Echoes of Scotland Street
Page 14“Sure,” I repeated, not actually sure I meant it at all. Did I really want to spend time with Cole outside of work when he didn’t know who I really was?
“You know I’ve wanted to go to the new prizewinner exhibit at the modern art gallery. They’ve put the winner and runners-up from the college of art graduates for the John Watson prize on display. Do you fancy coming along to it on Friday?”
I knew if I said no, if I shut him down once more, that would probably be the last time he’d make a friendly overture. So, attempting to hide my reluctance, I smiled. “Sounds good.”
CHAPTER 10
B y sheer force of will I got through the rest of the day and the next by pretending that everything was all right and just as it should be. The truth was I wasn’t sure everything was okay.
I didn’t want a relationship with Cole. As much as I’d grown to like him, I still didn’t trust him. Plus, I worried about what my family would think of him if they ever found out. At the same time it was really rubbish to have to go on with him thinking the way he did of me. That wasn’t who I was.
And now . . .
Now he was acting like there was no attraction between us at all.
Exhibit A: He took a sip of my latte without even asking and he did it without batting an eyelash. He walked away like it was no big deal, leaving me to stare at the place where his lips touched my coffee cup. Weeks ago our lips touching the same cup would have caused loads of meaningful staring and flirty eyes!
Exhibit B: I was working innocently at my desk when I felt Cole press in behind me and take the mouse from my hand. Cheek nearly touching mine, he leaned into my space to look through the computerized appointment book. I held my breath the entire time, my whole body zinging with awareness of him.
It didn’t affect him at all!
Thankfully for the first half of Thursday I got a break from Cole. I hoofed it to Old Town in the morning with my sketch pad and set myself up in the back room of the Elephant House Café. With the great view of the castle outside the window, my music playing through my headphones, and my sketch pad and pencil in hand, I drowned out the world for a while.
Until my phone vibrated in my pocket.
Meet me outside the Gallery of Modern Art at 10:30. Cole.
From that point on I was a jittery mess.
And it wasn’t even a date.
* * *
Dressing for the nondate with Cole turned out to be a heck of a lot harder than I thought it would be. Over the last few weeks I’d managed to pick up some bargain buys, so my wardrobe wasn’t nearly as pathetic as it used to be, but still . . . how did a girl dress when said girl wanted to look her best without seeming to have tried to look her best?
I finally decided on dark blue skinny jeans tucked into brown suede ankle boots that had a little heel just to give me some height. I wore an oversized yellow sweater because I’d once been told that yellow was one of my best colors. I was hoping that hadn’t been a crock of crap from a well-meaning friend.
The gallery was in Stockbridge, so I jumped on a bus. When I approached the gallery my gaze immediately zeroed in on Cole. He stood near the entrance, laughing into his phone. Watching as he talked with a mystery person, I felt this wild fluttering starting in my chest and a lump forming in the back of my throat. He was wearing a dark blue knit sweater with a shawl collar, faded dark jeans, and worn black engineer boots.
He was seriously tall, which I already knew, but as I looked at him it dawned on me that he was seriously tall and very broad-shouldered. He struck quite an imposing figure.
I was going to look small and silly next to him. I wasn’t going to look like I fit at his side at all.
I stumbled at that thought, feeling my blood heat.
That wasn’t my voice in my head. That was someone else’s and he did not get to win like that.
He smiled. “I’ve got Hannah on the phone. She wants to know if you fancy coming over for dinner tonight.”
Somewhat stunned at the kind but abrupt offer, I gave a jerky nod. As Cole relayed my “yes” back to his best friend, my mind whirled. Dinner with his best friend and her family? Wasn’t that something you took your girlfriend rather than your friend to?
This whole “thing” was perplexing.
Cole got off the phone. “After you.” He held out an arm, gesturing for me to lead the way inside. Admission was free, so there was none of that awkward nondate fighting over which one of us paid.
