“I am so sorry, but it’s tradition.” Lilly apologizes for the hundredth time.

“It’s just dinner at a pub, how bad could it be?” Her eyes widen, and is that fear that I see behind those blue eyes?

“It will be an experience.” She gives me a wary smile. We are currently standing in the snow out in front of the village pub. It’s Christmas Eve and, apparently, it’s tradition in the village to all come down to have dinner at the pub. Like, everyone, Lilly says. There should be about a hundred people there, but standing in front of the small building, I don’t understand how that many people can fit into it. “Stick close to me. Don’t answer any questions you don’t feel comfortable with. Tell them to keep their noses to themselves.”

“Why would they be giving me their noses?” What an odd term. This makes her laugh.

“No, they don’t give you their noses. Just saying that they will try and stick their noses into your business. They want the gossip.” Right, I understand, but little does Lilly know that I have dealt with people like that all my life. I know how to handle gossips. “Are you ready?” It sounds like we are about to blast off on a mission to Mars with the serious tone in her voice. But, she grew up here so I guess she knows what we are in for, so I brace myself. Lilly pushes the large wooden door open and the once-noisy pub falls silent, heads turn and stare at the intrusion.

“Is that Lilly Simpson?” A big, balding man makes his way over from the bar.

“It’s the one and only.” She smiles at him, then gives him a big hug. He picks her up off her feet and swings her around. Lilly is laughing, her giggles filling the old pub.

“Yer back fae saving th’ world.” The man’s accent is so thick, which is hard to translate.

“I am, I am. Missed you all too much.” The room erupts into laughter at Lilly’s joke. I can see she is well loved by the village.

“N’ who’s th’ young jimmy wi’ ye,” the old man asks.

“My name is Luke, not Jimmy.” I hold my hand to the old man, who just stares at it for a couple of moments before taking it in his meaty paw and shaking it to death, as he bursts out laughing, a deep belly laugh, and the whole room erupts in unison. I think the joke has been lost in translation.

“Jimmy is the Scottish word for man,” Lilly translates for me. Oh, I see, and I give the old man a smile.

“A’m Wallace ah ain this howf.” Okay, that can’t have been English, I look to Lilly for help.

“Wallace owns the pub.” The old man is puffing out his chest, while slowly breaking my hand.

“It’s nice,” I tell him, looking around at the establishment. It’s not really where you would find me normally, but it has a kind of rural charm about it. The dark wooden beams, the stone floor that is covered in old, well-worn rugs, the leather bar stools. Old photos of Scottish towns line the tartan wallpapered walls. An old stag head sits proudly on one wall, a stone fireplace sits across on another. There is a scattering of leather booths which are filled with people, candles flickering in the middle of the tables, giving it a rugged kind of ambience. There are more wooden tables scattered around, all set for dinner, with people of various ages sitting, and they are staring at me, some with curiosity, some with indifference and even some with disdain. I’m guessing they are not fond of outsiders, very much.

“Luke, is Contessa’s nephew.” Lilly sticks with the same lie she told the other day.

“Och, Contessa she wis a bonnie lassie,” Wallace tells me. “God rest her soul.” I understood those words and move my attention to the floor in respect.

“We met briefly at the funeral, Lauren has asked him to come out for the holidays to look after the cottage while she and Alistair went on holiday.” This all sounds pretty close to the truth.

“She went to see you. Why are you not there?” a woman pipes up from the corner.

“That’s because I came home to surprise her, Seonaid,” Lilly tells the woman. “And she went to Africa to surprise me, a total series of unfortunate events.” They all nod at her comments.

“But what about that young man you were dating, the doctor,” the woman in the corner asks. Lilly visibly stills, being put on the spot like that. I place my hand on the small of her back and Wallace eyes me suspiciously. “Unfortunately, Rob and I are no longer together.” There are gasps from the audience. “He was not at all who I thought he was.” The women all nod in understanding.

“Ne’er liked him anyway,” Seonaid, who I remember Lilly telling me was the town gossip, adds. “He thought he wis tae guid fur fowk lik’ us,” she adds, murmurs from the people filtering through in agreement. “Is he yer freish Jimmy?” she asks.

