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strands was like skimming his hand over the edge of a flame. It both warmed and scared him. Be careful you don’t get burned.
    Steeling himself, he kissed the top of her head. “I need to go.” He released her and walked to the door. He retrieved his now dry jacket and slipped into it. Then he slid his feet into his boots and knelt down to tie the laces. He peered up at Skye. “I’ll fetch you around six tomorrow night.”
    She nodded. “That’ll be fine. I can’t wait.”
    Callum straightened and took her in his arms, holding her tight for a moment. Then he turned and opened the door. Without looking back, he closed it behind him and leaned against the wooden divide. How could all those years just melt away? He felt eighteen again. Young. Hormonal. In love. As he walked away, one thought assailed his mind. He had loved Skye then; he loved her even more now.
    ~*~
    Skye rested her back and head against the door, and then spread her palms across its smooth surface, certain she could hear Callum breathing on the other side. She closed her eyes, imagining they stood back to back, holding hands. She could still smell his scent on her skin from their interlude in the car. Earthy, with a hint of musk. Expensive. Yet it couldn’t be. Those knock-off colognes were getting good.
    A sudden spell of coughing bent her over. She rushed to the bathroom and filled a glass with water. If this carried on, she’d have to take Callum’s advice and see a doctor. She rummaged in her toiletry bag for a throat lozenge. Finding one, she popped it into her mouth. That should help for both her coughing and sore throat. Please don’t let me be coming down with something.
    Pajamas on, Skye hopped into bed and plunged the room into darkness. If she could turn off her thoughts, she might get some sleep. Tonight had been a revelation. She was still in love with Callum, but their lives were so different. Maybe they always had been. Had she been too young, too naïve, and too in love then to notice? Perhaps her father had camouflaged the differences between her world and Callum’s. Even though successful and admired, Da had never felt it beneath him to mingle with everyone at the pub. In fact, he’d reveled in it. That’s why he’d loved going to McGuire’s so much.
    But now she’d spent all these years under her mother’s influence. What if her snooty ways have rubbed off on me? Never. Skye would rather die than become like her mother. Yet, it was possible that Rita Robinson had affected her more than she cared to admit since Da’s passing. Time back in Glasgow, spent with the McGuires, would soon tell who’d left the biggest imprint on her life—her father, or her mother. Skye feared it would be the latter. Hadn’t she already looked down on Callum tonight for still singing and working in his parents’ pub? Lord, forgive me. Don’t let me be like Mother. Give me Da’s empathy for my fellow man, for those who work hard and love their work.
    An unexpected tear spilled from her eye. Then another. She wiped them away. She must be more exhausted than she thought—she hadn’t cried in years. Da, I miss you so much.
    Tomorrow she’d ask Callum if he could drive her to the Isle of Skye before the New Year to visit her father’s grave. She hadn’t been there since they’d buried him. Would she remember where the grave was? All she could recall was that it was near a row of trees. Just beyond the trees, the shallower waters of Portree Bay. A year after his death, Mother had a headstone erected. That would make his grave easier to find.
    If only Da had been buried in Glasgow. But he’d insisted on his deathbed that he was to be buried in his hometown, Portree. Skye loved that place. So did Da. That’s where he’d met his Rita. She was on holiday from Australia. Her ancestors had emigrated to Australia from the Isle of Skye, and she was researching her family genealogy. They fell in love, and Da asked her to marry him. She never