Despite my nervousness, I realized as we walked into the exhibit together that there wasn’t an uncomfortable awkwardness. There was awareness (on my part anyway), but that was entirely different.
We stopped in front of the first piece of art.
After a few seconds of looking at it, Cole stared down at me. “Do you like it?”
“No,” I said honestly.
“Why?”
Surprised that he seemed genuinely interested in my opinion, I turned my attention back to the photograph. It was taken from somewhere on Loch Fyne (as detailed in the title) and the artist had used recyclable material to build a cityscape over the loch. “It doesn’t say anything that hasn’t been said before. Many times. And in far more creative and meaningful ways. It’s . . .”
“Amateur,” Cole finished. “Agreed.” He shook his head in consternation. “I’ll grant you the construction of the cityscape is well-done, but art in this landscape”—he gestured around the gallery—“should always say something new or at least say something old in an original way.”
We moved on and I was quickly caught up in our shared passion. A lot of the times we agreed, but even when we didn’t Cole listened to why I thought differently and accepted it as though it was my right. Thoughts of Ollie’s bullying opinions intruded, but I forcefully pushed him out of my head.
An hour later we wandered out into the cool day and Cole smiled thoughtfully at me. “I didn’t realize you were so into art. Do you draw, paint, sculpt?”
Still not ready to share that part of me with anyone just yet, I successfully avoided the question by pointing out a café across the street. “I’ve always wanted to eat there. Fancy brunch?”
Cole apparently didn’t think anything of my change of subject and soon we were seated in the café, having coffee and scones brought to us.
“Have you always been into art?” I said.
Cole chewed and swallowed his bite of scone and brushed off his crumb-covered fingers. “Yeah. It used to be mostly comics and cartoons as a kid, but as I got older I got more and more into my art classes. I was influenced a lot by my brother-in-law, Cameron. He’s a graphic designer and he spent a lot of time encouraging me and my art.”
“What about your sister? Your parents?”
Cole smirked, but there was a sadness in the look. “Jo, definitely. She’s supported me since the moment I came screaming into the world. As for my parents, I don’t remember my dad and he’s been out of my life since I was a baby. I wasn’t close to my mum.” He looked down at his scone. “She passed away when I was nineteen.”
Feeling awful for bringing it up, I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Don’t be.”
At the cryptic and quiet, emotion-fueled response, I decided it might be better to change the subject. “Do your tattoos mean anything?”
Cole’s whole body relaxed and when he looked at me it was with a grateful smile. His fingers brushed the tattoo on his neck. “J and C. Jo and me. Jo and Cam. The three of us. Cam has the same tattoo.”
“Jo’s the best sister anyone could ever ask for. I’m really proud of her. And Cam . . . I owe him a lot.”
I was pleased for him that he had that in his life. Smiling, I gestured to his wrist. “And the tattoo there? I’ve been trying to read the script for weeks now.”
He laughed and turned his hand over, pulling the sleeve up so I could see the tattoo on the underside of his wrist. He held it up and I leaned across the table to read it, just stopping myself from touching him. As I took in the words, I felt a little dizzy with the rush of familiarity and rightness that rushed over me.
“Arm your fears like soldiers and slay them.”
“TATE lyrics,” I murmured, referring to the band The Airborne Toxic Event. The lyrics were from the song “All I Ever Wanted” off their second album, All at Once. That album was the anthem of my young adulthood, and those were my favorite lyrics of all time.
And Cole Walker had them tattooed on his body.
I didn’t know if I was turned on or in love.
Or both.
“My favorite TATE lyrics,” I added.
Cole gave me a slow, hot grin that edged me more toward the whole turned-on thing. “Mine too.”
For the first time in weeks we shared one of those long, meaningful looks.
I broke it before I could no longer breathe under the intensity of my attraction. “Left arm?”
