June 24th, 1970

    It was just past eight in the morning when a phone call roused us from sleep. Cameron rolled over until he was half on top of me.
    “Don’t pick up,” he mumbled.
    “Why, is it your mistress?” I joked.
    A muffled laugh came from him and he smiled. “Who needs a mistress when they’ve got you in their bed?”
    “That’s a good point,” I admitted with a laugh.
    The phone stopped ringing, only to start again thirty seconds later. Whoever it was seemed to be adamant, so Cameron begrudgingly got up from the bed and went into the hallway, picking up the handset as it rang again.
    I could just barely hear what he was saying, but not clearly enough to make sense of it. When he returned to the room, he told me who had called.
    “That was Geoff, saying we have a band meeting tomorrow afternoon.”
    “Do you have those often?”
    “Not quite. Something must be amiss but he’s not saying.”
    I beckoned him back to the bed and cuddled into him.
    “Cameron?” I asked, making sure I had his attention.
    “Hmm?”
    “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
    “Is it what I think it is?” he asked. We’d done a lot of talking since I came back to Scotland, but one topic had only been briefly mentioned.
    “Probably,” I answered. “Tell me more about the woman I saw. In Garlogie.”
    “What do you want to know?” His voice was soft and understanding as he rubbed my back soothingly.
    “Everything."
    Cameron nodded and after a moment began to speak. "I was about sixteen when I had my first encounter with what you saw." He frowned a little as he elaborated. "I call her Celeste, because there was no other way for me to understand what she was, other than being celestial."
    I stayed quiet but listened intently.
    "I kept seeing her, in the corner of my eye, and sometimes in the middle of my vision clear as day. There was something soothing about her presence," Cameron admitted. "I started to see her in my dreams, as well, and after a few years it became commonplace for me to have scattered conversations with her. The first time I saw my father in a dream," he continued, "he was with her..."
    He trailed off and didn't speak for a minute, so I decided to ask a question.
    "When did you first dream of me?"
    Cameron smiled. "That I remember. It was between Christmas and New Year's, two years ago. We were up in a coastal village in the north to play a show. I vividly dreamt that entire night; and at one point I was in a crowded room and I caught sight of you. You glowed like a lamp and it was as if everyone else faded from view."
    I smiled as he looked at me, a wide grin on his own face. "That's what you looked like at the airport, to me," I told him lovingly.
    His grin widened and he gripped my hand tightly before continuing. "I had a few more dreams with you in them, and I knew you would be a part of my life eventually, though I didn’t know how. I'm glad it came sooner rather than later. You were mostly silent in my dreams, but when you did speak I couldn't understand you. Just words here and there."
    "That's special," I noted.
    "As you are to me," Cameron answered. “Now, when I dream of you... you’re in my arms.”
    I leaned over to kiss him and he held me tight until I pulled away. “You know, you’re quite a romantic,” I teased.
    “I wasn’t always,” he confessed. “You bring it out of me.”
    “There’s something else I have for you,” I told him after a moment. I stood up and went to my purse once again. I had seen it last night when I had taken the picture of my painting out, but I’d decided to wait to give it to him. Now seemed like the right time— even though there was more to discuss about premonitions and dreams, I was certain in my feelings for him.
    “It’s something that’s belonged to me, for a very long time,” I said as I approached the bed, a small box in hand. “I want you to have it.”
    He lifted the lid and smiled when he saw the content of the box. “Are you proposing to me?” he asked cheekily. “I thought that was my job.” Cameron lifted the silver ring out of the box and held it between his fingers.
    I chuckled and sat down beside him. “In a way, I suppose. A symbol of my love for you.”
    Cameron put the box down and looked at the ring closely; the small gem was barely noticeable but the engraving was clear. “There’s writing on it,” he noted.
    “My birth date. It was made for me when I was born,” I explained. “You don’t have to wear it or anything… I just want you to have it.”
    “I will wear it, and with pride,” Cameron said ardently as he slipped it onto his little finger. “It fits perfectly.”