My fingers intertwined with Greg's as we walked down the old cobblestones up Edinburgh's High Street. I'd already stripped my jacket off and tied it around my waist, my bared arms warming up in the sun on for this bright, beautiful, late summer Scottish day. We'd just arrived by train, three days out from our wedding, one day into this "exotic" (hey, why can't Scotland can be "exotic"?) honeymoon.
Greg and I had been together for three years, since we'd met at the first day of class at a community college. The school had set up a little table with free coffee for new students, and I had just taken a sip when I heard a friendly voice next to me.
"Judging by your face right now, I think I'd better go out for some Starbucks."
I'd turned to my left and saw the man I would marry—not that I knew it then, but I like the way the story sounds that way. He was smiling from the corner of his mouth and his eyes were wide, like he was waiting to see how I'd react to his line. I definitely hadn't expected to meet guys here—at least, not on the first day—but he was cute, I was single, and all the college orientation self-congratulatory crap had totally gone to my head, so I was feeling good about life. And decided to give him a chance.
I smiled back at him. "Yeah, this is pretty bad," I said, lifting my thin paper cup and scrunching up my nose. "It tastes like a truck tire lying in a mud puddle."
"Wow, that sounds...terrible."
"Yeah, well, it is free coffee...from a community college..." I trailed off.
"Mmmhmm, you get what you paid for," he nodded in agreement. "Well,"—here came the pitch!, his face told me—"I apologize in the name of this lovely institution of higher learning. On behalf of the school, I'd like to take you out for a replacement coffee after class, no charge." His voice came through with confidence but without pompousness. Sure, it was a bit of a goofy pick-up line, but he looked happy making his offer.
In my mind I'd already said yes, but I didn't want the conversation to end yet. My smile stayed on my face but I lifted my eyebrows. "Are you offering a free coffee as a replacement for a free coffee? I thought that 'you get what you paid for?'"
"Ah, true," he said, unfazed by my return. "But my offer also comes with free entertainment."
"Really? What kind of entertainment?"
"Most the Starbucks playlist and the sound of me telling you how beautiful you are."
I wish I hadn't blushed at that, but I did. He was good.
"Judging by your face right now, I'll take that as a yes," he said with a grin. A drop of smugness came to his eyes, but the good kind. The kind that lets you know that your own attraction is welcomed. And reciprocated.
Part of me knew that I should have felt so good at this man's attention without even knowing his name, but I could only nod shyly to his assertion.
He held out his hand, open and facing up. "I'm Greg, by the way."
I put my hand in his softly and said, "Jenny."
He lifted my hand slightly. It felt elegant, and I felt weightless.
We dated for two years before moving in together, and then waited another year to get married. Greg made me feel weightless the whole time, always quick to compliment and slow to criticize. We had chemistry where and when it counted—our first time together was a spectacular lunchtime romp in the women's room in the campus theater—and we'd kept it going throughout our relationship.
I was happy, Greg was happy. We'd decided to travel for our honeymoon, since neither of us had ever been abroad. I'd read that J.K. Rowling had written the Harry Potter series in a breakfast bar in Edinburgh and basically used that as a planning point of our trip. We were saving money to start a family, and figured we could do Scotland fairly cheaply by going the backpacker route. The UK has a great train system and they give foreigners good deals to encourage tourism. And there are youth hostels all over the place, so if you're willing to tolerate the unglamorous accommodations, you can do the whole country without breaking the bank.
"Ooh, look, a Loch Ness monster museum!" I said, pointing to a narrow storefront with a 6-foot wide wooden dinosaur over the entrance.
"Are you serious?" Greg said, laughing. "I'm not spending—" he peered at the small sign on the door, "—ha, twenty pounds a person so I can hear how a few drunk Highlanders made up a story about a mythical creature to promote local tourism!"
"Well I wouldn't spend it either, but I just think it's cool. Like finding a Bigfoot museum back home."
Greg paused and thought for a moment. "If you were walking down Main Street USA and saw a small sign on an obscure door that said 'Bigfoot Museum,' would you be more likely to go in and pay for admission or laugh at the people who went in and paid admission."
"Good point, though I'd probably laugh at the people who went in even if it was free."
Greg hmmphed and shifted his pack on his shoulders in triumph.
"Stop loving being right," I teased.
"But...I do love being right," he confessed. He peered out of the corner of his eye at me. "You should try it sometime."
I hit him in the shoulder and we continued down the road.
We'd started at the top of the main hill in the older section of the city (took a taxi—no way I was walking up all the way!), where the enormous castle is. It's full of Scottish history and the Scottish crown jewels and all that fun stuff. The city runs straight down the main street—called "High Street"—and way at the other end is a relatively newer castle called Holyrood, where the royal family stays when they're in town.
