Read Online Winter Wishes (The Play #1.5) by Karina Halle - Free Book Online
Authors: Karina Halle
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the world around you lights up like the heavens. The house itself looks quite old though it’s very well taken care of, from the glossy finish of the wood door, to the way the window panes shine. Lachlan tells me it’s been in the McGregor family for centuries and it’s the right thing to say because suddenly I’m marveling at how old everything is over here, how much history there is between simple walls, especially when compared to America. Suddenly I feel a flash of gratitude and excitement that I took the chance to come over here.
With the snow crunching beneath our boots, we gather our gifts from the backseat and I cringe at the way I did mine late last night. The best I could, but still a bit crooked and lumpy, with mismatched tape.
Before we can make it to the front door, it swings open and Jessica comes rushing out, throwing on a coat as she comes.
“Let me help you,” she says in her adorable brogue, hands out to take some gifts from Lachlan’s hands but he playfully shoos her away. She comes to me smiling. “Kayla, I’m so glad you’re here,” she says before pulling me into a quick embrace, my nose filling with scents of jasmine and amber.
Jessica is stunning, the type of woman I want to be when I’m her age. Her skin is flawless, her makeup subtle, her sleek grey bob done just so while her all-black pantsuit under the camel coat looks effortless and chic. Even the velvet slippers she seems to have shoved on to come outside look elegant on her.
“Thank you for inviting me over for Christmas,” I tell her, straightening my shoulders and trying to look somewhat respectable. For a horrifying moment I’m afraid that maybe my shirt is unbuttoned or my fly is down or I have pieces of castle dirt and dust in my hair and I wait until I’m following them into the house to check. So far, so good. Though now, of course, I’m blushing at my memories.
In the foyer Donald is waiting, holding a steaming mug and smiling wryly at us. He looks a lot like Brigs, maybe even Bram, and has this very professional, unassuming way about him.
“You made it,” he says to us and though his voice is stern, his eyes behind his glasses are soft. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”
“Sorry,” Lachlan says, giving him a hug. I get such a kick out watching this big, hulking, tatted man embrace his prim and proper adopted father. “I wanted to take her to Dunottar Castle.”
“Oooh,” Jessica says, taking my presents from me as I pull off my coat. “What a special place. Must have been very cold though, that wind.”
“Actually it was fine. Even quite hot at times,” Lachlan says casually and I can feel my face going red again. I quickly turn to hang up my coat. Normally I don’t get bashful over innuendos but around his parents is a whole other story.
We make our way into the rest of the house, which is slightly more modern than the outside and bigger than I thought. The floors are carpeted with dense, patterned rugs, ones that maybe Jessica picked out. They seem her style and I have no problems believing she may have had a hand in decorating the place.
There are pastoral paintings of Scottish landscapes on the walls, framed by deep wood and antique side tables crammed with photos. I pause, glancing them over. In one picture I see Brigs in his graduate attire, probably from when he got his masters or PhD. I see a faded photo from the eighties of two young boys in school uniforms, one with golden brown hair, the taller one with dark, cheeky smiles on both of them.
Lachlan nudges me.
“Linden and Bram,” he says.
I smile and decide to take a picture of it later to send to Stephanie and Nicola.
Funnily enough though, I don’t see any pictures of Lachlan, at least not at first glance. I thought perhaps Lachlan was exaggerating about the way his relationship with his grandfather is but maybe not.
We’re ushered into the kitchen, a nice homey room with a low ceiling and a brick backsplash
With the snow crunching beneath our boots, we gather our gifts from the backseat and I cringe at the way I did mine late last night. The best I could, but still a bit crooked and lumpy, with mismatched tape.
Before we can make it to the front door, it swings open and Jessica comes rushing out, throwing on a coat as she comes.
“Let me help you,” she says in her adorable brogue, hands out to take some gifts from Lachlan’s hands but he playfully shoos her away. She comes to me smiling. “Kayla, I’m so glad you’re here,” she says before pulling me into a quick embrace, my nose filling with scents of jasmine and amber.
Jessica is stunning, the type of woman I want to be when I’m her age. Her skin is flawless, her makeup subtle, her sleek grey bob done just so while her all-black pantsuit under the camel coat looks effortless and chic. Even the velvet slippers she seems to have shoved on to come outside look elegant on her.
“Thank you for inviting me over for Christmas,” I tell her, straightening my shoulders and trying to look somewhat respectable. For a horrifying moment I’m afraid that maybe my shirt is unbuttoned or my fly is down or I have pieces of castle dirt and dust in my hair and I wait until I’m following them into the house to check. So far, so good. Though now, of course, I’m blushing at my memories.
In the foyer Donald is waiting, holding a steaming mug and smiling wryly at us. He looks a lot like Brigs, maybe even Bram, and has this very professional, unassuming way about him.
“You made it,” he says to us and though his voice is stern, his eyes behind his glasses are soft. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”
“Sorry,” Lachlan says, giving him a hug. I get such a kick out watching this big, hulking, tatted man embrace his prim and proper adopted father. “I wanted to take her to Dunottar Castle.”
“Oooh,” Jessica says, taking my presents from me as I pull off my coat. “What a special place. Must have been very cold though, that wind.”
“Actually it was fine. Even quite hot at times,” Lachlan says casually and I can feel my face going red again. I quickly turn to hang up my coat. Normally I don’t get bashful over innuendos but around his parents is a whole other story.
We make our way into the rest of the house, which is slightly more modern than the outside and bigger than I thought. The floors are carpeted with dense, patterned rugs, ones that maybe Jessica picked out. They seem her style and I have no problems believing she may have had a hand in decorating the place.
There are pastoral paintings of Scottish landscapes on the walls, framed by deep wood and antique side tables crammed with photos. I pause, glancing them over. In one picture I see Brigs in his graduate attire, probably from when he got his masters or PhD. I see a faded photo from the eighties of two young boys in school uniforms, one with golden brown hair, the taller one with dark, cheeky smiles on both of them.
Lachlan nudges me.
“Linden and Bram,” he says.
I smile and decide to take a picture of it later to send to Stephanie and Nicola.
Funnily enough though, I don’t see any pictures of Lachlan, at least not at first glance. I thought perhaps Lachlan was exaggerating about the way his relationship with his grandfather is but maybe not.
We’re ushered into the kitchen, a nice homey room with a low ceiling and a brick backsplash
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