Highlands Homecoming (A Highlands Christmas Romance #3)

Chapter 5

T he next day, Colin had trouble focusing at work. Meghana noticed him getting up for his fourth cup of tea and finally laughed. “Mr. MacGregor, you never take vacation time. It’s Friday. You have no meetings, no appointments, and as far as I can see, you’re completely caught up since your trip. That nice woman is in town, and, if I may be so bold, I think you should spend time with her.”

Colin set down his Earl Gray. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” said Meghana.“Go on. Get out of here.”

“I expect you to take a day full of … whimsy. Or whatever it is you enjoy,” said Colin awkwardly.

She laughed, but he looked at her seriously. “I appreciate this. You’re right. All I do is work.”

“Work isn’t everything … Although you’re my boss, so I should be careful saying that.”

Colin laughed.

“Come on, Colin. Live a little,” Meghana insisted, her words hanging in the air as he shut down his computer and packed up his briefcase.

She arched an eyebrow, and he looked down at his briefcase. “You're right. I don't need this,” said Colin.

“Exactly. Leave it behind. I'll take care of any emails that come through,” said Meghana.

“Nope, you should take some time off too. Have you ever had tea at the Boston Public Library? Or lunch at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum? Use the company card. Seriously. My treat.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” she protested.

“You went through a lot with my client yesterday, and you helped Melissa. You deserve a treat.”

Colin put on his tweed cap and coat and walked out of the building without a briefcase for the first time in his memory. It felt good. He felt lighter. The snow was falling, the sky was somehow still a brilliant blue, and the air was crisp and cold. Colin couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered taking the day off to see Melissa. What was wrong with him? So focused on all the wrong things.

Despite the chilly day, Boston Common bustled with people. Parents walked with strollers and dogs, the scent of grilled onions and sausage filled the air, and street performers entertained the crowds. As they walked, they passed by vendors selling hot cocoa. The skating pond was frozen over, with people twirling and gliding on the ice, their laughter and shouts filling the air.

“The skating pond!” said Melissa, her rosy cheeks painted with excitement. “Emma and I used to love to come here as kids. Did you skate when you were younger?”

Colin shook his head no . “We mostly went sledding and worked on the croft. I played hockey as a lad, though.”

“So you did ice skate.”

“More like, I went into battle with blades on my feet and a stick in my hand, but sure … you can call it ice skating,” said Colin.

Melissa laughed, but Colin was reflecting. Had he always been this way? Wound up so tightly? He’d never even skated for pleasure.

They stood in line, rented skates, and put them on.

Colin helped steady Melissa as she wobbled on the ice. She loved the feeling of his arm wrapped around her waist as they slowly made their way onto the pond. The ice was smooth and glistened in the afternoon sunlight. Traces of snow dusted its surface. As they grew more confident in their skating abilities, their movements became fluid and graceful. Their laughter echoed across the pond. Colin realized he hadn’t had this much fun since … he was home in Scotland. And before that? He couldn’t remember. When had he started taking life so seriously? He listened to Melissa’s contagious, joyful laughter and was glad to have her in his life.

As they returned their skates, Colin looked at his watch. “Tea time back home. Fancy a hot chocolate?”

“Always.”

The hot chocolate was steaming in their mugs, topped with a generous serving of tiny white marshmallows that bobbed on its surface. Melissa took a sip, coating her lips and nose with a fluffy layer of melted marshmallow. Colin couldn't help but laugh and tease her playfully for the sweet mustache she now sported.

“It suits you, Mel.”

“I’m sure it does …” said Melissa.

The once bright blue sky was now painted with hues of pink, orange, and purple as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The cityscape was illuminated by the warm, golden light as buildings and landmarks stood silhouetted against the colorful backdrop.

“Shall we have an early dinner?” asked Colin.

“Sounds good,” said Melissa.

They walked hand in hand, their breath visible in the cold air as they chatted and laughed. The snow-covered ground of the Boston Common made a crunching sound under their feet, and the trees were adorned with twinkling lights. As they made their way toward the North End, their faces were flushed with rosy cheeks, and their eyes sparkled with excitement. Colin felt relaxed and carefree—more alive than he had felt in years.

The streets were bustling with people hurrying home, bundled up in winter coats to shield themselves from the chilly air.

