Anyone, but you

Tha gaol agam ort agus bithidh gu brath

He was late. He knew he was. Punctuality wasn’t his greatest strength, but he knew he could rely on his younger brother. He always could. Cailean had been with him through many of the rough patches that had marked the ups and downs of his life and was now part of his business. He knew that without his brother, a stickler for rules and regulations, and Lori, his lifelong friend and administrative assistant, he would be nothing.

Not only was Lori secretly the real ruler of Heather & Thistle Publishing, but she also ran Callum’s rather chaotic personal life. He knew he could count on both of them.

Today’s first meeting would begin with an interview. A young woman from the States. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the application, no, if Cailean decided she was a good fit, she would be. He would just pop in, introduce himself, have a superficial chitchat and get on with his day.

With a quick glance at his watch, he concluded that he had the time to get a coffee to go. He would make time. His life was based on coffee. He needed at least three just to get out of bed.

'Jeanne’s Coffee and More' was located in the heart of Glasgow and on his way to work. He had been coming here for his coffee for over a decade. Not only was the brew excellent, but this place had become a place of home and familiarity in his busy life.

Callum's English was, of course, impeccable, not least due to his international connections and success, having made a name for himself as a world-renowned publisher, but he had a strong Scottish accent, and when he wanted, or needed to, he was to not be understood. Callum often used this to his advantage. A shield he had learned to use.

“Guid mornin’, Callum, th’ usual?” Jeanne greeted him as he walked through the door, a knowing smile on her lips. She must have read today’s papers, he mused.

He sighed, knowing she’d make some comment, tease him, mock him.

“Aye, th’ usual,” he grumbled, soaking wet as it had started to rain and within minutes he was drenched.

He shook himself like a dog. Beads of water glittered off his long reddish-blonde hair, and his bright blue eyes, which contrasted with his rather pale skin and colourful hair, beamed at Jeanne. She had often said that he reminded her of autumn all year round.

Today there was a spark of youthful mischief in eyes. Something one did not see very often, his gaze usually dull and sad, submerged in himself, lost in years long past.

Embracing the fact that Callum seemed to be having a good day, she exclaimed rather playfully, “Stoap yer shimmyin’ yer na dug! Dinnae ye hae an umbrella or a smirr jaiket at least?”

He gave her his best charming smile and shrugged. He should have known better. Scotland wasn’t exactly known for its warm, sunny weather, but this little downpour had come rather unexpectedly.

Shaking her head, she muttered, “Yer nae normal. Guid keekin’ bit definitely nae normal in ,ere.” She tipped her index finger to her head.

As she prepared his order, knowing it only too well as it was always the same, she continued to chat.

“Speakin’ o’ guid keekin’,” she sneered. “Well done, bachelor o’ th’ year. This is noo howfur mony years in a argie-bargie?”

Her Scottish was as thick as his. Rugged and gruff as her accent, and sometimes mistaken for rude, Jeanne had a heart of gold. He liked her very much. He did not mind her open, honest nature, in fact, he welcomed it. He couldn’t stand phoney people. He had enough to deal with as it was.

She was referring to the fact that he had been voted ‘Scotland’s Most Eligible Bachelor’ for ten years in a row. Nothing he was particularly proud of, but he had no influence on whether he was chosen or not, it was decided for him, so he had learned to accept his fate.

Callum was well aware of his popularity, having unplanned achieved a certain celebrity status in Scotland, being invited on to talk shows, chairing various charities and being a good ambassador. He was in demand, wanted and sought after. Women were seeking him out not only for his extraordinary good looks, but also for his burgeoning bank account.

“Ten, a’m feart,” he murmured, ashamed of the unwanted attention.

“Aye, ten,” she growled, clicking her tongue. “Dinnae ye think it’s time fur a wifie in yer lee? Yer playboy reputation is beginning tae precede ye. Time tae settle doon. Yer nae gettin’ ony younger.”

“Ah hear ye, Jeanne, bit ah’m nae aff tae settle. Ah’m nae worthy o’ bein’ loved,” he said, his voice thick and strained.

She knew his struggle, she knew his pain.

“Laddie,” she said gently. “Na bi cho cruaidh ort fhèin. Tha sinn uile a’ faireachdainnduilich.”

She spoke to him in Gaelic, their mother tongue, a language known among the Scots but no longer spoken by too many. She had told him not to be so hard on himself, that everyone felt with him.

“Yer worth a lot. Dinnae be sae hard on yersel’. Dinnae deprive yersel’ o’ love. Yer deserve it. Yer a guid jimmy, Callum Munro”.

He shrugged, the lump in his throat too big to swallow, his heart too troubled to speak. He had lost his faith, his dignity.

Callum just nodded. Nodding and mumbling was a language he had learned to adapt and speak. Those who knew him knew how to work with him.

“Hae faith in ye. Ne’er know. Th’ day cuid be th’ day that changes everything. Every day can if ye give it a chance,” she said with great breadth. “...n’ noo git oot o’ mah shop, ye mawkit dug!”

“Aye, charming es ever,” he laughed. “’Til th’orrow, Jeanne.”

“Aye, whatever, Casanova,” she shooed him out of her cafe like an annoying seagull. But he knew she meant well.

Tonight had been another long and restless night, haunted by the ghosts of his past. He felt the fatigue ache in his body, and could no longer deny that he was getting older.

As he hurried down the street to his office, he tried to protect himself as best he could with the newspaper containing the article about him. He would read it later, he decided, now it had to keep him sheltered. But by the time he reached the building he was dripping wet.

