It was cold! The wind cut through her like a knife the moment she stepped onto the Edinburgh tarmac.

She hailed a taxi to go to the bus station. She still had a bus ride out to the countryside, and then another taxi ride to the house in the village of Dalwally, population seven hundred and twenty four and some sheep. Exhaustion from the long journey was setting in and she wondered if she’d be able to catch a nap on the bus.

The bus ride was bumpy and noisy. She put her earphones in again, scrolling through her music for a relaxing playlist. The bus wasn’t heated, and she snuggled down into her parka and pulled her scarf up around her chin.

It was three in the afternoon when they arrived at the last stop, and it was already starting to get dark. Luckily there was no wait for a cab.

“You’re going way out there, aren’t you, lassie?” the elderly driver said, his accent broad and thick. He was bundled up to his ears, his thick beard springing out of multiple coils of a scarf that looked hand-knitted.

“Yeah,” Amelia said, shoving her carryon and bag to one side as she settled into the taxi.

“And you’re on your own?”

“Research project,” she said by way of an explanation. “Only enough of a grant for one researcher, I’m afraid!”

The wind was starting to kick up outside as they pulled up in front of the house. It was small, and about a half mile away from the pub that they’d passed.

“How far is it to the next farm?” Amelia asked.

“About a quarter mile or so.”

“Thanks,” she said, grabbing her bag.

“Good luck, lass. Try not to freeze out here.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Amelia said with a bright smile, trying not to show her nerves. It was rapidly getting darker, and the wind was blowing hard. She pulled her suitcase out of the trunk of the taxi, and walked down the pathway to the small house.

She flipped the light switch inside of the door, and the bare lightbulb in the living room flickered reluctantly to life.

The living room had a large stone fireplace at one end, with an old couch upholstered in a toile pattern in front of it and a large wing chair to one side. To the left, she could see a bed through the partially open door, and there was a doorway directly in front of her, which led to the kitchen. She left her luggage in the living room and walked into the next room. There was an old refrigerator and a gas stove, and a small table with two chairs. The accommodation was spartan to put it mildly.

At least the refrigerator was stocked with eggs, milk, cheese, vegetables and some meat. There was bread and apples on the counter, along with a note.

Hi Amelia,

Here’s some food for your first few days. There’s a deep freezer out back with more meat. There’s also a pub, The Moose and Thistle, about a half-mile’s walk from here if you don’t want to cook. The stove is inclined to be a bit temperamental at times. If you need anything, I live at Donningbrook, the third farm due north of here, I’m the caretaker for this house when no one is staying here. If the electricity goes out, there’s an oil lamp in the living room and plenty of candles.

My phone: 0131 496 0710

-John

As tired as Amelia was she was also ravenous. She opened the door of the gas stove, and attempted to light the pilot light. It flickered briefly and died. She tried again without luck and sniffed to make sure that there was no smell of gas. She was fast beginning to realizing that she was not a natural at the rustic lifestyle.

After twenty minutes of failure her stomach was growling, and her head was starting to ache. The pub down the street was gaining in appeal by the second, even if it was a half-mile away. Amelia gave the stove one last chance to redeem itself before tossing the lighter down and calling it quits.

She grabbed the flashlight, pulled on her scarf, beanie and mittens, and headed out into the biting wind.

The hand-painted, creaking sign showed a cartoon moose with an oversized thistle in its mouth. The wind almost ripped the door out of her hand when she opened it, and it slammed behind her as soon as she stepped inside. The four customers in the small bar area all looked up at once. Amelia was certain that if her face hadn’t already been red from the wind, it would now be on fire from embarrassment.

The small room was cozy and warm, with a handful of booths and tables and a large wood and stone bar. A huge fire was roaring at one end of the room, and Amelia gratefully took off her coat and gloves, and took a seat at the bar.

There was no one serving, and she looked around for a few seconds, wondering where the bartender was. Just as she was starting to wonder if she was going to strike out on dinner for a second time that evening, the door behind the bar pushed open and a man appeared.

He looked to be in his late twenties, was a little over six feet tall, and had shoulder-length dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a grey t-shirt, rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. Not bad, not bad at all. Amelia attempted a smile.

He handed the plate he was holding to one of the men at the bar, then walked over to where Amelia was sitting. He was even more physically imposing up close. He smiled at her, and she immediately noticed how blue his eyes were. “You're not from around here.”

“I just arrived,” Amelia said, blinking at him. It was hard to focus with him so close to her, and she took a deep breath. Get it together, she thought. Are you really this susceptible to a handsome face and a cute accent? “I’m on a research project for my university.”

