Highlands Homecoming (A Highlands Christmas Romance #3)

Chapter 8

M elissa walked out of the Inverness airport, the cool, Scottish air a welcome change from the plane's confines. She hailed a taxi and gave the driver her address. A mix of anticipation and nostalgia settled in as the familiar scenery of the Highlands began to unfold through the window.

With each mile closer, she found the tension rolling off her shoulders and her breath calming. The landscape, a comforting blend of rolling hills and scattered cottages, felt unchanged by time. She was grateful to be able to return. As they approached the snowy banks of Loch Ness and turned onto the narrow road, she felt a tug in her heart. The taxi pulled into the driveway of a large stone home with a front gate. She was home. This was Greenhill House, an ancestral MacKenzie home that Melissa had inherited from a long-lost relative.

Opening the front door, she couldn’t wait to see Jingles, her puppy. “Hello! Lindsay? Jingles?” Soon she heard the jingling bells of her adorable little dog, followed by the soft footsteps of her friend, Lindsay.

“Welcome back,” said Lindsay.

And her new life was open to all possibilities.

The next few days were a blur of grocery shopping, picking up mail—not much there, just the first bills—catching up with her new friends, who felt a little like old friends, and finalizing her start date as the interior designer at the new MacAlister Inn where Lindsay would be the chef. The very idea of divorce, which caused her such incredible pain just a few months ago, ended up being the spark she needed to dramatically change her life for the better. Today was the best of all. She was going to finalize the paperwork on her home. She could barely believe it. Greenhill House, the lovely stone cottage on the banks of Loch Ness, was going to be 100% hers. Her own home in the highlands of Scotland, where she could cozy up in the library—her favorite room by far—with a cup of tea and watch the snow fall with Jingles at her side.

The chilly Scottish air nipped at Melissa's cheeks as she ascended the worn stone steps of the real estate office, her heart pounding with anticipation. She opened the large wooden door, and her jaw dropped. The building felt like something out of an old movie—old woodwork, a beautiful oak banister, and intricate carvings. Even her hometown of Boston’s quaint old office buildings didn’t have this kind of charm. She climbed the stairs up to a second floor office where she greeted Margaret Douglas. The kind-hearted real estate agent, with laughter lines etched deep in her face, was about to make Melissa’s dreams a reality.

Margaret greeted her with a warm embrace. “Today’s the day!” She handed Melissa a pen and a stack of papers. “Once it’s signed, Greenhill House is officially all yours!”

“So exciting!” Melissa sat in the cushioned chair and picked up the pen. She flipped through, scanned the documents, signed here, added initials there—and then, just like that, it was done.

“Congratulations, Melissa!” said Margaret. “You’re going to love your home.”

“I absolutely am! You’ll have to come out for dinner sometime soon.”

“I’ll bring the wine!” said Margaret. “But I’ll wait until you’re more settled in. Speaking of waiting, when is that new inn in town going to be finished? I know you’ve been working on the decor.”

“Nearly done! We just have some finishing touches left, and the chef is working on menus. It’s going to be so much fun when they open!”

“Sounds grand.”

“Thank you so much for all your help, Margaret.”

“It was my pleasure, really. Enjoy!”

As she descended the stairs into the main lobby and out the door, Melissa felt more accomplished than she’d felt in years. She tried to remember the last time she’d felt so strong and independent. Probably college graduation. But even then, she’d been under Dave’s wing or standing in his shadow or … what was the right metaphor for being in a bad relationship and not realizing it?

As she hopped into her little red car—a color she’d chosen on her own—and drove down the winding road toward her home, she sang along with the radio. Dave had always hated when she sang. Or had any fun, to be honest. What a jerk. Dave could keep the squirrel-infested house they had lived in back in Boston. Melissa laughed to herself as she remembered her parting act. Dave had always hated squirrels, so she’d left the hideous nut basket centerpiece his girlfriend had gifted her in the wide-open doorway as she left. He might not deserve a piano falling on his head, but squirrels? Absolutely! Melissa still enjoyed imagining scores of squirrels streaming into the home, eating the nuts, leaving a chaotic mess, and Dave coming home to find it.

Melissa sang loudly to Sinead O’Connor’s “This is the Last Day of Our Acquaintance” as she steered the little red car along the lochside road. She reached a stone wall and a little gate and turned into the driveway. She felt a sense of relief and satisfaction as she knew now the home was officially hers and nothing could take that away. She loved everything about it. On one hand, it was stately enough to have a gate and a name, but really, it was a perfect cozy stone cottage. Far too big for one person, but a great place for parties.

She walked up the stone pathway which had recently been cleared of snow. As she opened the door, she could hear the cheerful bells of her border collie puppy, Jingles, racing toward the door to greet her. As she pet him, she felt a surge of love, hope, and optimism that she hadn’t felt in ages.

Melissa pulled her car up in front of the newly renovated MacAlister Inn, a grand building situated along the tranquil River Ness in Inverness, Scotland. She grabbed her lookbook filled with inspiring decorating ideas and headed inside toward the kitchen.

