LIKE SALT AND WHISKY

A nostalgic second-chance queer MF romance

SUMMARY

When Miles, a queer man in his twenties, arrives in Edinburgh for his first holiday in years, the last thing he expects is to run into his long lost childhood friend Aileena. Ten years ago, he fled the UK to settle in France, running from his homophobic father and his family’s toxic wealth, cutting off all ties with his previous life in the process. Including Aileena.Hiding his wounds behind a layer of make-up and sass, Miles gets caught between the nostalgia of their teenage years and Aileena’s beauty, and falls in love with her all over again. Only this time, if he doesn’t want to break both their hearts, he might have to open up and show his true self. Easier said than done.

REPRESENTATION
& TROPES

  • Trans & bisexual FMC

  • Genderqueer MMC

  • Scottish FMC

  • Friends to lovers

  • Second chance romance

  • 90s romance

TRAILER

CONTENT WARNINGS

  • Homophobic slurs (not said to the character’s face, one or two occurrences)

  • Mentioned transphobia (off page/past references)

  • Mentions of gender dysphoria

  • Alcohol consumption

  • Drug use (off page/past references) and addiction

  • Attempted sexual assault (off page/past references)

  • Co-dependency

  • Emotional breakdown/flashbacks

  • Death of a parent

© Merlina Garance 2025, @merlinagaranceauthor

Chapter 1

July 1992Miles Milgrave cocked his head as his feet touched British ground for the first time in nearly ten years.
He’d expected… more. For it to burn, a fanfare, something to show his return was acknowledged. But it seemed the motherland hadn’t missed him that much.
He straightened his shoulder, and walked over to collect his luggage. This hadn’t been a mistake, right? Sitting in the travel agent’s office, he wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly ditched his plans for Greece or Italy, with a fancy for the Scottish Highlands out of the blue.
Luxury suitcase in hand, he hailed a taxi to head into town. He ignored the double take his driver did upon noticing that he was in fact, yes, driving a man dressed in a glorious fur coat, pearls around his neck, and wearing the most expensive eyeshadow available in France.
Miles had learnt not to care. He knew he was beautiful, and that most people, after the initial shock, were usually quite confused for a while, and probably went home after their day wondering about their sexuality quite a lot. He sometimes liked to believe he was put on this Earth to turn heads and shake people’s position on the Kinsey scale on a daily basis.
Working in fashion meant his looks got slightly less noticed on a daily basis. This was more the sort of welcome he’d hoped and anticipated. At least, someone had noticed him.
Miles tipped generously for the lack of homophobic comment, and stepped on the pavement of Edinburgh for the first time in his life.
He breathed in deep and exhaled a slightly disappointed sigh. It didn’t smell like anything new.
His hotel, a little splurge on a five stars for his first holiday in five years, had the decency to treat him like half-royalty - a distant cousin of some low-line duke, but better than nothing.
His heels clacked on the marble floors, and the lift mirror reflected a pretty picture of a twenty-three year old with more money than most, beautiful blue eyes and shapely brows, an upturned nose.
The room was perfectly nice and quiet. A far cry from his usual Paris lodgings where the windows opened on constant street noise, cigarette smoke and exhaust fumes, and the occasional visit from a flea-riddled pigeon.
He dropped his suitcase onto the bed and promptly showered to hop into a fresh outfit made of high-waisted, flowing black silk trousers, a floral blouse and flat shoes.
All right… Where to first?
A simple walk through the cobbled streets should do to start, Miles mused on his way down. After all, he had no times to beat, nobody to meet. He was free as a bird, so to speak.
A light wind welcomed him in the street, carrying with it, at last, the smells of summer as he remembered them. London wasn’t Edinburgh, and vice versa, but there was something about the smell of warm beer on a hot day that had to be a universal British experience.
The pubs! He hadn’t been in a proper one in fifteen years. Parisian bistros had perfectly overshadows them in Miles’ new life but for some obscure reason, he was taken by the sudden urge for a pint. Maybe he’d feel brave and order some haggis. Oh, his Parisian friends would never believe him. Eating in a pub by himself, like a widower! How scandalous.
The first one he came across didn’t appeal to him. The second one either. With each new one he found fault, too full, too loud, too exposed to sunlight or not enough. For his return to the world of stale-beered carpets and chips, Miles wanted everything to be perfect.