“Sounds interesting. Care for a beer?”

“Um, sure.” Amelia glanced at the taps. “Whatever you recommend. Are you still serving food? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” he said, pulling a laminated sheet of paper out from under the bar and handing it to her. “I’ll get that beer for you.”

He came back with a glass full of a dark liquid, and Amelia took a sip. She was a wine drinker by choice, but didn't want to appear rude.

“Good?” he asked, flashing that smile at her again. She nodded enthusiastically, taking another larger mouthful.

“So where are you from?” He leaned against the bar again in front of her, and she felt a sudden, unexpected flutter of delight.

“Chicago, I'm here on a research project.”

“What is there to research, all the way out here?”

“We’re studying the economic patterns of small livestock farmers. I'm an economist.”

An odd look crossed his face, and then he smiled at her. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, then.” He tapped a finger against the menu. “I recommend the shepherd’s pie. In fact, it’s the only thing on the menu that I would eat to be honest.”

Amelia laughed, feeling some of the tension of the day leave her. “Alright then, that’s what I’ll have.”

“Good choice.” He winked at her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

She sipped her beer and glanced around the small pub. Two of the customers were playing chess while another was reading a newspaper. The latter had a pipe hanging out of one side of his mouth. The last was staring down at his half empty pint glass on the bar, lost in thought.

The handsome bartender was busying cleaning glasses giving Amelia the chance to look at him unobserved. He was muscular, but not in the artificial way that came from pumping iron in the gym. He looked as if he spent most of his time outside in the elements. Amelia didn’t realize how hard she was staring until he turned unexpectedly, and caught her eye. He smirked, and Amelia flushed bright red.

He walked over to her, and Amelia cringed in her seat, certain he was going to call her out for staring. Instead, he held out one broad hand. “I’m very rude, I didn’t properly introduce myself. I’m Adam.”

Amelia took his hand. The palm was rough, the back lightly dusted with soft hair. She shook it firmly. “I’m Amelia. It’s nice to meet you, Adam.”

“Nice to meet you as well. So, you just got in today? What made you decide to come here for dinner? No chance to get supplies yet?”

It didn’t escape Amelia’s notice that he said “supplies”, and not “groceries”. She really was in the middle of nowhere.

“Um,” she hesitated, blushing further. “No, the house was set up nicely for me. It was very kind. But, uh, I had some troubles with the stove.”

To his credit, Adam didn’t laugh. “Trouble with the stove, eh? Is it gas?”

“Yes, an old one. The problem was that the pilot light wouldn’t stay lit.”

Adam grinned. “Nothing to worry about. It’s something to get used to, the way things are out here.”

“By the time I get used to it, it will probably be time for me to go back,” Amelia said.

“Ah, you might be right.” He shrugged. “Let me go check on that food for you.”

He returned with a steaming dish, and set it in front of Amelia, taking her glass and bringing it back refilled. She dug in. It was lamb, and not ground beef like she’d had in faux “Irish” pubs at home. The meal came with Brussel sprouts. The mashed potato was rich and creamy. It was the best meal she’d had in what seemed like forever.

“Tasty, eh?” Adam grinned at the expression on her face as he set down her beer. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Amelia dug into the food, slowly starting to feel human again. All she needed now was a shower—and she wondered what kind of shower facilities there were at the house. She hadn’t gotten as far as inspecting the bathroom.

When she’d finished eating and downed her third half pint of beer, Adam reappeared, whisking the dish and glass away. “So,” he said. “About that stove. How about I come and take a look at it for you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Amelia protested. “I’m sure I can figure it out. I feel much better now.”

“It’s dark outside,” he pointed out. “And you’re new here, you’ve got a flashlight I see, but it’s still easy to get lost. Let me walk you home, and I’ll take a look at your stove.”

“But the pub,” Amelia protested. “You can’t leave it.”

“Och!” He yelled, and all four of the men looked up. “There’s a lass here needs a walk home and her stove fixing. Make sure Grant pays for his beer while I’m gone, aye?”

Amelia blinked, wide-eyed, as three of the men nodded solemnly. Grant—who appeared to be the one studying his now three quarter empty glass—looked perturbed.

“Take the lassie home,” grunted one of the two chess players. “We’ll hold the fort while you’re gone, Adam.”

“Aye,” chimed in the one with the newspaper and pipe, glancing up briefly. “Take your time.” He winked at Adam, and Amelia felt herself flush red all over again.

Adam grinned. “Come on then,” he said, walking around the side of the bar. “Got your flashlight?”

“Right here,” Amelia said.