The North End—a Boston neighborhood known as Little Italy that dates back to colonial times—sparkled with white lights and old-world splendor. They passed tiny Italian bodegas, gelaterías, cafés and pastry shops, as well as the myriad of elegant Italian restaurants the neighborhood was known for. As they walked the cobblestone streets, they passed the quaint, white Old North Church—made famous by Paul Revere and Longfellow—and made their way down Hanover Street, where there was already a huge line around the corner of Mike’s Pastry, home of the best cannoli Melissa had ever had.

Colin held the door for Melissa as they reached a tiny, elegant, but comfortable restaurant called Fatto a Mano . The place was a long, narrow space with only about a dozen small tables for two alongside an exposed brick wall. Each table had a white table cloth, a candle, and wine glasses. “It smells amazing in here!” said Melissa. “I can’t believe it, but this might be the thing I missed most about Boston—the smell of fresh tomato sauce and garlic bread!”

“I know. We have it in Scotland, but not like this. And since we can’t have dinner in Venice tonight, I thought this would be the next best thing,” said Colin.

“Have you been here before?” asked Melissa.

“No, it’s new. A friend recommended it. Everything’s?—”

“Made by hand,” finished Melissa.

“Do you speak Italian?” he asked.

“No, just important things: formaggio, vino, gelato di nocciola,” she said.

“Ah. I still have much to learn about you, m’lady.”

The waiter handed them wine lists and a menu and poured still water from a cobalt blue bottle. With the soft glow of the candlelight and the nostalgic Italian music, Melissa finally began to relax.

“You know, is this our first actual date?” said Melissa.

“I think so,” said Colin.

“I mean, we’ve been to lots of places in groups. And we’ve been to urgent care together,” said Melissa.

“I cherish those memories of us hobbling around on ice,” said Colin. “But this …”

“This is nice,” said Melissa.

They ordered chianti and fried calamari to start.

The waiter poured the wine at their table and soon returned with a basket of amazing crusty bread accompanied by dark green olive oil and a tapenade. As their hands brushed while reaching for the bread Melissa felt a tingling surge of electricity race through her and she couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked, his cheeks still rosy from the cold and his blue eyes twinkling as he raised his glass of wine.

“Cheers!” said Colin.

“Sláinte!” said Melissa. “Wow, this looks amazing. Homemade Italian bread, straight out of the oven.”

As the waiter brought various courses—salad, pasta, cheese, and finally espresso—they laughed and talked and almost forgot that they lived on opposite sides of the ocean.

“We should do this more often,” said Colin, before realization sank in. They lived thousands of miles apart now.

“We should,” said Melissa. Colin noticed that her face was filled with doubt.

“We will, then,” said Colin. “We’ll make it all work out.”

As he helped her on with her coat, and they stepped out into the magical snowy sidewalks of the old North End, optimism swept over Melissa again. “They have frequent-flyer credit cards. Business trips. Family visits and holidays. Facetime. We’ve got this.”

As they strolled down Hanover Street, Colin and Melissa noticed the line at Mike's Pastry was unusually short.

"Do we dare?" Colin asked with a playful glint in his eye.

"Absolutely," Melissa replied without hesitation.

The bright fluorescent lights inside were a stark contrast to the street, but Melissa's discomfort quickly faded as she admired the array of pastries in the display case.

They had everything from birthday cakes, black-and-white cookies, brownies, lemon bars, eclairs, Boston Cream Pies, lobster tails—puffed pastry filled with cream. But the star of the menu was their cannoli. Colin and Melissa studied the menu: limoncello, pistachio, chocolate, hazelnut, chocolate chip, plain, strawberry, peanut butter, chocolate covered, Florentine, chocolate cream, amaretto … The list was endless.

“I have no idea,” said Colin. “You decide.”

Melissa stepped up to the counter. “We’d like a dozen cannoli. Cannolis?”

The clerk nodded.

“Two Florentines, two chocolate covered, one chocolate cream, two plain, one hazelnut … How many is that, Colin?”

“Eight,” said Colin.

“What else?” asked Melissa.

“And two limoncello, a chocolate mint, um … peanut butter? Actually, another hazelnut.”

The clerk gathered them all. “Powdered sugar?”

Colin looked to Melissa, who nodded yes .

“Yes.”

The clerk dusted the cannoli with a light sprinkle of white powdered sugar, then tied the box securely with string. Colin handed over a wad of cash, and they turned toward the exit, carrying the giant box with a mix of smug satisfaction and lingering guilt after their heavy meal.

“We’ll enjoy these in the morning,” Melissa said, perhaps louder than she meant to. Just as if she had summoned him with her words, her ex, Dave, walked through the door with his girlfriend, Samantha.