Lindsay, Colin’s sister and Melissa's friend, was busy chopping onions, leeks, and potatoes for dinner. "Hey there, how’s it going, Chef?” asked Melissa.

"Living the dream," Lindsay replied, pausing to hug her friend.

"I can't wait to show Sydney and Elspeth all of my decorating plans," said Melissa.

Just then, Sydney, the manager of the new inn, strode in. "Can’t wait to see them,” she said as she placed a box of vegetables on the counter. "Smells delicious, Lindsay."

"It's just some cock-a-leekie soup and Balmoral chicken. Drew wanted to test the menu this afternoon."

"Sounds great. And I wanted to catch you two because I had a thought," Sydney began.

"Yes?" said Lindsay as she continued chopping.

"Well, of course we still have a lot of work to do to get the inn itself up and running," Sydney began.

Melissa nodded, "I have a lookbook right here."

"I can't wait to see it. The dining room looks great—they're almost done refinishing the floors, and the tables and chairs are good. All the painting on the first floor is done."

"It's just the upstairs and the guest rooms that are left," Melissa added.

"So I was thinking … a lot of new establishments have a 'soft opening' where they open the doors to a smaller crowd, a trial run of sorts. What if we held a Burns Night event, just to whet the appetite and give the locals a little introduction to what we have to offer?” said Sydney.

“Brilliant,” said Lindsay. “But … wait. That’s coming right up.”

“January 25th.” Sydney studied Lindsay, who appeared to be quickly calculating.

“Well, we’d need to hire some waitstaff,” Lindsay began. “And I’d have to train them. And hire some line cooks. And dishwashers and the like.”

“I’ve already posted some ads, but the great news is that Drew says his inn just doesn’t get the traffic in Drumnadrochit that we’d be getting in Inverness, so he’s willing to send some staff over to help cover.”

“Really? He wouldn’t be short staffed?”

Sydney shook her head. “You know Drew. He doesn’t want anyone out of a job, so he’s had a lot of staff on the payroll just to keep them afloat during the winter months. That’s part of the reason he wanted to get involved with the inn at Inverness. It would actually be more cost-effective if the waitstaff doesn’t mind making the drive.”

“What’s Burns Night?” asked Melissa.

Lindsay and Sydney looked at Melissa in surprise. “You’ve never heard of it?”

Melissa shook her head. “Nope.”

“Well, it’s a uniquely Scottish holiday to honor the poet Robert Burns,” said Lindsay.

“Something like our President’s Day?” asked Melissa.

They looked at Melissa blankly.

“We get the day off. Some people go to events—historical talks, that kind of thing. Most people go skiing,” said Melissa.

Lindsay shook her head. “No. This is a proper holiday—no offense—but it’s a little like Thanksgiving to a certain extent. There’s a focus on the meal. It’s called a Burns Supper. There’s a set menu, set events. It’s all about celebrating the poet by reading his poems.”

“They really read them? It’s not just ‘Happy Burns Day, let’s have the day off’?”

“Most people go to work, but at night there are celebratory dinners and people read his poems. Really. It’s a thing,” said Lindsay.

“The most important readings that everyone always does are The Selkirk Grace and Address to a Haggis . But they can read any of his poems. The diners sit at tables, and we ‘pipe in the Haggis.’ That means a bagpiper plays as someone ceremoniously carries in the haggis on a tray,” said Sydney.

“The meal is usually served family-style,” Lindsay continued. “First course is either Cullen Skink or cock-a-leekie soup, then haggis, neeps and tatties, and that’s when someone reads Burns’ famous poem, Address to a Haggis . Then there might be dancing—remember those sword dancers we saw back before Christmas at the Highland Games, Melissa?”

Melissa nodded.

“They dress in traditional outfits and perform that dance, then various guests read poems by Robert Burns. We drink Scotch, listen to the poems, and enjoy the meal,” said Lindsay.

“That sounds amazing. What a lovely holiday!” said Melissa.

“It really is. And it’s not just the sort of people who read poetry or the book group types. Most Scots enjoy the holiday. It’s good food, good company, and a nice way to keep the holiday spirit going through the January blahs,” said Sydney.

“That sounds great. I’m happy to help however I can!” said Melissa.

“Well, great! Today’s … what? January 15th. We’ve got ten days. The menu is a no-brainer: cullen skink, haggis, neeps and tatties, plenty of Scotch, and probably cranachan,” said Lindsay.

“And I’ll hire a piper, some dancers, and someone to read the poems,” said Sydney.

“I can’t wait!” said Melissa.

“Pure dead brilliant,” said Lindsay.

Lindsay watched onions sizzle in a pan and stirred them as she phoned her father, Alexander “Sandy” MacGregor. She knew if she texted, he wouldn’t see it right away, but he’d always answer a phone call.

“Hello, Da!”

“Hello! How are things going at the restaurant?”

“We’re working out the menu. A lot of the items will be the same as at the MacAlister Inn’s other location, but I am trying out some new ideas as well. I wonder if you’d like to come over tonight and sample some dishes?”

“Absolutely,” he said cheerfully.