Chapter 156: The Scotland Dilemma

Chapter 156: The Scotland Dilemma

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped into the familiar hallway of my apartment building on complete autopilot. My feet somehow managed to carry me to my front door despite the fact that my brain had long since abandoned all practical responsibilities in favor of conducting what could only be described as an international diplomatic crisis. I unlocked the door, stepped inside, kicked off my shoes with considerably less enthusiasm than usual, and dropped my tote bag onto the sofa. The apartment greeted me with comforting silence. Normally, I appreciated silence. Today, it felt suspiciously judgmental. I stared at the tote bag for several long seconds before remembering what was inside it. Scotland. Or rather, the itinerary Grayson had given me. My gaze lingered on the bag as though it contained a ticking time bomb instead of several neatly printed sheets of paper. "Right," I muttered to myself, loosening my ponytail. "Let's think about this like mature adults." I paused. "...Unfortunately, I'm the only adult currently available." With a dramatic sigh, I walked into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter. "Pros and cons," I announced aloud. "People make lists when facing difficult decisions." I nodded once. "Lists are sensible." Another pause. "...I have never successfully made a sensible list in my entire life, but optimism is important."
I carried the glass into the living room, settled onto the sofa, and reached into my tote bag for the Scotland itinerary. The glossy paper somehow made everything feel alarmingly official. Edinburgh. Glasgow. Reader events. Book signings. Just reading the city names made something flutter inside my chest. Scotland. I'd never even left the country before. In fact, I'd barely left New York except for the occasional publishing conference that inevitably took place in a hotel ballroom filled with people passionately debating paper quality. Scotland, on the other hand... Scotland sounded magical. Castles. Ancient streets. Cozy bookshops tucked into centuries-old buildings. Rolling green hills that looked like they'd escaped from a fantasy novel. Rain-soaked cobblestone streets. Historic libraries. The kind of cafés where people spent entire afternoons reading beside old windows while drinking tea from delicate porcelain cups. My imagination immediately betrayed me by producing an impossibly picturesque montage worthy of an expensive travel documentary. I groaned. "Stop romanticizing countries you've never visited," I scolded myself. "...Although, admittedly, Scotland is making a compelling argument."
I grabbed the nearest notebook from the coffee table, uncapped a pen, and drew a line directly down the center of the page. On the left side, I carefully wrote PROS. On the right, CONS. I examined my masterpiece with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had finally become a responsible member of society. "Excellent," I whispered. "Organization." I tapped the pen thoughtfully against my chin before writing my first point beneath PROS. I've never been abroad. That seemed like an excellent start. Underneath it, I added Scotland looks incredible. Then Free opportunity to travel. Followed immediately by Bookshops. I stared at the word for a moment before nodding decisively. "Bookshops deserve their own category." Next came Castles. Obviously. Then Historic libraries. Another excellent point. I continued writing with increasing enthusiasm until the list began looking surprisingly convincing. My smile slowly grew. "...Well," I admitted quietly, "the pros are doing remarkably well."
Then I looked at the CONS column. My smile disappeared. "...Oh." I wrote the first one. I can't just disappear to another country without telling anyone. Fair. Very fair. Underneath it I added, What am I supposed to tell everyone at work? Then another thought struck me. "...Wait." My pen froze above the paper. "...Elliot." I slowly lowered the notebook onto my lap. The room suddenly felt colder. Elliot. My wonderfully dramatic, catastrophically protective coworker whose life's mission had apparently become preventing me from making questionable decisions involving Grayson Hale. My eyes drifted toward the ceiling as I mentally replayed every warning he'd given me over the past few months. Stay away from Grayson. Don't get emotionally attached. This is exactly how romantic disasters begin. At the time, I'd rolled my eyes. Now... now Grayson had invited me to Scotland.
I buried my face in one of the sofa cushions with a muffled groan. "I can't tell Elliot." The cushion offered no helpful suggestions. I lifted my head again. "Absolutely not." I could already imagine the conversation with horrifying clarity. 'Hey, Elliot. Funny story. Remember when you specifically warned me not to get involved with Grayson? Well... about that. I'm accompanying him to Scotland for a week.' Silence. Then Elliot would blink exactly once before calmly confiscating my passport for "public safety reasons." If that failed, he'd undoubtedly recruit Ruby. Between the two of them, I'd probably wake up tied to a dining chair while they presented a ninety-seven-slide presentation titled Reasons Liela Should Not Cross an Ocean With A Bestselling Author. Elliot would somehow acquire a laser pointer. Ruby would bring snacks because she believed interventions should remain properly catered. By slide thirty-four, Elliot would be quoting every romantic comedy ever made as evidence that I was making "the opening mistake." By slide sixty-two, he'd have drawn a flowchart connecting Grayson, Scotland, emotional vulnerability, and inevitable heartbreak. Honestly... it would probably be color-coded.
I sighed dramatically and flopped backward across the sofa, the notebook landing on my stomach with all the grace of a defeated soldier. "...Maybe I could simply not mention it." My eyes widened. "No." That idea lasted approximately three seconds before collapsing under the crushing weight of reality. Elliot wasn't merely observant. Elliot possessed investigative abilities that bordered on supernatural. If I vanished for several days, he'd notice before I'd even reached airport security. If my phone happened to connect to an international network, he'd probably receive some sort of cosmic notification. If I posted absolutely nothing, he'd assume I'd been kidnapped. If I posted photographs of Edinburgh Castle... he'd book the next available flight purely to lecture me in person. I stared blankly at the ceiling. "...He would actually do that." A pause. "...Assuming Ruby didn't beat him to it."
Another thought occurred to me, quieter this time. It wasn't really Elliot I was afraid of. Not entirely. He'd complain. He'd dramatize the situation beyond all reasonable proportion. He might even threaten to report me to an imaginary Department of Poor Romantic Decisions. But beneath all the theatrical speeches and exaggerated warnings... Elliot genuinely cared about me. He worried because he didn't want to see me hurt. That was the problem. If I told him, he'd immediately assume I was walking straight into disaster. If I didn't tell him, I'd feel guilty. I rubbed my temples with a tired sigh. "Wonderful," I murmured. "I've reached the stage where every available option makes me feel like a terrible person." I glanced back down at the notebook. The CONS column had suddenly become much longer than the PROS, and yet somehow... the invitation still lingered stubbornly in the back of my mind. Scotland hadn't stopped sounding wonderful. If anything, the more I tried to dismiss it, the more curious I became.

