Alpha Charming | Rheon

ONE

"Miss Ashlyn Grace?"

A man in his early fifties approached me, wearing a pair of faded jeans, a checkered shirt, and a leather jacket to complete the outfit. His salt and pepper hair stood in all directions as if he had just woken up, but his blue eyes were smiling warmly.

"Yes, that's me," I responded quickly, fidgeting with my coat, and keeping a death grip on my suitcases. Not only do I despise wearing so many layers, but I also feel my throat tickle with a dry cough since the moment I got off the plane.

"Ah, good!" He grinned, his Scottish accent sounding foreign yet pleasant to the ear, "I'm 'ere to take ya to the weddin'."

Without warning, he grabbed my suitcases and wheeled them down the sidewalk towards a sleek black limousine parked across the street. With a humorous bow, he opened the door to the snazzy vehicle for me to get into. I blinked, wondering if my eyes were betraying me or if this man maybe got his cars mixed up.

My mother always warned me never to talk to strangers or get into strange cars - that's how they catch you and sell your body parts to witch doctors who use it to perform their weird hoodoo-voodoo rituals.

"Well, what are ya waitin' for?" the man's voice interrupted my thoughts, "Nothin' to be afraid of, lass, it's only leather seats and fizzy juice in there."

"I was..." my eyes shifted from the limo to him, taking in his casual attire again, "You just don't look like the limousine-type of driver to me."

"Don't let the hair fool ya," he waved it off, "Now get in. We've only got an hour to get ya there."

That was the end of it.

I made myself comfortable on the leather seats, relieved to be out of the cold and rain while the man loaded my cases in the trunk. After slipping behind the wheel, he turned in his seat to grab a glass to pour me a drink of champagne, muttering how they'll have his balls if they found out he didn't follow through with the instructions.

"I didn't catch your name," I attempted conversation as he reached over me to place the glass in the cupholder.

"Craig," he replied straightforwardly and waved his finger at the glass, "Now don't get too blootered b'fore the weddin' now, hear? I have a reputation to upkeep."

I couldn't help but grin. If he was a kidnapper, at least he had a sense of humor. He started the limo with a lighthearted chuckle and cruised through the parking spaces, leaving the airport at our backs.

As we drove through the breathtaking city of Glasgow, I checked my phone for any messages. There were two from my mother, one from Gran, one from the studio owner - no doubt to remind me to pay the rent - and none from Matt. I checked Mom's first.

'Hi, honey? How was your flight?'

In the second one, she asked me about the weather.

I quickly typed a reply, 'Flight was long and stuffy, I hate small spaces. Weather is just like Aunt Izzy said, piss cold and wet.'

She sent me a laughing emoji and I could already imagine her cackling at my message. The two of us had a strange sense of humor.

I hesitated whether I should ask her about Dad. The last conversation we had ended in an argument. That was yesterday, a few hours before I boarded my flight. He just couldn't accept that photography was the only thing I wanted to do with my life. For him, it was a means to an end with smartphone technology improving. And just like any other argument we had regarding my future, he compared me to my older sister.

"Just look at Madison; she only has one year to go before getting her degree. That's what I call 'having a plan'. You can't take pictures for a living, Ashlyn, you have to start putting down the lenses and see reality for what it is."