By the time his feet slowed, the sun had started setting. He faced wide windows hidden behind black wooden grilles, backed by heavy burgundy curtains. Something about it all shouted of fireplace and comfort. With a sense of coming home, Miles pushed open the door.
Nobody seemed to notice his arrival here either. Here, no over-eager waiter rushed to take his coat and guide him to a table. Miles figured most patrons assumed, as he walked by the fireplace - knew it - he was just an old English lady in for a Sherry, waiting for her lover.
Sconces doused the pub in yellow light, a gentle atmosphere surrounding the conversations shared at round tables. All of which were taken. Miles progressed slowly, turning this way and that to observe the heavy wooden beams, blackened by decades of fire smoke, the celtic rugby flags put up on the walls.
He paused, nearing a dark wooden bar. He’d forgotten how these things went. Was he supposed to sit and wait for someone to take his order, or wait like a potted plant by the bar in the hopes to catch a waitress’ attention?
He didn’t have to wonder much longer.
Behind the bar, a woman’s silhouette moved, arranging a set of clean pints on a tray.
Then, she turned to answer another patron with a grin, and time stopped around Miles.
He would have known that profile anywhere in the world.
How had the thought not crossed his mind?
He’d always known she was Scottish, but the last time they spoke, she still lived in that small village the name of which he’d never learnt to pronounce. Yet to him she’d always meant warm summers in the South of France, evenings spent by the bonfire, and a glorious teenage-hood, all thanks to her.
He thought he’d never see her again. And here she was.
He remembered finding her beautiful at fourteen. At twenty-three, she was fucking breathtaking.
Her hair bounced down in luscious, long, dark red locks she kept pushing out of her face with slender fingers. The tips of her fingers gleamed with mother-of-pearl varnish and Miles was brutally transported back to venings of doing each other’s makeup, Miles sneaking around to meet her in the dark of night when he really should have been asleep in the boys’ dorms.
Miles’ vision began to swim as he kept in taking her in. The discreet eyeliner enhancing her eyes, the cherry red lipstick making her lips pop like Miles’ never had – he was fine with that. He always knew to draw more attention to his eyes, and he had gotten really good at that, mostly thanks to her patient teachings.
He was still staring, arms leaden at his sides, when she moved and paused in front of him.
She froze, just like him.
A myriad emotions crossed her face, like they’d probably done on his a few minutes ago.
And of all possible reactions, Miles broke into a wide grin, barely holding back a laugh. He meant to stand on his barstool and shout his thanks to the world like a fool.
They reached for each other without thinking, until their hands were clasped together tightly over the bar, and they were leaning in, beaming at each other.
“Miles Milgrave,” were the first words out of her lips, and Miles revelled in her accent, a happy man again.
“Aileena, my darling.”
Long seconds went by, their eyes doing the only talking until she leant back, cocking her head.
“Whatever the fuck are you doing in Scotland?”
Miles laughed for real, this time.
“Oh, and I thought you were happy to see me.”
Aileena tutted. “I’m over the moon obviously but… I just… don’t know which questions to ask first. How are you here?” she carried on, her eyebrows twisting up and down.
Miles heard the unsaid words under those. Why now? I thought you’d forgotten about me. It’s been ten years.
He squeezed her hands a little tighter.
“It has to be fate,” he joked. “Or my feet simply know to lead me to the most beautiful woman in the world.”
She shook his head and her smile got coy in that way he knew meant she was faking politeness in the face of a compliment.
“Oh, you… I don’t need to tell you you’re the most beautiful man currently walking the ground of the British Isles, you. Where have you been all this time? I don’t know where to start…”
Miles pulled her closer, gently, and lowered his voice:
“How about you get me a pint and we’ll start from there?”

COVER ALT TEXT
Over a pink, watercolor like background which gets darker towards the bottom, is a gouache painting of a woman, in black and white. She had long, curly hair, and a white flower over her ear. She has her back to us and is looking to the left. Her eyes are half closed, looking down. She is wearing dark lipstick, a necklace, and a dress with thin black straps. Her Adam’s apple is slightly visible. On the right, in big white font, is written the title : LIKE SALT AND WHI SKY. In the top left corner is written in dark purple : A second chance queer romance by Merlina Garance