22
A red Sunday. 30 January 1972.
As the cold trudged on through January—by the third week, snow blocked roads in Scotland, leaving the south shivering in its wake—Emilee agreed to visit with Connor at his apartment, but only for tea. There would be no studying or undoing of buttons.
Connor, grateful for the small victory, was the perfect gentleman and host. He even apologized for requesting her to remove her footwear, although now it made sense with all the slush and snow on the ground. Once inside the car, he offered her a small throw to cover her legs, which did not go unnoticed. She rewarded him with a glowing smile.
She felt the heat the moment she stepped through the front door. In her excitement to escape the cold, it became a brief struggle to free herself from her boots. She g
