Page 14 of The Love Leap (Timeless Love Chronicles #1)
Chapter Thirteen
“Is it just me, or are you trying to make this rope thingy—” I hesitate before continuing. “What’s the correct word again?”
“Sheet.”
“Yes, sheet. Are you making it sound more complex than it is to impress me?” I tease as Cal hands me the line.
“I would never,” he replies with feigned indignation. “I’m merely honoring ancient seafaring traditions. And besides, your flustered look is quite adorable.”
“Flustered? Me? I am calmness personified under pressure.” My words tumble out, daring him to argue otherwise.
“Oh really? Like when I picked you up at Rosewood Cottage? You were serenity itself,” he teases, reminding me of my less-than-dignified encounter with a spider the size of a rat.
“Hey, that thing had murder in its eyes. And at least six of them were looking at me,” I shoot back, laughing. For someone who prides herself on being tough, my fear of spiders is an embarrassing weak spot.
“But out here on Moray Firth, it’s just us and the sea. No spiders, I promise,” Cal’s voice is a balm to my nerves, his fingers gently guiding mine to steer the tiller slightly to port. “Feel the rhythm of the waves. They’re like Highland dancers, graceful but powerful.”
“Highland dancers with enough lethal moves to send us six feet under!” I reply, my grip on the tiller gaining more confidence.
“True. But I won’t let that happen. Besides, a little danger spices up life, don’t ye think?”
“Spice is for curry, Cal, not for potentially life-threatening situations.” Despite my words, there’s an undeniable thrill coursing through me as the salt air fills my lungs and the wind tugs at my hair.
“Speaking of spice,” he says as he eases closer to adjust the sail, his arm brushing against mine. “I thought I might cook for you tonight. I make a mean haggis.”
“Threatening me with haggis now? You Scots know how to woo a lady. ”
“Just give it a chance. Like sailing or haggis—both acquired tastes full of surprises... much like yourself.”
“You just compared me to a sheep’s stomach stuffed with oatmeal?” My feigned offense can’t mask the smile tugging at my lips.
“In only the best way possible. You’re both Scottish treasures.”
“Well, this treasure doesn’t plan on being buried at sea today, so let’s keep this boat upright, Captain.”
Cal is quiet for a breath, then offers a nod. “Your wish is my command.”
I feel my shoulders relaxing as we glide over Moray Firth’s waters. Each shared laugh and playful jab with Cal loosens the grip of my past on me. For the first time in a long while, I’m not dwelling on my past disappointments or the uncertainty of my future.
I’m living in this moment, learning to sail with a man who is equally infuriating and irresistible. It’s liberating—like slipping off too-tight shoes and running barefoot in the grass.
As the shoreline blurs into the distance, I realize that maybe clinging to my old identity isn’t necessary.
“You’re a natural,” Cal says with that dimpled smile that sends warmth flooding through my whole body.
“Maybe I am,” I concede, allowing myself a rare moment of pride. “And maybe... just maybe... I’m starting to understand why this place is so captivating. ”
“Just wait till ye’ve tasted my haggis. You’ll truly be under Highland’s spell then.”
“Let’s not push our luck, sailor.”
My quip hides the anticipation already building for the evening ahead. I’m curious about his cooking and whatever else might unfold between us.
The wind whips through my hair with an energy that would make any hairbrush cower in fear as I tightly grip the tiller. The tangy salt air kisses my lips, and for a moment, I close my eyes to savor it all: briny scent and chill sea spray on my cheeks.
“Careful,” Cal’s voice tickles my ear, sending delicious shivers. “Ye dinnae want to be at Moray Firth’s mercy.”
“Is that a concern, or are you afraid I’ll outdo you?” My eyes snap open to meet his gaze.
“A bit of both.” He smirks as he adjusts the mainsail. His hands brush against mine briefly, causing an electric jolt in me that has nothing to do with static in the air.
We work in sync, and an easy rhythm forms between us as we slice through the water. My muscles relax under his subtle cues and silent commands. Each shift of weight, each exchanged glance, draws me closer to him.
“Lean into the turn, Mills,” he instructs me, his breath warm on my neck as he reaches around to show me how it’s done. For a heartbeat, our bodies align—two sailors navigating capricious winds and whatever is simmering beneath our banter.
“Like this?” I ask, hyper-aware of his presence behind me—his strong arms enveloping mine, showing rather than telling me how to harness nature’s power.
“Exactly like that.” His approval resonates in his tone, and he doesn’t move away immediately. He lingers in this intimate space, where I can count freckles dusting his strong jawline.
“I’m getting pretty good at this sailing business, right?” The words tumble out of my mouth, sounding way more confident than I feel.
“Indeed, ye are,” he responds, his hand finding a home on the small of my back. Ostensibly to steady me, but there’s more to it.
“Cal—” My voice trails off as I pivot to face him, only to be caught off guard by the unexpected softness in his expression.
“Amelia.” My full name rolls off his tongue. His eyes ask questions beyond sailing lessons and haggis tastings—whispering promises of moonlit walks along the loch and stolen kisses under the shadowy silhouette of ancient castles.
“Keep yer gaze on the horizon,” he suggests, but it’s not the horizon that captures my attention—it’s how the wind tousles his hair, the gold specks dancing in his eyes, and the adventurous promise lingering in his smile .
“Honestly? It’s hard to focus on anything but you,” I admit with a boldness that surprises me. But that’s what these Scottish Highlands do—they strip away all pretenses and leave me barefooted and breathless, ready to step into a new version of myself.
“Then don’t,” Cal replies.
Now it isn’t just our boat that feels adrift. A gust fills our sails, carrying more than sea salt—it also carries away my inhibitions.
I swallow hard. “Alright then, I won’t.” The words escape my lips as a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach, tighter than any ropes we’ve wound around winches.
“Ye look like you’ve seen Nessie herself,” Cal says softly, concern lacing his voice as he moves closer. Our knees touch with every sway of the boat.
“It’s just... this place,” I begin, my words getting lost in a wave of vulnerability I didn’t see coming. “This whole Highland adventure—it’s exhilarating, but it also scares me.”
“You’re scared?” He looks puzzled. “Of what?”
“Losing myself,” I tell him, my gaze falling to my worn-out sneakers.
“Back home, everything is familiar. Predictable. But here with you, it feels like shedding an old skin and not knowing what’s underneath.”
His hand wraps around mine, grounding me as the boat sways. “Amelia, ye’re not losing yourself. Ye’re simply uncovering parts of ye that have been tucked away, just waiting for the right gust of wind to stir them awake.”
A shaky laugh escapes me as I look at him through my long lashes. “That sounds like something out of a Scottish legend. What’s next? We sail into Loch Ness under a full moon and get transported back in time?”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Maybe not,” I confess, letting the warmth from his hand seep into my bones, “As long as you promise to rescue me from any medieval dragons.”
“And only if ye promise to save me from heartsick spirits,” he counters.
“Deal.” My smile lingers as I take in the vast expanse before us, and then, with courage as fresh and invigorating as Highland air, I turn back towards Cal.
“I want more lessons—everything about sailing—and this place.”
“Everything?” His eyebrow lifts teasingly even though his grip on the tiller remains steady and firm.
“Everything,” I echo, feeling the last remnants of my old self slip away with the tide.
As we continue sailing, with the wind weaving tales into my hair and the wild waters of Moray Firth beneath us, I realize that I’ve discovered more than just inspiration for my next novel.
I’ve stumbled upon a legend of my own—one where the heroine learns that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let go of the shore and trust in the magic of new beginnings.