“No, Seonaid, he is not my new man. We are just friends.” I’m pretty sure we are not just friends, that there are a certain couple of extra benefits I have been exploring recently. Lilly’s cheeks are red with the interrogation.

“He’s very cute,” another lady pipes in.

“Wynda, behave,” Lilly scolds the old lady with the bright blue curly hair, who gives me a wink.

“I wouldn't behave with him in my cottage.” The women squeal with laughter at the old lady’s brazen remarks.

“Italian’s mak’ guid lovers,” a lady from behind the bar adds.

“A’richt, Donna, a’m standing richt ‘ere,” Wallace says to the woman.

“We a’ken scots mak’ th’ best lovers, dear.” She blows the giant man a kiss, he rolls his eyes but gives her a wink back.

“Noo, c’moan, let’s git ye a dram,” Wallace says, and I’m lost again. Lilly, grabs my hand and I see the gossip’s eyes widen at the action, as she brings me over to the bar where Donna is serving.

“Two whisky’s on the rocks, please,” Lilly asks. Donna nods and starts preparing our drinks.

“I’m so sorry about that. We can go home if you want.” I can see it on Lilly’s face, she would if I asked her to.

“No, I’m fine. This is great, it’s different to my home.” Because it is, I could just imagine what my father’s face would be, seeing me sitting down at some rural pub, sipping subpar whisky with people he would deem lower class than him. “If I get stuck, I’ll call out to you in Italian.”

“Oh, my God, the old ladies will probably have a heart attack at your hotness if you whip your native tongue out.” I lean in a little closer to her.

“You like it when I whip my tongue out, don’t you?” I say in Italian so no one can hear. Lilly’s jaw drops, she blinks in shock a couple of times. “I can’t believe you just said that, in front of all these people,” she scolds me in perfect Italian. It’s the first time I have heard her speak my language fully, and I like it.

“Here’s ye drinks.” Donna hands over two glasses of whisky to us, before moving on to others waiting to be served.

“You speaking Italian, is hot.” Lilly gives me the side eye, but no one can understand what we are saying, I doubt any of them can speak Italian.

“Stop it,” Lilly hisses.

“Fine, but tonight, I’m not going to stop, no matter how many times you ask me to.” Lilly takes an unsteady gulp of her whisky, while her cheeks are a dark pink, the exact color they go when I make her come.

The night has been quite nice, much to my surprise. Everyone is lovely in the village, and it seems they very much look out for Lilly, as one of their own. You can see how proud they are of her, for the work she’s done in Africa, and the way they affectionately talk about Lilly’s nan, which made her teary a couple of times, but she assured me she was fine.

“I’ve missed this food.” Lilly licks her lips, we have just finished a soup called Cock-a-leekie. I thought Lilly was playing a joke on me, but she wasn’t. What a strange name, couldn’t imagine serving that at one of our family dinners, my mother would probably have a heart attack at the sinful name. Then I watch in shock as they bring out platters of large roasted turkeys, baked vegetables and sauces.

“Lilly.” I nudge her gently. “At home, we don’t eat meat Christmas Eve, giorno di magro, we eat lean to purify our body for Christmas Day.” Lilly’s eyes widen.

“Oh, shit, they are going to think you don’t like their food if you don’t eat it. This is a big tradition in Scotland, to have a big roast turkey with all the trimmings. We can pretend there was an emergency phone call and go. I can get take away for us, and go home and have something that you would normally have.” My world stops at that moment. She is having a great time, but because I mentioned feeling a little uneasy about breaking my tradition, she didn’t even second-guess it. She is willing to pack up, eat our dinner at home, so I don’t miss out on my tradition. No, I can’t let her do that, she’s just come home from living in poverty for the last couple of years. Her sister is on the other side of the world, her parents are in London but don’t seem to communicate with her, and the two people she was closest with have passed away.

“It looks delicious. I can’t wait to try it all.” Lilly’s hand reaches under the table, linking our fingers together.

“Thank you.” I want to kiss her in this moment, not caring if all these people see. She is an extraordinary woman, nothing like I have ever met before, or probably will again.