Adam gently shook her awake. She opened her eyes, half-expecting him to still be naked, but he was dressed and his hair was pulled back away from his face again. She took a moment to admire the sharp, clean line of his jaw, and then blinked up at him.

“I made you breakfast,” Adam said. “It’s been ready for a while, I thought I’d wake you before it got cold.”

Amelia sat up, her hair spilling over her shoulders. She saw Adam’s eyes flick to her bare breasts, and for a moment she thought he might push her back onto the bed and go all in for round two. Her heart leap at the thought. The memory of his nude body stretched over hers, thrusting into her, was still very fresh in her mind. He did nothing more than touch her arm, though, his hand leaving her shoulder and trailing down the slope of it, before turning away. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said.

Amelia sat for a moment, shivering slightly from the chill in the room, wondering why he suddenly seemed so distant. She shook herself, trying to clear her head. If he was regretting the night before, he wouldn’t have stayed, surely?

The smell of breakfast wafted into the bedroom, and she scrambled out of bed, hurriedly digging through her suitcase for fresh clothes. The previous night's activities had given her one hell of an appetite.

Dressed in jeans and a wool sweater, she ventured into the kitchen. Adam turned to hand her a plate with two fried eggs,a sausage, and toast. She grabbed it and poured herself some orange juice before sitting down at the table. Adam joined her and they ate in companionable silence for a minute or so before Adam set down his knife and fork.

“I enjoyed last night, I don’t know that we should do it again, though.”

Amelia felt her stomach tighten, disappointment rushing through her. She was surprised at how quickly she’d embraced the idea of sleeping with Adam as being a part of her new life.

“Okay,” she said. “I think you owe me an explanation though.”

“Of course, ” he said, reaching across the table for her hand. “I just…” he paused. “I like you Amelia, but you’re only here for a little while so I don’t want to get attached.”

“I get that,” Amelia said. She felt another stab of disappointment. He still had hold of her hand, and she curled her fingers around his, enjoying the warmth of his palm against hers. She felt comfortable with him, here, like this, and she didn’t want him to leave.

Amelia got up and cleared the plates off the table. Adam walked up behind her, and she felt his hands gently touch her waist. She shivered, a sudden picture of him pressing her up against the counter flashing into her mind. She resisted the urge to lean back into him. “I’m going to head out,” he said. She turned to face him, aware of how very close he was to her. “Come by the Moose sometime, yeah?”

She pushed the sudden pang of loss away. A silly feeling as she hadn't even known Adam for a complete day. It also didn't make any sense as she could feel the tension between them, drawing them together, and when she looked up at his face she saw that he could feel it, too. His hands rested on her waist, and for a moment she thought he was going to pull her against him. She could feel the desire vibrating through him, but he let go of her abruptly and pulled away. “See you soon,” he said, clearing his throat, and then he was gone, just like that.

She leaned back against the counter, her fingers gripping the worn Formica. Her body throbbed softly as she recalled the night before, remembering the way he’d pressed her down into the couch, touched her, wanted her. Shaking her head, she turned to do the dishes, shoving the memory far back in her head. He’d made it clear that it was likely a one off. She’d have to file it away as a pleasant memory, and nothing more.

* * *

Amelia decided to start with the farms nearest the house. She bundled up, notepad and pen in pocket, and map in hand, and headed out into the brutally cold weather to begin her research.

She found herself enjoying the stark quiet beauty of the Scottish landscape as she walked. She’d always loved the noise of the city, the teeming press of humanity and the sense of being part of a bigger crowd, but there was something to be said for the solitude and silence here. Her mind seemed to quiet itself, to synchronize with the environment. It was comforting, she realized, to be free of all the chaos. She thought again of Adam’s hand, yesterday morning, reaching out for hers across the table. Her fingers twitched, curling into her palm, and she felt a sharp ache. She wanted to see him again.

She considered whether to go to the pub that evening, but thought that would make her look needy. She resolved to put Adam out of her mind as she approached the first farmhouse on her list. She was here to work and right now she needed something to focus on that wasn't as rugged as the surrounding landscape.

* * *

By the third day she had her routine down cold. To her relief, the farmers were happy to talk to her, if a bit confused about why a university in the United States cared about their economics. The ones who had email addresses had already been contacted by the department prior to Amelia’s arrival. Those visits were the easiest. She sensed some wariness from the ones who hadn’t been primed, but no one turned her away. It was a pleasant job, sitting in the old farmhouses that had been there for a hundred years or more, in front of the fire, listening to the farmers talk about their stock and land and produce. Because it was winter, they had time to talk, and she was amazed at the depth and sheer richness of the information that was forthcoming.

Amelia decided to cross one more off her list before heading back to her house. She liked to get back before it got dark, as she didn't want to get lost and stuck outside for the night.

