Page 11 of The Love Leap (Timeless Love Chronicles #1)

Chapter Ten

Cal guides me out of the barn and down a lush green slope towards the main street that runs through the village.

As we turn a corner, we stumble upon an unexpected sight: the skeletal remains of what used to be a medieval church.

The once mighty stone structure now stands as proof of time’s unrelenting march forward; its former glory weathered away by centuries.

“Wow!” I gasp in awe, quickening my pace to explore further. The ruins beckon with an ancient charm that’s impossible for me to resist.

“This is... incredible!”

“Aye, it’s a favorite stroll for me,” he says as we walk the perimeter of the church ruins.

“We aren’t allowed inside the ruins, but over there…” He points towards an open black iron-wr ought gate leading into what looks like a graveyard nestled within the church grounds.

“… we can get a closer look at the gravestones. Unless yer scared of wakin’ up some spirits,” he teases with a playful wink.

I toss him a smirk over my shoulder as I stride ahead of him. “Ghosts? Bring them on! It’s the living who tend to cause real trouble.” My voice bounces off the silent stones as I delve deeper into history’s embrace.

The graveyard feels like I’ve stumbled into a parallel universe. Each headstone murmurs ancient narratives, their chiseled tales faded by the relentless march of time, yet still echoing the lives of those long gone.

“Look at this one!” My voice slices through the communal silence. I’m crouching next to an intriguing slab half-buried in the earth.

“Does this say Bestie Skinner, dedicated to her late husband, Merchant John Kenzie?”

Cal drops beside me, his knees crunching on the gravel as he squints at the inscription before affirming softly, “Aye, it does.”

My finger traces over the worn letters with curiosity and respect. “I wonder what their story was,” I ponder aloud, my voice barely more than a breathy murmur. The stone reveals more:

John Kenzie, Former Merchant, died February 1328.

My eyes pop wide open in disbelief. “Wait! Are these stones honestly that ancient?”

Cal’s chuckle ripples through the quiet graveyard like a pebble in still water. “This village has seen many more moons than that.” His voice softens into something almost poetic.

“Every stone and blade of grass here has a tale to tell. Of those who dared to love, who laughed in the face of sorrow and wore their heartbreaks like badges of honor… They’re all right beneath our feet.”

I gape at him, words trapped somewhere between my brain and my mouth. He’s not quoting poetry like Brady; he’s making his own up on the fly. It’s like he instinctively knows what matters to me. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

So, as usual, I use humor to sidestep my jitters.

“Okay, so they’re old. But let’s not forget I’m not exactly a spring chicken either.” I offer a shaky grin, hoping it disguises the emotional tornado inside me.

Cal’s face lights up with an infectious smile as he offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet.

“Maybe not in years, Mills. But ye’ve got this spirit.

.. this energy that’s just bloody irresistible.

” His accent wraps around his words like a lover’s caress, hitting me like a slapshot to the heart.

My cheeks blaze like they’re two seconds from spontaneous combustion, but no snappy comeback comes to mind to cover my surprise.

“You’re seeing things,” is all I can mumble before nervously placing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“What if I am?” He counters, sincerity washing over his ruggedly handsome face.

“What if I see someone who’s been dimming her own shine for far too long?”

I pull in a shallow breath as the words hang between us, heavy and potent. My eyes well up with tears I’m not ready to shed, so I drop my gaze to my feet and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Are you implying you’ve discovered my secret hoard of glow sticks back at Rosewood Cottage?” Then I’m off, putting distance between us before he can react to my awkward attempt at humor.

A peculiar sensation nips at my consciousness, subtle yet as tangible as the Scottish earth beneath our wandering feet. There’s been a shift, an unspoken change in our dynamics. For the first time, I feel seen, truly seen, and it leaves me breathless.

We venture further into the ancient graveyard, its secrets whispering through the wind.

Cal reaches out to pluck a delicate avens flower from its solitary perch.

He turns towards me, a soft smile teasing his lips as he presents it to me.

I thank him with my smile and point to my hair—a silent suggestion of where it should reside .

Cal steps into my personal space with an ease that sends electricity coursing through my veins, and I welcome it.

He leans in and tenderly tucks the flower behind my ear.

“Ye know,” he begins casually, his eyes flickering over the surrounding gravestones, “it’s intriguing how these stones signify people who were deeply rooted here, but left only faint imprints behind. ”

I look up at him, catching the glint of something more in his eyes. “Have you always been this philosophical, or is it the Highland air?” I tease.

He chuckles, a low rumble that mixes with the breeze. “Actually, I wasn’t always the wise sage of Aven Valley. Back in school, I was just that ‘simple farmer’s kid’ who everyone thought wouldn’t amount to much.”

“Seriously? I can’t picture you as anything less than Captain Callum, Commander of the Seas.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, but there’s a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “You’d be surprised. I was all gangly limbs and big dreams. Got teased a lot. Thought I’d show them all, by building something special here.”

“Your sailing club?” I ask.

“Aye,” he offers a small nod, steering me towards a weather-beaten tombstone dressed in a cloak of moss. “As a wee lad, this place was my playground. It got me thinking... everyone carries stories worth hearing while they’re still breathing. ”

His gaze drifts off into the horizon, and his voice grows quiet. “I dreamt of transforming this town into a sanctuary for daydreamers and seafarers alike. Build a gathering spot where people could learn to sail and discover the untouched beauty and legends of Aven Valley.”

“That’s quite a lofty dream for a ‘simple farmer’s kid,’“ I say with a wink.

His laughter is modest but confident. He’s aware of his worth, but not showing off about it. “Aye, people thought that. But to me… every rock here, every home, each wind sweeping across Moray Firth... they tell tales of boldness and courage.”

He turns to look at me. “I just thought, if a young boy in a graveyard could hear those whispers of adventure... why shouldn’t the world hear them too?”

The way he intertwines his dreams with the landscape around us is so damn captivating. “So, you’re what? The sea’s siren, calling out to sailors?”

“Something along those lines,” he says with a soft smile. “But without luring them to their doom.”

Cal guides me around other notable graves, spinning their tales with a storyteller’s flair.

We chuckle over some of the more humorous epitaphs and marvel at the enduring spirit of villagers from centuries past. When he doesn’t realize I’m watching, I notice his eyes well up with tears at the graves marked by tragedy.

Eventually, we circle back to the skeletal remains of the ancient church just as the sun begins its descent toward the horizon. Its waning light bathes everything in a warm golden hue.

“Hungry?” Cal asks as he turns to me, his expression relaxed.

His question catches me off guard and I let out a soft chuckle.

“Honestly,” I confess while patting my rumbling tummy for emphasis, “I could probably devour an entire Highland cow right about now.”

His rich laughter rings out, pulling a laugh from me despite the ridiculousness of what I’ve just said.

“Is that sacrilegious?” I manage to ask between fits of giggles, swiping at a tiny tear that’s escaped down my cheek.

He shakes his head, amusement still dancing in his eyes as he steadies himself. “Not at all,” he assures me. “Just don’t let Daisy hear.”