Flower of Scotland

Part 8

A week later I was at home in my little apartment, radio up loud while I sang along and danced cleaning my kitchen.

I was so caught up with belting out the tune playing I hadn't realised I had company until Happy was right behind me. He touched my hip and I shot up in the air, spinning around fist clenched fist ready to land it on any available part of my intruders body. He was quick though, catching my hand while he weaved his body to the side. He chuckled as I glared at him

"You should really lock that door if your gonna be putting on a show for the furniture, anyone could walk in on you."

"Ha ha." I replied sarcastically.

Gripping my hips he lifted me up on to the counter and stood between my legs.

"I've got something for you." He said, his voice low.

He looked sheepish and I was intrigued.

Reaching behind him he pulled a sheathed throwing knife from his back pocket. He gently pulled the blade free from its covering and laid it in my open palms. It took me a moment to register that the hilt had a smiley face etched into it. I brought my eyes up to meet his and smiled. I was so lost for words all I could manage was.

"It's beautiful Happy, Thank you."

My mouth couldn't connect with my brain to convey how I was actually feeling about this gift that probably wouldn't have meant much to some but for me was a huge deal.

"I'm glad you like it." He responded "I gotta go, Clay will be calling church soon."

Hopping down off the side I said
"Oh." Suddenly remembering. "How was your run last night?"

He lifted his T-shirt slightly to flash me a newly healing smiley face on his torso also exposing the scattered love bites above his waist band that I leave him. Spinning me around so my front was pressed against the counter and he in turn pressed against my back, made a promise to see me later, slapped me hard on the arse and left.

I stare down at the blade he left me with. It truly was a work of art, the blade was sharp, I tapped it lightly on the tip of my nail and watched it bite in.

A while later a knock at the door pulled me off the sofa where I was watching re runs of some American soap. It was my Uncle holding a bag of shopping. I knew instantly that this wasn't the reason for his visit, he had never shown up with necessities before but I humoured him and pulled the door wide so he could enter. Thanking him for the proffered bag. As I began emptying the contents and putting them in their places, Uncle Chibs took a seat at the small breakfast bar.

"So" I said still facing the cupboard. "Are you going to tell me the real reason your bringing me scotch pancakes and shortbread?"

Chibs sighed.

"I wanted a wee word wi ye."

"Go on." I encouraged, turning to face him.

"Look, Happy is a loyal brother." He started, seeing the shift in my features, he raised his hands and motioned for me to calm down.

"Now now, I'm no aboot to tell ye who you can keep company with, I just need to say my piece so I know I said it, aye."

I nodded for him to continue.

"Like I said, he's a loyal brother, I'd trust my life to tha man but I'm no sure I trust him with my niece's heart. If ye go into this make sure ye go in with your eyes open."

I nodded again

Slipping in to the Scot's accent I always used when talking to my Farthy. I replied softly

"Dinna Fash Uncail."

I looked at him desperately trying to convey with my eyes that I knew why he was worried, the same thoughts had gone through my own head but the pull of Happy was magnetic.

I looked down at the countertop and said in barely a whisper

"I love him, ye ken?"

Uncle Chibs slid from his seat and came round the breakfast bar. He pulled me up straight, facing him and looking me dead in the eye.

"Your a Bonnie lass Mo nighean donn, ye could have ye pick o men. I willnae say he wuid be my pick for ye but I know he'd protect ye from outside harm."

With that he moved around the kitchen pouring two small glasses of whiskey and holding up his own

"Slainte." He said loudly before sinking the shot.

"Slainte Mhath" I replied to his toast.

He hugged me and kissed my forehead before leaving. Leaving me standing in the kitchen, a trickle of doubt creeping through my veins.

I wanted to believe so badly that things would work, I was living in a Happy bubble at the moment, quite literally. But I knew in the back of my mind that our relationship was a precarious one, I knew his history with women but I wanted to stay ignorant to my own doubts.
It only took one concerned conversation with my Uncle to unleash my own uncertainties. I loved him, I knew that sure as I knew my own name. But he didn't love me, he liked me, but love was something else, I wasn't sure if he could love, unsure if he knew how.

Pulling the throwing knife from the cabinet I had put it in earlier I stared down at it. Desperately trying to piece together my jumbled thoughts.