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It was Outlander day. She felt it in her bones when she woke up that morning.
She leapt out of bed, showered at top speed, dressed, and grabbed a slice of toast as she headed out the door.
She walked quickly to the bus stop that would take her to the city centre.
She glimpsed the orange of the bus rounding the bend towards her. That was her cue to take her bus card out of her back right pocket where she always kept it.
She held it in her gloved hand and waited till the bus was opposite the physiotherapy centre then raised her left hand to signal the driver. The busâs indicator did not come on so she raised her hand again and gave a small wave. The bus was close enough now that she could see the driver looking at her.
She stepped back slightly as she always did. Perhaps it was the memory of her great-grandmotherâs early death, brought on by being struck in the head by a departing train. Or perhaps it was just her cautious nature.
The bus stopped and the doors opened slowly. She cast an eye over the front half of the busâs interior to see if anyone was alighting. Seeing no movement, she raised her foot and stepped into the bus.
âGood morning,â she said, glancing at the driver. He did not smile or return her greeting. She tagged on and walked smoothly and quickly down the aisle until she found an empty double seat.
The bus pulled away and began purring down the street. She went into a daydream. She thought of the enjoyable feeling she had experienced at the supermarket yesterday morning when an attractive man, about 30, had done a double take at her in the produce department. She had caught him looking at her in the bakery section later on.
Her mind came back to the present as the bus jerked to a stop. A couple of large, warmly-dressed women pushed down the aisle and tagged off at the front. The bus continued. She was nearly at her stop. She reached up and pushed the button. She moved slightly to make sure that her backpack was centred on her back; it was overly-heavy as usual.
The bus slowed and stopped. A couple of people from the back of the bus were approaching the rear door so she decided to leave by the front. She tagged off, turned slightly, and said thank you to the driver.
âHave a good day,â he said.
That was nice. The bus door closed and the bus moved away. She began striding down the footpath, heading for the pedestrian crossing. She crossed then walked through the deserted back streets to the library â her favourite place.
She returned the books and DVDs she had brought with her, then checked the holds section but found that none of her requested items had arrived. She went and browsed the DVD shelves but found nothing that interested her. She had been hoping that they would have the latest season of Outlander.
That show! The first season had made her so hot and bothered that sheâd started fancying half the single men at work, swearing to herself that she could see a Jamie-like nobility and erotic energy in them. Fortunately, once she finished watching Season One and a couple of weeks had passed, she had returned to her normal settings.
She approached the help desk. A friendly young man with an American accent greeted her: âHow can I help you today?â
âHello. I was wondering if you have Season Eight of Outlander or if you have any plans to start stocking it?â
âOutlander? Thatâs a good one. Let me have a look for you.â Quite a lot of key-tapping and scrolling happened while she waited, willing herself not to start blushing.
Eventually, the young man looked up and said, âIâm afraid we donât have it and I canât see any sign of it being on its way. Sorry about that.â
âNo problem,â she lied, âthanks anyway.â
What a shitter. She was itching to see how things would end. Yes, she could read the books, but she didnât have the patience to sit down and read much nowadays. She used to when she was a child but now if it wasnât onscreen, she usually wasnât interested.
She left the library and sat down on a bench which caught some of the wintry sunshine. She thought of getting out her phone and scrolling social media but decided not to. She looked around the shopping area and idly watched the few people who entered and left the various shops.
She sat there for twenty minutes, feeling quite peaceful. She wasnât sure how to spend the rest of her day off, now that she had no Outlander to hurry home with. She knew that Megan had Wednesdays off too, but she didnât want to bother her.
She wasnât quite sure where she stood with Megan. They had a lot of laughs at work, but Megan had never suggested meeting up outside of work hours.
She decided to walk back towards home and stop in at the art gallery on her way. It had been ages since she went in there, which was stupid as she loved art.
When she arrived and started wandering the galleries, she saw that there was a special exhibition of British art. She was particularly struck by the portrait of a tall, handsome British officer wearing a red coat. She was really quite mesmerised by him.
Approaching voices shook her out of her trance.
âYou have to see this one!â one voice said.
âOkay, okay. God, Charly, youâre so pushy,â replied another.
Two women in their mid 20s appeared.
âLook!â said the first one, pointing at the officer.
