“Righ’ on time,” Brian greeted her with his usual smile and a twinkle in his eyes. “Come on in, a nighean.”
Shed of boots and jacket, Claire followed his broad-shouldered frame through the living room into the kitchenette. It was a small, utilitarian space, covered in artichoke-green tiles and beechwood cupboards. Despite the hideously clashing colour scheme, the odd bits of practical bric-a-brac scattered throughout—a kitchen timer in the shape of a Hieland coo, tea towels and oven mitts with prints ranging from Scottish thistles to Doune Castle—still created a welcoming atmosphere.
“I awready took e’rything out sae we can start righ’ away,” he said, gesturing to the assortment of meats, vegetables, spices, and other condiments. “We’ve a lot tae do. Are ye ready?”
Hair plaited into a quick, tight queue at the base of her skull, Claire rolled her sleeves up, determination burning in her eyes. “Put me to work, maestro.”
Claire soon learned that making haggis from scratch was bloody hard work. She also discovered that there was a lot more actual blood involved than she’d been prepared for. While dealing with the cartilaginous and sinewy intricacies of the human body on a daily basis had toughened her stomach to a degree that the sight of raw, open sheep’s pluck didn’t so much as make her blink, the fact that the ox bung smelled like overripe blue cheese did come as a nose-scrunching surprise.
To her quiet relief, Brian didn’t let her anywhere near the meaty parts of the dinner preparations. Wrist-deep in potato and turnip peels, she watched in covert fascination as the weathered hands to her right cleaned, deboned, and minced with practiced ease.
“Do you mind if I turn some music on?” she asked a couple of minutes into working companionably shoulder to shoulder. “I generally do when I do the cooking at home, but I don’t have to.“
“Go ahead,” Brian urged gently, eyes fixed on the movement of his knife. “I dinnae mind, and we’re going tae be here fer a while, sae ye better make yersel’ comfortable.”
“All right,” Claire wiped her hands and took her phone out. “I apologise for my taste in music in advance.”
“I think I’ll survive whate’er ye got on that phone o’ yers, a nighean.”
Grinning, she generated a shuffle playlist and propped the phone against the tiles. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As the first distinctive notes began to play, Brian turned to face her, shaking his head good-naturedly. “Told ye—a wee bit o’ Hakuna Matata is no’ going tae wear me down.”
“Good, because I’ve had The Lion King soundtrack stuck in my head for days,” Claire said, resuming her peeling duties. “William made us watch it three times this week—it’s his current favourite.”
“Wee Mr IRN BRU’s got good taste.”
Smiling to herself, Claire reached for the bundle of carrots. “More like he has his father completely wrapped around his finger.”
“Weel, that too, probably.” Brian’s chuckle was warm like honey and rich like butter. “Doesnae take long at all tae fall under that lad’s spell.”
“Less than a second, really,” she agreed softly, that most precious memory—of seeing and holding her darling boy for the first time—flashing behind her eyelids.
one of my favourite things in the world is casual intimacy. a small hand on your back when you’re in crowded streets. a gentle kick from where they’re sitting across the table. a head on the shoulder, a hand in your hand, a squeeze on the arm as they’re walking past you. and i think maybe love isn’t made up of grand gestures or explosive displays but that it’s made up of the little things. the little things that say i’m here and i care for you and that your life has intertwined so deeply into mine that that there’s no need to think, because casual intimacy comes easy
Japanese words 一期一会 ichi-go-ichi-e: This proverb to come from tea ceremony. It means “This time meeting you in this way is the only once that never comes round. Therefore let’s think this moment to be important, and do the highest entertainment that can be done now. This is knowledge of the first on the list of the tea ceremony of Sen no Rikyu. In other words, it means that you may meet the person again and again, but you contact with a person with resolution that it is likely not to meet.
Tori