She trekked the half mile or so to the next farmhouse on her list. her boots catching the frozen ruts of the driveway. It had rained the previous night prior to the temperatures falling back to a number well below freezing. Hard, sideways, sleeting rain that had frozen into icicles along her doorway and steps. She had to concentrate to keep her footing. She made it up the driveway, and knocked on the broad wooden door, hoping that someone was home.

The door swung open, and her jaw just about hit the ground.

Adam was standing in the doorway as plain as day. He was dressed in jeans and a navy cable-knit sweater, his hair loose and curling softly around his face. His expression matched Amelia's.

“Welcome to Macdonald Farm I guess, better come in out of the cold,” he finally said, swinging the door wider then closing it behind her.

“Um,” she said, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “Remember the research that I told you I was here to do?”

Adam nodded.

“Well, your farm is one of the ones on my list. I didn’t realize it was yours, actually.”

“It is mine.” There was something in his voice when he said it that didn’t sound exactly pleased. Amelia shuffled her feet. “Do you mind if I talk with you for a while? Um, I understand if you don't want to. I can just take you off the list if you don’t want to be included.” She felt herself blushing as she looked up at him, and she hated every moment of it. This was awkward to put it mildly.

“No, that’s fine,” he said. “Happy to help.” He gestured towards the living room. “Come on in and sit down, it’s warmer. Can I get you some tea?”

Amelia started to refuse, already feeling as if she was imposing, but changed her mind. “Yes,” she said gratefully. “Sounds good.”

The fire in the fireplace crackled merrily, and Amelia had to actively push away thoughts of the night he’d spent at her house. It would do her no good to think of that now. He’d made it clear the morning after that he didn’t intend for it to happen again, and his reaction to her turning up on his doorstep was hardly one of deep joy. He wasn’t interested in a fling with her, and Amelia knew she needed to stop fantasizing about the possibility.

She looked around the room as she waited, taking in her surroundings. It was simple, like most of the farmhouses she’d visited—hardwood floors with an old rug here and there, exposed rafters overhead. The room was small but cozy, the fireplace and stone hearth the dominant feature. There was no sign of a Christmas tree or any other decoration for that matter. Even the mantelpiece was bare.

Adam returned with a pot of tea and two mugs on a tray, setting the combination down on the small table between the two overstuffed chairs. Amelia recalled him making breakfast for her, and the touch of his hands on her waist as she’d stood at the sink. She wanted to reach for his hand as he poured the tea, but didn’t. It was amazing, she thought, the distance between them now when they’d been so intimate only a few nights before. It shouldn’t be strange, she supposed, since they barely knew each other. But she’d felt something she hadn’t felt since she’d been with David.

“So, what do you need to know?” Adam asked, settling back into the chair.

“Um,” Amelia flipped through her notes. “Basic information about the farm—is it yours, when and how did you purchase it, the main crop, main livestock, what the average production is, that sort of thing. We’re gathering data about how the economics of small farms relates to the overall agriculture economy here.”

“And the information I give you goes where exactly?”

“Into a report that will be published for a journal, probably presented at conferences.”

“So, anything I tell you is likely going to be written down and repeated somewhere else?”

Amelia hesitated, wondering why he was asking. Most of the farmers hadn’t been overly concerned about the end use of her research. “Yes,” she finally said. “It will be published, unless you specifically tell me to leave something out. But I don’t think you need to worry about any negatives from this. There’s a lot of support for small farmers. In fact, the data is likely going to be used to encourage more awareness for it in the United States.”

“Alright then.” Adam took a sip of his tea. “The farm is mine. In my name. Passed down to me from my parents.”

“Does anyone else live here?”

Adam shook his head. “Just me. I have some hired help of course, but they don’t live here.”

“Does it get lonely?” Amelia asked, before she could stop herself.

Adam gave her a long look. “Is that a research question?”

Amelia felt herself flush and shook her head. “No. No, of course not. I’m sorry.” She looked through her notes again, trying to regain her composure. “What is your primary livestock?”

“Sheep.”

Amelia fell into the typical rhythm of question and answer, and she began to relax, paying less attention to who exactly it was that she was talking to and more on the familiar process of research. Adam explained the process of their wool production and the revenue it generated. She took notes as he talked, enjoying the sound of his smooth, accented voice as he explained it to her.

When he’d finished talking, Amelia hurriedly finished scribbling down the last sentence. “It’s getting late,” she said finally. “I should probably head out. Thank's for all the information.”

Adam was quiet, and she saw that look cross his face again, as if he were puzzling out the answer to a problem. “Why don’t you come back in a few days,” he said finally. “I’ll show you around. You can see some of the livestock, the barns and such.”

Amelia grinned. “That would be fantastic,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem,” he said, smiling.