âYeah,â said the second, appreciatively, âI see what you mean.â
The first woman laughed. âI knew youâd like him when you saw him.â
The second woman moved on after a minute, but the first â Charly, wasnât it? â continued to stand in front of the painting and look up at the officerâs face.
âHeâs very impressive, isnât he?â
Charly looked round. âHe sure is. This is the third time Iâve been here to look at him. I guess that sounds a bit stalkerish.â She gave a self-deprecating laugh, but she didnât sound sorry.
âI donât blame you. He âŠâ was she going to go there? â⊠he looks like he belongs in Outlander.â Sheâd gone there.
Charlyâs face lit up and she looked her full in the face, âYes! Exactly! I love that show.â
âSo do I. In fact, I was just at the library asking if they have the latest season.â
âI guess they donât?â
âUnfortunately not, and they have no plans to get it in. I canât afford to stream it. Iâm on a super-tight budget right now.â
âI know the feeling. Actually â this might sound silly, but â I own Season Eight on DVD, if thatâs the season youâre after.â
âIt is. Itâs the only one I havenât seen.â
âYouâre welcome to borrow it. I guess you live around here. You can return it when youâre ready â any time in the next month really, although I will need it back then because Iâm bound to be dying for a rewatch.â She grinned.
âThat is so kind of you! Iâd love that.â
âOkay, how shall I get it to you? Do you want to come and pick it up this afternoon? If you give me your number, Iâll text you when I get home.â
âSure, that works for me. Itâs my day off and Iâm free all afternoon.â
They swapped numbers and said goodbye, smiling as they did so.
She was elated. How amazing was that? Seeing a gorgeous painting, meeting another Outlander fan, and getting a copy of Season Eight. Wow!
She was full of energy now. She decided to skip the rest of the gallery and head straight home. Sheâd have an early lunch and be ready to go as soon as Charly texted.
At first the show started out a bit slow for me during Season 1. But after finishing it the show is drawing me in more and more and every episode I finish I wonder whatâs going to happen next. I love the love story between Jamie and Claire. A tale of romance that you donât see or read about every day about a girl who falls into a different time period and finds love.
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âI miss him so much mama.â HernĂ- Christian bemoans. A hot day in June and they are celebrating fathers.
âAye, he would have loved this.â Marsali is heavy with her last child and slips into a seat on the porch.
âWe have grandsire.â Germain reminds him. His baby brother nods. He adores him but he isn't papa.
âDid I hear my name?â Jamie walks up, baby Davie cradled in his arms.Â
âOuĂ grandsire. We were talking about papa,â they all sigh at his memory, âand I reminded Henri-Christian that we have you.â
He ruffles his oldest grandsonâs hair. âAye and you always will.â
âJe adore you grandsire but.â He hands his youngest grandson to his daughter and kneels down at the ladâs level.Â
âAye. I cannot be your papa. We all miss him terribly.â Henri-Christian nods and leans against him, his tears wetting his shirt.
He is the Fraser of Fraser's Ridge but he is also a da, papa, daddy, and grandsire.
Ian has recently asked him to serve the later role for his children with his own da no longer being with them. He is happy and proud to do it.Â
âIt is alright to cry,â he looks to Germain who is struggling not too, âJesus wept, you ken. He was a full man, aye? He cried so we could.â
Germain lets out a gasping sob and Jamie draws him into his arms too.
Marsali tries to smile at him as tears drip down to her own face.Â
Roger looks across the table at his children. Jem talks with Germain and Ian's oldest. Mandy giggles with Joanie and FeleciĂĄ. Hunter and Davie lay together in a cradle. Germain and HernĂ- Christian are talking with Fanny.
âOn this day when we honor fathers, I want to thank my Uncle Jamie, my other da, for being the type of da I want to be to my own sons. That he has agreed to be a grandsire to my lads is an amazing gift.â Ian stands and raises his glass.Â
âIt is a privilege.â Jamie has a lump in his throat.
His most important role isn't being a Laird but being a father and grandsire. His blessings surround the table. Claire takes his hand and gives it a squeeze.
They all miss Fergus and always will but the table is full of blessings.
âWhere dâye think he is now?â Jenny said suddenly. âIan, I mean.â
He glanced at the house, then at the new grave waiting, but of course that wasnât Ian anymore. He was panicked for a moment, his earlier emptiness a moment, his earlier emptiness returningâbut then it came to him, and, without surprise, he knew what it was Ian had said to him.
âOn your right, man.â On his right. Guarding his weak side.