Page 31 of The Love Leap (Timeless Love Chronicles #1)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

We start our trek back from Loch Ness’s mystical shores towards Aven Valley; the gentle lapping of waves against the shore serenading our journey home.

Cal’s normally lively banter gives way to a contemplative silence that hangs between us like an uninvited guest at a party.

His gaze seems distant—I wonder if he’s counting up how long we’ve been gone or simply pondering over the enigma that is time travel.

The path meanders along the shoreline—its twists and turns mirroring the uncertainty in my heart.

With each passing minute, I can practically hear the gears turning in Cal’s mind, louder than the crashing waves nearby.

The familiar hum of an electric street lamp buzzes overhead, interrupted by the distant wail of an ambulance siren .

“Sounds like we’ve definitely made it back to our time,” Cal finally breaks our silence, his voice filled with a hint of relief.

His words soothe my restless thoughts, confirming that we’ve managed to slip free from history’s iron grip.

As we inch closer to home, victory sweet on our tongues, a tiny sprout of doubt pushes through the soil of my thoughts, and I wonder if he’s feeling the same way.

What if our love story is doomed to be a relic of the past, tangled up in ancient times and dusty folklore? The uncertainty drapes over me like a leaden shawl, casting long shadows over our shared triumph.

We weave through familiar streets and serpentine paths that lead back to Aven Valley, but I can’t shake this gnawing question that itches at my brain. How can two people separated by an ocean carve out a future together?

Desperate to break the heavy silence, I muster up a feeble attempt at humor. “So,” I say with a forced smile, “I’ve got my priorities straight for when we get back. Hot shower first, then curling up with an electric blanket and a monster bowl of microwave popcorn.”

Cal chuckles, but continues walking, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.

As we continue our journey home, hope and fear tug at my heart. We’ve fought too hard and risked too much to let uncertainty sabotage what we have. Surely, whatever hurdles lie ahead, we can take them on together.

When we reach the last cottage on the cove, Cal turns to me, his soothing voice cutting through my thoughts.

“Amelia,” he says softly but sincerely, “we’ve been through so much already, and there’s still so much left to figure out...”

I stop in the front garden and give Cal an incredulous look. “Figure out?” I echo, furrowing my brow. “Did you forget about how we just messed with time itself? Outsmarted some pretty ticked-off Scotsmen and came back in one piece!”

“Sounds like a bestseller to me,” he chuckles, the sound bouncing off the Firth behind us. “But ye should probably get some shut-eye before ye start penning our tale.”

“Don’t you want to come inside?”

His gaze lingers, his eyes a complete mystery in the low light before he finally tears them away.

“I gotta... I need to mull it over,” he murmurs. His sudden silence is as jarring as an icy gust off the loch. I swallow hard and blink back tears as I try to decipher the thoughts hidden behind his expression.

“Mills... ye’re a bestselling author; ye’ve got a whole life back in Toronto,” he shatters the quiet unexpectedly, his fingers ruffling through his tousled hair. His tone is gentle, but resolute.

“I’m just a farmer who’s had a glimpse of simpler times. Maybe I’m meant to… maybe we’re meant to...” His voice dwindles into an indistinct murmur.

“We should catch some z’s,” he says firmly after another pause. “There’s... a lot on our plates.” His cryptic hint leaves me utterly baffled.

I nod in agreement, squashing down the deep disappointment that bubbles within me.

“Right then... see you at sunrise?” I ask softly.

His quirky grin is there, but his eyes hold a shadow of something elusive.

“Aye, see you at first light. Sweet dreams, Mills.” With that, he spins around and disappears into the night, leaving me standing here, my mind whirring with uncertainty.

Did I misinterpret our connection? Was it only an illusion crafted by enchantment and adrenaline?

As I nudge open the cottage door, I’m hit with the comforting scent of age-old books and salty sea air. But just as I’m about to step inside, something grabs my attention. The weathered Rosewood Cottage sign hanging by the door now reads Campbell Cottage.

My brows knit together in confusion. Did I wander into the wrong cottage? But no, there it is—One Rosewood Lane—engraved into the stone beside the entrance.

“That’s strange,” I mutter. “Maybe while we were off traipsing through time and space, the owner decided to spruce up the place?”

I set down my combat boots, reflecting on how they’ve carried me through centuries and across Scotland’s rugged terrain.

Tip-toeing across squeaky wooden floors and upstairs to my bedroom, I head for the antique roll-top desk nestled beneath the window, overlooking the sea.

Bathed in moonlight, a sudden wave of inspiration crashes over me.

I need to write everything down, and capture all the magic and danger, before it evaporates like a morning mist.

I rummage out my laptop from deep within my suitcase, its silver exterior gleaming under lunar light. It’s quite a jolt when I plug it in and see 11 pm and the date displayed on-screen—it’s the very same night of our Loch Ness picnic!

Damn. That feels like eons ago, yet there it is—less than an hour has passed since we were sucked into that whirlpool, lived another life in 1645, and were spat back out again!

And now it’s crunch time. I’ve got one day before I’m supposed to board a plane back to Canada. One day to figure out the what-comes-next part of this twisted fairytale.

Cal and I are back on the night we left, in our own time, but it feels like we’re still spinning, like we just stepped off a dizzying carnival ride.

Sitting at the antique desk, I gaze out at the sea, my fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard. I can’t focus. I’m trying to make sense of the month… or centuries? Time travel is tricky like that. It’s been an em otional tornado: fear, excitement, passion... and now, confusion.

Cal isn’t acting like himself. He’s normally Mr. Confidence with a side order of ego and a generous helping of self-deprecating humor for dessert. But the whole walk home, he was distant; his usual quick-witted banter replaced by an unsettling silence.

Is it the whiplash from our sudden return? Or does he regret what happened between us in 1645? Is this his way of putting up walls?

A part of me wants to march right up to his cottage and demand answers, ask him why he’s turned into a stranger since we got back. But then there’s another part that worries his answer might be something I’m not ready to hear.

As I stare at the mocking blankness on my screen, my mind keeps circling back to that moment when we took our leap into Loch Ness together, hand in hand, when our world did a complete 180. Did something change in this time? Has it changed Cal, too?

I shake off the doubts and start hammering away at the keyboard, spilling all my thoughts, fears, and questions into a document that probably won’t see the light of day.

But as words fill up the screen, it hits me. It’s not just about Cal acting differently; it’s also about me.

The woman who first set foot on Scottish soil isn’t the same one typing out her story now. I’ve changed drastically. I’ve tasted love, formed friendships, and been brave in ways I never thought possible.

But now, back in my own time, with my flight home looming like an executioner’s axe... I’m at a loss about what to do next. Is there a future for us? Or did we leave our shot at happiness back in 1645?

24 hours. That’s all the time I have left to figure it out.