In answer, Cole took his sweater off and thankfully (or not so thankfully depending on how you looked at it) he was wearing a T-shirt underneath it. He pulled the short sleeve up his shoulder so I could see the woman and the wolf tattoo more clearly on his muscular arm. Her hair billowed against a full moon I hadn’t seen before because it was usually covered by the sleeve of his T-shirts.
“What does it mean?”
That boyish grin of his made another appearance, but this time it was edged with something akin to shyness. “It’s sort of a tribute to the women in my life, and mostly it’s a reminder that there are women like them out there.” He shook his head, the spark in his eyes dimming. “Let’s just say I had a shit mum, Shortcake.” He tapped his fingers against the sleeve tattoo. “I wanted this reminder that not all women are like her. There are women who know the importance of family, and will do anything to protect that. I wanted the symbolism of it on here, but I also like paranormal stuff and thought as art this particular idea worked better with that element involved.” He chuckled now. “Stu did it and he thought the woman howling at the moon would be more sexual, and I quote, ‘Will dilute all the sentimental shit so you don’t look like a f**king pu**y.’”
I laughed. “Men and their macho-man bull crap.”
Cole joined in my laughter and nodded. “He meant well.”
“He did a good job. But then again, he’s Stu Motherwell. Did he do the eagle and the pocket watch?” I pointed to his right sleeve tattoo.
“Yeah.” Cole pulled up the fabric of his T-shirt, attempting to show me that the tattoo actually started on his right shoulder before curving around his upper biceps and down.
“And it means?”
He sighed. “This one is a little morbid. Well, it used to be.”
I eyed the pocket watch. “I get what the tattoo’s general meaning is. Time is prey. It’s short-lived, right? Live it while you can.”
He nodded.
“That was the morbid part.” He eyed me, almost challenging me to judge him. “The time is when the paramedics called time of death on my mum.”
Uneasiness moved through me as I began to realize that Cole’s mum had really done a number on him.
“Now, thankfully, it means life as well as death. It’s also the same time my niece, Belle, was born.”
“That’s actually very cool.”
“Yeah.” We smiled into each other’s eyes as we took a sip of our coffees. Cole lowered his cup. “What about you? Any tattoos?”
“Nope.”
“Have you never wanted to get one?”
The question forced me to remember when I did want to get one and I lowered my gaze to the table to avoid Cole’s eyes. “Once. But my ex-boyfriend talked me out of it. He had tattoos, but he didn’t think they were attractive on women.”
He hesitated and I waited, my heart beating fast for him to dig at that. To my everlasting gratefulness he sidestepped my sudden change in demeanor. “What would you get if you decided to go for it?”
I smiled up at him from under my lashes. “A small dragon on my lower back.”
“Why a dragon?”
“I’ve always had a fascination for them.” I used to draw them all the time and collect all things dragons when I was a preteen. “They were the epitome of cool to me.” I didn’t even realize my tone had grown flat, hard. “I was so fascinated I forgot the pertinent fact that they would fry my arse without even blinking if they got the opportunity.”
Cole was quiet. He studied me and I knew he understood so much more about my dragon than I’d let on. Instead of commenting he said, “Let me do it. Your tattoo.”
“Seriously?” The thought of Cole putting ink on me, touching me . . .
“I’ll draw it up, and if you like it we’ll get you into the studio next Thursday when we’re both off.”
I bit my lip, unsure I could handle it.
“You get the employee discount,” he urged. “One hundred percent off.”
Seeing as it would be incredibly silly to turn down a free tattoo from one of the best tattooists in Scotland, I found myself agreeing to it.
The tattoo wasn’t a bad idea.
The tattooist on the other hand?
He just might have been a very bad idea.
* * *
Upon discovering that I hadn’t visited the National Gallery on Princes Street in years, Cole ushered me onto a bus and we returned to New Town, where we wandered around the gallery, discussing our thoughts on fine art. I discovered that Cole’s knowledge of art history was tremendous.