Cathryn Parry - The Sweetest Hours

She busied herself by walking through the plant, checking that lights were off and doors were locked. Inside her office, she grabbed her flashlight from the shelf, along with a spare pair of mittens and a beret that she kept in one of her desk drawers. It would be a long walk home in the dark and the cold. She shut down her computer and closed up the room.

When she turned down the corridor, she saw George walking toward her. Her legs seemed to freeze. She stopped where she was, twisting the mittens in her hand.

“The taxi service isn’t willing to drive me to my hotel. The snowfall is supposed to intensify, and they don’t want to get stuck.”

“Oh,” she replied.

“Is there a diner where I can get something to eat and do some work until my ride arrives?”

“I... No.” She laughed ruefully, not able to avoid gazing into his eyes. Sky-blue. So beautiful...

She shook her head, looking away. “We’re a backwater town. All that’s open on Saturday night is a convenience mart, a seedy bar I don’t recommend, two gas stations and a twenty-four hour pharmacy.”

His countenance fell. Kristin rubbed her arms and risked glancing at him again. He really was worried. Suddenly, this was not just his problem, but their problem. They were a team, and he needed her to help him solve this.

It made her feel sick and a little anxious.

“How about if I find someone to drive you to your hotel?” she suggested shakily. Maybe her brother was home. He had a four-wheel-drive vehicle.

But her brother was like her; he tended to talk too much and inappropriate things often popped out without him intending it. “On second thought, never mind,” she said hurriedly, “I’ll take you instead.”

“No.” George shook his head. “Absolutely not. I will not have you jeopardize your safety. It’s out of the question.”

“Then...what do you propose we do?”

He set his mouth in a line. “I’ll wait in your office.”

“No, we can’t do that. Because of the alarm, you can’t stay in the factory without me being here with you.” She rubbed her trembling palms against her sides—she had no choice, really. “How about if you wait with me at my sister-in-law’s house?” Nothing could go wrong with that scenario. “My niece invited me for an early dinner tonight. We’ll sit with their family while you wait for your ride.”

“No, I don’t want to impose,” he said.

But she could tell he was being polite and cautious, refusing the invitation the same as she would have, in his place.

“Stephanie is a professional chef. To her, adding another seat at the table is a good thing. The more people who enjoy her meals, the better, as far as she’s concerned.”

He still looked dubious.

“I’ll call her now and tell her.” She had to—she couldn’t leave George out in the cold.

Holding her mitten with her teeth, Kristin took out her phone from her pocket and dialed her sister-in-law’s number. George gave her a pained expression, but he didn’t argue.

Stephanie picked up on the first ring. “Where are you? You said you’d be here at five o’clock.”

“I’m bringing a work colleague to dinner. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

George was now outright frowning at her and looking tremendously unhappy.

Kristin glanced away. “His name is George Smith, and he’s snowed in for a couple of hours until his ride shows up. I told him that he could grab a bite with us, and that it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’re bringing home a man?” Stephanie asked over the phone. “Our Kristin is actually bringing someone home? Are pigs flying?”

“Stop it,” Kristin murmured. George winced. She smiled gamely at him, trying not to tremble.

“You used to be fun,” Stephanie complained.

“I still am,” she whispered into the phone.

“No, I mean, you used to date. You used to like guys, and want to have a family of your own someday. You were gonna have a set of twins, remember—so they would be best friends with my kids—and we were all going to vacation together, happily ever after. I even married your dumb brother for it.”

Oh, no. Knowing Kristin’s brother, some elaborately planned prank had backfired. She glanced nervously at George. “Um, what’s he done now?”

“Nothing! That’s the problem—he’s refusing to eat my cooking. And me, a professional! You would think that after eight years of marriage, the dummy would learn.”

“What’s...going on, Steph?”

There was a pause, and when she spoke again, Stephanie’s mouth sounded full. “Actually, it’s a surprise. Ask George Smith if he likes haggis.”

Haggis? For a moment, Kristin couldn’t process the incongruity.

She glanced at George, confused. What was Stephanie talking about the Scottish dish for? Her family had never eaten or served it before, not once. From what Kristin had read, haggis was a pudding/meat kind of thing, made with sheep’s heart, liver and lungs all ground up and stuffed, along with oatmeal and onion and spices, inside a big sausage casing and served on a platter.

At least, that was what she had discovered on the internet when she’d been explaining Scottish customs to her niece Lily for the girl’s “What is Your Family Ancestry?” Girl Scout project.

And then it dawned on her. “Oh, my gosh!” Kristin squealed. “Today is January twenty-fifth! You made haggis for Lily, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” Stephanie said. “Though technically, I prepared it for you. Maybe it will spark some sense of adventure in you and bring you back to life. The whole family is invited and we’re going to do it up—bagpipe music, toasts, songs—the works. Pretty good surprise, isn’t it?”

With a smile so big it felt as if her cheeks were splitting, Kristin suddenly remembered George standing beside her.

She stopped giggling and turned to him, her hand over her mouth.

His face had turned paper-white.

Kristin covered the phone so Stephanie wouldn’t hear her. “You know exactly what holiday tonight is, don’t you, George?”

* * *

WORSE AND WORSE. That’s how his day was going. He was in a section of Hades reserved for liars. Or at least, for imposters who were required to take security names as part of their jobs.

Malcolm bit his tongue, hard, not for the first time today, and probably not for the last time, either.

Kristin was right about one thing: he knew damn well what “Rabbie Burns” night was.

January twenty-fifth. Every year, a countrywide supper held in honor of the birthday of Scotland’s national poet: Robert Burns. Malcolm had been out of the country and away from home for so long, he hadn’t been to a Burns event since he was...

Ten years old. Exactly.

Damn it. He should’ve anticipated this. Kristin was obviously obsessed with his home country, romanticizing it like many women did.

The reality was, his home country just wasn’t that damn romantic to him. Not in his experience.

“Have you ever eaten haggis?” he made sure to say in his best American accent. “Because I haven’t. It sounds horrible. No offense to your sister-in-law.”

“Seriously? You’ve never tried it?”

“Seriously. I’ve never tried it.”

She smiled at him. “Then I guess you’ll have to come along and try something new tonight,” she teased.

Obviously, Kristin trusted him more than she had earlier. Her reticence had left her, and this was not good, for either of them.

What was she doing, believing in him?

Don’t, he wanted to tell her. But if he confessed to her what he was really doing visiting her company, then he would violate the terms of his agreement.

You have to make the hard choices, Malcolm.

Really, he had no choice.