“Guid mornin’ Lori, rise ,n’ shine, a bonny fresh day,” he hummed, soaked to the bones by now, and threw the paper on the reception desk, shaking off the water.

Lori looked at the clock, then at him.

“Yer late,” she barked at him, her way of saying good morning. “Th’ is a big day. Abigail Archer is ,ere fur th’ interview. This lass would do this forsaken place some guid.”

“Sorry a’m late, Lori. But Cailean, he should be here, shouldnae he? He kens her application by heart.”

His brother would never be late for work, especially on such an important day as today.

“Is th' coffee machine in th' conference room working again?” he asked. Her eyes wandered to his hand, still holding Jeanne’s cup.

She shook her head. “Nah, sorry. Ah wull hae some brought up.”

“Aye.” He nodded. “Thank ye. Ye ken ah cannae function wi’oot coffee.”

She gave him a wry look and raised an eyebrow. “Ye cannae function wi’ o wi’oot.”

“Dinnae be so harsh, Lori.”

Callum dropped his eyes to the floor, his feet scraping the carpet. Within seconds, the life seemed to have been drained from his being. If it wasn’t life, functioning was all he had left.

“Callum, a’m sorry yer havin’ a bad day. It’s been a decade and ah hae been yer friend fur over thirty years. Ah hear ye, love, bit life must go oan. Ah read the article aboot ye. It doesna enchant ye and ye cannae maintain this lifestyle. It wull break ye, lad. A’m telling ye it’ll break ye.”

Over the years, he had politely put up with his friends’ countless attempts to set him up with women, but when it came to commitment, it just wasn’t for him. He wasn’t looking for a relationship, but he didn’t want to be alone either. The demons were stronger when he was alone. So he consoled himself with consensual encounters to drown in his carnal desires, at least for a short time, the loneliness had become too unbearable.

“How are th' renovations gaun?" Lori asked him, changing the subject. “Should be finished soon, aye? Sorry, ah haena been aroond much, but ye ken...”

He knew. Since Lori’s husband had left her with two little bairns, her life hadn’t been easy at all. Callum had given Lori and her sons their home without hesitation and had moved into a hotel for as long as it took for Lori to find a nice place for her and the children to settle down.

“Dinnae fash, Lor,” he reassured her. “Let me ken if ah can be of further assistance. Ye ken, call me. Aden is a real tosspot fur leaving ye.”

She clicked her tongue and waved her hand condescendingly.

“Nah, bit tell me, th' castle. Tell me quickly,” she said, glancing at the clock, it was late and she needed to make sure Callum at least got to know young Abigail. She was sure the lass had been sent by the angels.

“Aye, gaun well.” He nodded, pulling out his phone, explaining and scrolling through the latest photos.

Lori gushed in awe and admiration, clapping her hands. “It’s perfect!”

“Ye think?”

“Aye! A perfect Scottish home fur a perfect Scottish lad. Keek at that plaid carpet. Th' colours of yer clan?”

He nodded, they were. “Th' old hunting lodge is a dream come true fur me.”

Lori continued to gush. “So mony rooms. Th' antique furniture. Whit dae ye dae wi’ all that space? Must hae cost a fortune.”

He fell silent and Lori knew she had said the one wrong thing.

“Ye ken ah dinnae care aboot th’ money, it’s more of an investment really.” His voice dropped, as did his gaze. “It was our dream. Ah wid rather be poor bit hae mah modest auld life back. Ah wid give it all.”

Lori took his hand, her thumb caressing the back of it.

“A’m sorry, Cal. It was rash of me tae say that. Ah ken ye hae been so generous tae me and th’ boys. Ah appreciate it. Ah offered tae pay ye.”

He shook his head. “Ah dinnae waant yer money. Yer money is th' last thing ah waant.”

She nodded. She knew, too, what his troubled heart seeked. Money wasn't it.

“Ye should go noo. Ye hae kept her waiting a long time. Sorry fur keeping ye. A wull bring coffee.”

She patted his hand and gave him a reassuring look before he picked up the newspaper and headed for the lift.

He watched the display change with each floor until the door opened with a bing.

Lissy, the work experience student, was waiting for him at the door, holding a coffee for him. Callum couldn’t help but grin, touched by the young girl’s efforts.

“Your coffee, sir, Mr. Munro, sir...” she stammered.

Taking the coffee from her, he replied, ”Howfur mony times dae ah hae tae tell ye? Ca' me Cal, or at least Callum. Dinnae make me any older than ah already am, aye?”

Lissy nodded profusely. “Yes, sir, Mr. Munro, of course, Cal, I mean...”

He laughed and shook his head. He knew his effect on women, he had always had one, but it had grown stronger with age. After all, there was a reason he was Scotland’s most eligible bachelor.

Lissy watched him from a safe distance, he knew she would have liked more and couldn’t seem to act normal around him, and taking her feelings into account he always tried to treat her with the utmost respect.

He opened the paper, the headline glaring at him in the most mocking way.

’Callum Munro, Scotland’s sexiest and most wanted man. Is his wealth and snobbery just a facade and a charade?

He grunted as he read the second headline.

‘Callum Munro, the era of the Scottish Highlander.’

Really? He made a face. People obviously had a wrong idea of what a Highlander looked like. He was certainly no Mel Gibson in ‘Braveheart’.

The last line he read before he had to join his brother was:

‘Callum Munro, master of clandestine meetings and NDA forms in overrated, sophisticated, elite hotels. The secret of his less than consensual carnal knowledge revealed’.

That certainly sounded promising. He sighed and threw the paper in the bin.