My Very Best Friend Read Online Free PDF

creeping up on me.”
    “Creeping up on you? In my truck?” He chuckled, stepping closer and closer until we were only three feet apart.
    “Yes. You used to do that with Bridget and me. We would be walking or talking, and all of a sudden, like some monster from the loch, you’d spring. You and Pherson.”
    “I’ll blame Pherson.”
    “He’s not with you today, so I suppose you can’t.” Pherson Hameldon had been Toran’s best friend since we were very young children. Pherson had been in the military for ten years, now he works for an oil company, according to Bridget. He’s out on a rig in the ocean for weeks, or months, at a time. He returns home for weeks, then he’s back out. He dives to the depths of the ocean, fixes the pipes in a specialized dive suit, and up he comes. Incredibly dangerous work. “He would spring with you if he were here. You were both talented in your springing.”
    Springing? What was that? I didn’t know why I was being grumpy. Probably because Toran was utterly handsome and I am now a recluse and study obscure science facts with a multitude of cats. I didn’t know what to do or say.
    “We worked hard on our springing. We wanted to be the best,” Toran said, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Twenty years apart it’s been. A long time.”
    “Yes.” He was standing so close.
    “They’ve been good to you.”
    “Who has?” I could hardly think.
    “The years. You are lovely.”
    “You are lovely, too. Delicious.” I coughed. “I mean, you look cooked. No.” I coughed again. “You look healthy. Good.”
    “Thank you.”
    We stood staring at each other. He towered over me. Next to Bridget, he’d been my best friend. He’d been my first kiss, my first love at fifteen. We used to talk about science and farming, and we’d play chess together. My eyes teared up.
    “You have the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen Charlotte. I have thought, over the years, that I remembered your eyes being brighter than they truly were, but I was right. Give me a hug, Charlotte Mackintosh. Can’t believe it’s you and I’m glad you’re here. Back in Scotland.”
    He was glad.
    Glad I was here.
    This time my vision blurred, but that was because of emotion.
    “I’m glad, too.” My voice cracked on the words as I was engulfed in his arms, his chest warm.
    “I like your American accent, Char, and your hair has gotten long. How was your trip?”
    I hardly heard what he said because I was, mortifyingly, breathless.
    Toran’s cheekbones were high, slashes on either side of his face. He still had a slight scar near his left temple from me. I had tackled him when I was ten when we were playing hide-and-seek and he’d hit a log. I had cried and cried when I saw the blood and he had comforted me.
    “Char?”
    And that mouth! Full lips still, white strong teeth. Last time I’d kissed him I was crying, our tears running into our kiss.
    “You okay, luv?”
    “What?” My arms were still around his shoulders. He was a devilishly desirable Scotsman.
    “Are you all right?”
    “Yes, yes. Fine.” I pulled myself away, cleared my throat. I automatically gripped the top button on my blouse. Luckily, still fastened! “I became inebriated on the plane and I haven’t slept in about two days so I’m not myself yet.” Argh. Why did I say that? He would think I was a drunk.
    “Jet lagged. Do you usually get drunk when you fly?”
    “I rarely fly, because I know any plane that I’m on will crash. When I do, yes, I drink for sound medicinal reasons.”
    “Sound medicinal reasons?”
    I squirmed. “Yes. When I fly my heart pounds erratically and I endure systemic anxiety and panic, which puts a strain on the health of my cardiovascular system.”
    “You do drink only Scottish Scotch, right?”
    “I’m afraid I can’t claim that. I drink from the tiny travel-sized bottles. It would be inappropriate, though tempting, to bring a full liter on board.”
    “Ah, that’s a crime. Never drink