One Summer, Part XXIII (Chip Stands & Second Chances)
Many thanks to @notevenjokingfic for reading this and helping me get to where I want to be with this Claire and this Jamie. I love these two, even though I have (again) grossly underestimated the space it would take to tell their story.
I am so in love with this chapter, these two, and where they are headed.
Part I (Adso), Part II (Dislocated), Part III (Entryway), Part IV (Pizza & Beer), Part V (Croissants & Coffee), Part VI (SMS), Part VII (Desktop), Part VIII (Sunday Sunflowers & Sundresses), Part IX (Caught Out), Part X (Netflix & Advil), Part XXI (Ben Nevis & Loch Lomond), Part XII (Non-Negotiable), Part XIII (Same), Part XIV (Toothbrushes & Eyeglasses), Part XV (Renovation & Dresser Drawers), Part XVI (Letters & Mattresses), Part XVII (London & Broch Mordha), Part XVIII (British Airways & Kittens), Part XIX (Airports & Antigua), Part XX (Sawny & Ellen), Part XXI (Dice & Doorknobs), Part XXII (Tears & Truth)
One Summer
Part XXIII: Chip Stands & Second Chances
The Inverness Airport marketed itself as the gateway to the Highlands.
After deplaning following a brief flight from London (ears having barely ceased their popping from takeoff by the time they landed), Claire inhaled. The airport smelled like every other airport, but with the notable addition of the best chips she’d ever eaten in her life (his lip-smacking incredulity that the wee airport had her favorite chips, his chuckled disappointment in her bad taste). The airport was small (two gates, ten check-in desks), but no less bedecked in the Harris Tweed in a kaleidoscopic assortment of colors, coo stuffies with fuzzy ginger beards, thistle-emblazoned beauty products, and whisky of varying qualities to taunt travelers. It was the kind of spot where one could land, gather a checked case, hire a car, and be gone within fifteen minutes of landing, and she appreciated that wholly as she made a dash for the toilets.
After splashing some water on her sleep-creased face, Claire wandered back towards the gates. Her stomach ached with hunger, and the idea of hitting the road to Broch Mordha without something to eat for the ride only magnified the pang. She queued up behind what appeared to be a school group from London – a chattering, mildly disinterested crew – and dug through her purse for a handful of coins to purchase her bounty.
As the gate agent announced that Logan Air flight 2221 (“to rainy London Gatwick”) was finishing its final boarding, the school group dispersed, and Claire found herself at the front of the queue. As one student giving up the wait for chips knocked her firmly in the shoulder and turned to the gate, Claire’s handful of coins scattered. “Bloody hell,” she muttered to the kiosk attendant, who shrugged rather blandly. Engaging in a veritable tsunami of furious cursing, Claire went to her knees and began sweeping the coins from the dusty floor into her palm.
At that moment, fate proved itself to be a funny thing to no one in particular.
However, this was an observation that would miss Claire Beauchamp entirely. From her vantage point – on her hands and knees, telling herself that her chips (saturated to the point of sogginess with malt vinegar) would be worth whatever it was that was so sticky on the floor – she was blind to it.
And it was not an observation that any person could make, really, given that no one else keyed into the fucking bed-and-breakfast owner’s particular circumstances.
But it was at precisely that moment, when Claire was tucked out of sight scooping coins into her hand, that James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser barreled towards his soon-to-depart flight to London-Gatwick to make his Grand Gesture.
pixelskylines
blakekathryn
origamiaround
kaledo-art
titsay
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
snowghoul
areudirty
