave a soft sigh. “It's gorgeous, isn't it?”

I nodded my agreement. “Well worth being cramped in an airplane for this.” I'd spent hours last week scouring online to find pictures, videos, anything to help get me ready for our two-week vacation to Scotland. But nothing could have prepared me for the image before me.

Downtown Edinburgh bustled with people below, and music and noise filtered up to us from the packed streets. I couldn't help but smile as I watched. Excitement swelled, and I was suddenly itching to get out there and walk. I wanted to touch the warm bricks with my fingers, smell the pub food and flowers, and hear the noises up close and personal.

“Ava,” my dad said from behind me, “I printed you a copy of our itinerary. There's also a backup on your bedside table.”

Mom chuckled, and we turned and faced my dad. He didn't show any signs of fatigue, since he'd slept like a log on our flight from New York to London last night. I, on the other hand, had gotten intermittent sleep, due to the snoring man on my right who apparently couldn't snooze unless his head was tilted my way.

Mom and I sat down on my bed, and we dutifully took our copies of the papers while Dad recited an overall rundown of how the trip would go. First we would spend a few days in Edinburgh and the surrounding cities, and Dad would spend some of that
time doing research on our family heritage. Then we were taking a weeklong bus trip through Oban, Inverness, and St. Andrews so we could explore the Scottish Highlands.

The more he talked, the more excited he got, his eyes flashing bright.

“And if we stick to this schedule, we'll have plenty of time to fit in almost everything the experts agree we need to see,” he concluded with a flourish. “We'll experience a good portion of what Scotland has to offer.”

“This sounds like a pretty thorough sightseeing plan you've crafted. But do we get to sleep anytime in there?” Mom asked, her lips quirking with quiet amusement. “And maybe have a dinner or two as well?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don't be ridiculous. Of course we do. I scheduled an hour for each meal—it's listed clearly under each day.”

An hour? Yeah, right. Mom was the slowest eater in the world. Apparently, he'd forgotten about this little fact. “Good luck policing Mom's eating speed,” I told him with a hearty chuckle.

She shot me a mock glare, then grabbed her phone. Her fingers flew over the screen as she typed. “Laugh it up, smarty-pants. I just believe in savoring my meals. Anyway, I'm sending Mollie a text to let her know we've arrived. I'm so excited to see her. It's been far too many years since she and I have hung out.”

During our travels here, Mom had given me some information about this family we were hanging out with in Scotland.
Apparently, Mom and Mollie had been best friends in high school. After they'd graduated and moved on to college, Mollie had spent a semester in Scotland her senior year. She'd fallen head over heels in love—both with the land and with a handsome guy she'd met on campus. The decision to stay here had been hard, but she hadn't looked back.

Mollie's family still lived in the Cleveland area, and Mom said she had coffee with her parents every once in a while. But Mollie herself hadn't been back to visit in years.

The way Mom talked about Mollie reminded me of my friendship with Corinne. Lasting and strong, no matter what happened in life. We'd known each other for years and had grown into best friends fast. Before I'd left for this vacation, she'd demanded I send her lots of pictures of my trip and keep her up to date on all the cute guys I saw. If only she could have come with me to experience Scotland too. She would love what I'd seen so far; the old buildings and rolling greens would appeal to her artistic nature. Talk about inspiration.

“So, Dad, where are you going to start your research?” I asked. He'd joined an ancestry website last year to begin building our family tree, and it was cool to see the old scanned birth certificates, pictures, and other artifacts regarding our ancestors.

“The National Archives of Scotland.” He dug through his suitcase and produced a battered notebook. As he flipped through the pages, I saw his signature scrawl filling at least the first half of the notebook. Dad was nothing if not thorough and methodical.
“It'll get me a good start on which town we should narrow our focus down to. And someone online mentioned I can check out local churches as well, since they keep meticulous birth and death records.”

After interviewing a number of family members and confirming the information online, Dad had traced our family line back to Scotland. When he'd casually brought up the idea of continuing his research in person, Mom and I had begged him for a family trip there until he'd caved. We'd all figuratively tightened our belts and cut back on spending to make sure we could afford it, with no complaints.

Yeah, I was willing to follow any goofy, overplanned agenda Dad set if it meant experiencing this. Even our hotel felt cool and different and older than anything I'd seen in America. This country breathed history, and I was full of anticipation to take pictures and draw it.

“Will we be able to find out our family tartan?” I asked him. It would be so cool to get a kilt made in it. Corinne would die of jealousy if I wore it to visit her—and probably tease me a little too.

He shrugged. “If we have one, I don't see why not. I don't think all Scottish families do, but maybe we'll be lucky.”

My stomach growled, and I clapped my hands over it with a chagrined laugh. “Sorry.”

Mom quirked her crooked smile and put her phone away. “Someone's hungry, it seems.”

“Well, it has been a few hours since we ate lunch,” I protested.
And even that had been a little lackluster—a plain sandwich and chips. I wanted a real dinner.

Dad scrunched up his mouth as he thought. “Well, we're not actually scheduled to start exploring Edinburgh until tomorrow, but I suppose we could get a taste of its foods right now and maybe do a little shopping—”

“Yes!” Mom and I said together, then laughed. We jumped off the bed and stood in front of Dad with pleading eyes.

He gave a heavy, resigned sigh. “Okay, fine. Put on your jackets, and let's go grab a meal. There's a place on High Street that was recommended by a number of people. We'll get some authentic Scottish cuisine there.”

I slipped on my dark-blue fleece jacket and checked myself out in the mirror. My blond bob was a bit worse for wear but not horribly so, and a quick run-through of my brush smoothed the strays. I had on jeans and a T-shirt. Not my foxiest outfit ever, but it would do for now.

“You look lovely, Ava,” Mom said as she walked by me, giving my upper arm a small squeeze.

We left the room and made our way down the hall, down the stairs, and into the large wood-trimmed lobby. A variety of people hustled and bustled around us, checking in as they dragged suitcases to the front desk, talking, laughing. Their energy was infectious, and I found my spirits lifted even higher.