Page 27 of The Love Leap (Timeless Love Chronicles #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hand in hand, we navigate our way back to the village, our senses heightened for any hint of pursuit.

“Ye must have knocked him out cold,” Cal quips, glancing over his shoulder but finding no sign of anyone tailing us.

“I aimed low and kicked hard. He won’t be running anywhere anytime soon,” I reply with a smirk.

Once we’re back at Fiona’s mother’s house—the agreed rendezvous point—we ascend the creaky stairs to the secret attic bedroom, where Fergus, Alistair, and Fiona wait anxiously. The moment they see us walk in, their faces light up with relief and joy.

Fiona practically lunges at us, her arms wide open.

“Thank the heavens, ye’re both safe!” she cries, pulling us into a bone-crushing hug.

Alistair follows suit, his hand landing on Cal’s back with a hearty thump that echoes through the room.

His usually stoic face is lit up with an uncharacteristic grin.

“Well done, lad,” he chimes in, pride evident in his voice. “Knew ye’d bring our lass back.”

A knowing glance passes between Cal and me. It’s time to spill our peculiar beans.

“Listen up, everyone,” Cal starts, the gravity of his tone instantly silencing the room. “There’s something crucial we need to share with ye all. Amelia and I... we’re not exactly from… here.”

“Aye,” Fergus pipes up with a nod of understanding. “That’s been as clear as Loch Ness on a sunny day. Ye reek of Glasgow charm.”

Cal shakes his head, eyes piercing with concern as he corrects him: “Not quite what we meant, Fergus. We’re… from the future.”

The following silence is so profound it feels like someone hit the pause button on life itself. Even the Highland winds outside seem to hold their breath for a moment.

I half-expect our friends to laugh at our outrageous claim, but instead, Fergus squints at us suspiciously.

“From the future, aye? Have ye been dancing with the whisky fairy again, Cal?”

Unable to contain myself any longer, I erupt into snorting giggles at the sheer absurdity of our situation.

“I know it sounds like we’ve lost our marbles,” I manage to get out between fits of laughter.

“But it’s true! And Cal here... he’s your great-great-great-something grandson!

We stumbled on your era through the Loch Ness Portal, and tonight, under the full moon’s blessing, we might just have a shot at returning home. ”

Fiona looks at Alistair, who glances at Fergus, who scratches his head in utter bewilderment. The air thickens with disbelief and curiosity.

“Loch Ness Portal? Future?” Alistair grumbles skeptically. He pauses, scratching his beard. “So ye mean to tell me there are no more bloody English invasions?”

“And do they finally invent trousers that don’t chafe?” Fergus chimes in, earning a round of laughter.

Fiona is quiet for a breath. Then she turns to me: “And what about the black pudding? Is it still as scrumptious?”

“Well,” I drawl, mischief sparking in my eyes. “It’s still delicious. And if you think the wheel was a game-changer, brace yourselves for Wi-Fi!”

Cal shoots me a look that screams, “Easy Mills, we’re not here to rupture the space-time continuum,” and quickly interjects. “Though it’s also a vortex of wasted hours, so perhaps best left unexplored.” I furrow my brows at him. All we’re doing is confusing them more.

The room explodes into a cacophony of questions as our friends begin making wild guesses about the future, from flying cows to kilts with built-in heaters. Cal admits that one is a good idea, especially for Canadians like me, and chuckles that he’ll have to patent it if we ever get home.

Fiona finally raises her hands, commanding silence with a grin that mirrors mine.

“Alright! No use arguing over spilled whisky. If ye need our help to return to yer... future... then ye have it.” Her words have an air of finality, her bright eyes twinkling with determination.

Alistair nods, his hand casually resting on the hilt of his sword. “Aye,” he assures us, “we’ll have yer backs and guide ye to the hidden trail behind the house. If any of those goons from the rival clan come sniffin’ around, we’re prepared to fend them off.”

With a booming laugh that could probably shake the Highlands themselves, Fergus raises his sword as if presenting it to a king.

“Ye may need this when heading towards that enchanted loch, lad! May your journey be as wild and unforgettable as your time with us!”

Cal’s eyes glint with unsaid emotions as he accepts the blade. They share a backslap like brothers with an age-old warrior bond. I blink back the tears.

So. This is what it would look like if Ancestry.com had a reality show.

Fiona snags a pair of breeches and a blouse, motioning for me to duck into a more private nook.

“Let’s get ye out of that nightie,” she says with a wink. With the ease of two moms swapping yoga pants for jeans, she helps me wriggle into the outfit.

“There, now you’re ready to conquer the Highlands—or at least not flash them,” Fiona grins, and I pull her into a warm, grateful hug.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Fi pulls back, eyes twinkling with a conspiratorial glint. "Ye know, lass, women in these parts aren't supposed to be warriors," she leans in, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I've seen the fire in ye, the courage. Let me get ye something to defend yerself properly."

Before I can respond, she's already whisking me down the creaky back stairs, her excitement infectious.

We tiptoe through the dimly lit hallway, trying to suppress our giggles as we make our way to her mother's kitchen.

It's a cozy, bustling little space filled with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread—a place that feels like the heart of the home.

Fiona scans the room like a secret agent on a mission, her eyes alighting on the perfect item. With a triumphant grin, she retrieves a hefty rolling pin from the counter, holding it up like a prized artifact.

"This," she declares, "is your weapon."

I let out a snort, the sound echoing through the kitchen. "A rolling pin? Seriously? "

"Seriously," Fiona nods, her expression earnest yet playful. "It's versatile, solid, and trust me, no one expects a rolling pin to come swingin’ their way."

I take my new weapon, feeling its weight and imagining the surprise on our rivals’ faces. I prefer to be offered a sword, but this should do the trick for now. Somehow, it feels right.

Standing at the edge of our final adventure, I’m swept up in a wave of affection for these extraordinary people.

They’ve taken us in like we were their own, treating us more like family than friends.

Silently, I wish them peace and prosperity in this quaint little village that has become our temporary sanctuary.

Do Cal and I have a shot at forever?

Who knows? Is there anyone who can claim to be an expert at making love last? Or picking shoes, for that matter?

There’s no secret handbook detailing whether the shoes we buy or the lovers we find are meant for one wild night, one season of comfort, or guaranteed for a lifetime of strolls. When it comes to love, the truth is, we’re all just winging it.