I sat there for another several minutes, staring at the notebook balanced on my lap as though the empty space beneath the CONS column might suddenly produce a miraculous solution if I looked at it hard enough. It didn't. The notebook remained disappointingly silent. My apartment remained disappointingly silent. Even my conscience, which normally enjoyed providing highly unhelpful commentary, seemed to have wandered off for a coffee break. I let out a long sigh and flopped sideways across the sofa until my face disappeared into one of the cushions. "Clearly," I mumbled into the fabric, "I am no longer qualified to make my own decisions." The cushion offered no objections. "I need help." I lifted my head slowly. "...Actual help. Not the kind where Elliot stages an emotional intervention or confiscates my passport for my own protection." I frowned thoughtfully. "Preferably someone who has spent decades surviving life and somehow still enjoys giving me advice." My eyes slowly widened as a single name floated into my mind. "...Oh."
I sat upright so quickly that the notebook slid onto the floor with a loud thud. "Of course." Why hadn't I thought of her sooner? There was exactly one person who would listen to every ridiculous thought racing through my head without interrupting me halfway through to tell me I was making the biggest mistake of my life. Aunt Helena. If anyone possessed enough wisdom to untangle the hopeless knot currently occupying my brain, it was her. Granted... she also possessed an alarming tendency to encourage romance at every available opportunity, but she balanced it with enough common sense that I actually trusted her judgment. She'd tell me if I was being foolish. She'd also tell me if I was letting fear make my decisions. Most importantly, she wasn't personally involved in the ongoing Operation: Keep Liela Away From Grayson Hale that Elliot seemed determined to lead. I reached for my phone on the coffee table, already feeling the tiniest bit lighter. "Aunt Helena," I murmured with a relieved smile. "You'll know what to do."
I unlocked my phone but hesitated before opening her contact. A tiny voice inside my head immediately interrupted. You do realize the moment she hears the words 'Grayson' and 'Scotland' in the same sentence, she's going to become unbearably excited. I grimaced. "...Right." That was... a slight complication. Aunt Helena had the romantic instincts of someone who genuinely believed fate spent its weekends arranging meet-cutes. If I told her that Grayson Hale had invited me to Scotland, there was an extremely high probability she'd gasp dramatically, declare it "a sign from the universe," and begin mentally planning our wedding before I even reached the part where I'd said I hadn't agreed to anything. I rubbed my forehead with a weary sigh. "Please," I muttered toward the ceiling, "just this once... don't immediately start choosing flower arrangements." Then I paused. "...Although knowing Aunt Helena, she's probably already picked the flowers for a wedding that doesn't even exist."
Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the screen again and rested my thumb over Aunt Helena's contact. "Okay," I whispered to myself. "No panicking. No exaggerated storytelling. Just explain the situation like a normal, emotionally stable adult." I stared at the phone for another few seconds before laughing softly. "...Who am I kidding? She's known me since I was a child. She'll know I'm panicking the moment I say hello." Despite that realization, I found myself smiling. Somehow, the decision didn't feel quite so overwhelming anymore. If I was going to ask anyone for advice about something this important, it should be the woman who had spent years reminding me that some of life's biggest opportunities arrived when we least expected them. My thumb hovered over the call button for one final heartbeat before I nodded to myself. "All right," I said quietly. "Time to recruit reinforcements." Then I pressed Call and lifted the phone to my ear, silently hoping Aunt Helena would answer before I had the chance to lose my courage.


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