“Wow!” She walked round him in a circle, goggling. “Roger, you are gorgeous!” She smiled, a trifle lopsided. “My mother always said men in kilts were irresistible. I guess she was right.”
He saw her swallow hard, and wanted to hug her for her bravery, but she had already turned away, gesturing toward the main food area.
“Are you hungry? I had a look while you were changing. We’ve got our choice between octopus-on-a-stick, Baja fish tacos, Polish dogs–”
He took her arm and pulled her round to face him.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry; I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d know it would be a shock.”
“It’s all right.” Her smile was better this time. “It’s — I’m glad you brought me.”
“Yeah. Really. It’s –” She waved helplessly at the tartan swirl of noise and color all around them. It’s so — Scottish.”
Diana Gabaldon, Drums of Autumn (Chapter 4 – A Blast from the Past)
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