Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

G ive me strength.

Kirsty stomped down the steps towards the front of the stage, a grudging Connor in tow. This stupid town with its traditions. She could have been sitting in London Fields Park now with a nice, crisp Sauvignon. Instead, she was forced to waltz across the town square with this former teenage dirtbag and present enigma.

Had he seriously wanted to propose to her?

That’s insane. How dare he? And how dare he not tell me?

Stephen was right. They’d been way too young to even consider such a thing. Total nonsense.

And yet, a tiny voice inside her whispered, ‘ What if…? ’ Would she have stayed here if he’d asked her to be his wife? Would she have said no to London? Would they have travelled the world together like they’d planned to?

She turned to him. His face was lobster-red, eyes squinted. He was oozing hesitance and compunction. The stern drawl around his mouth, his tight jaw, all testified to extreme discomfort.

Yet he still stood there with her.

Ogilvy, mildly sour-faced, dabbed his brow with a hankie and made his next announcement. ‘Opening the dance floor for our grand finale – the winner of the pie contest. Kirsty Munro for the Seaview Café.’

That was the cue for ‘Ronny’s Rolling Jukebox’, the resident DJ. He pushed play and the opening notes of The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond filled the mild summer night’s air. The eight-minute version, of course.

Kirsty extended her hand to Connor. ‘Let’s get this over with. Just close your eyes and think of England.’

‘Is that a thing your fancy friends down south say? Because, I don’t know if you realise it, but you’re back in Scotland now.’

‘Aren’t you a brave lad considering the circumstances? Think of whatever you want. Just shut up and dance.’

His palm was rough against hers. Carefully, Connor placed his other hand on her waist, arm stiff. She caught a whiff of his aftershave and sweat, the woodsy scent transported her back to stolen moments. Her throat lurched with a dry swallow.

Not now, libido.

As they began to sway, albeit reluctantly, the heat of a hundred curious eyes bored into them from all sides. Their dance was a bit rigid at first, as if they were balancing eggs. Which, in a way, they were – emotional ones. She sensed Connor’s reluctance in the way he moved. His tension vibrated through his work-hewn fingertips, and she was too aware of the space he was so deliberately maintaining between them.

He cleared his throat. ‘Remember when I tried to teach you the “Gay Gordons” at the ceilidh in school and you nearly broke my toes?’

Despite herself, a smile played at the edges of Kirsty’s lips. ‘Aye, you’ve never been a great dancer, Bannerman. And your feet are enormous. Even Anna Pavlova would have tripped over them.’

‘Ditto,’ he said. ‘You always had troll feet.’

‘Compared with your hoofers, they’re dainty.’

His strained expression eased a little.

Had he seriously wanted to marry her, spend his life with her? Then why did he go snogging Rhona? Why did he humiliate and hurt her? Telling her she was a failure after… How different that night could have gone. Her life. Kirsty couldn’t get the thought out of her head, it was stuck there like a fat fly slamming against the windowpane again and again.

Maybe she got it wrong?

Not impossible. But highly unlikely.

As they moved, the wariness gradually dissipated. So did the carefully calibrated distance between them. As if their bodies were getting used to one another again. She felt each subtle shift in his posture. His shoulders dropped inch by inch.

Kirsty decided to take the high road and ask him straight on. ‘Why did you want to propose to me – and why didn’t you?’

The scarlet on his cheeks turned into an agonised white. He pressed his lips together, the grip on her waist tightening.

‘Talk, Bannerman. Nobody can hear you. And keep on moving. That’s right, nice and smooth.’

He took a deep breath. ‘I wanted to marry you because I loved you.’

‘We were only eighteen, Connor. Bit more than bairns.’

‘Possibly. But I knew.’

‘Knew what?’

‘That you were my girl.’ The look in his eyes was unrelenting. It burned into her with a fierceness that gave her a rush of heat and chills. She couldn’t hold his gaze, she had to lower her head. ‘We knew nothing, Connor. You don’t meet your soulmate when you’re a teenager.’

He softly pulled her closer, no more than an inch. ‘But what if you do?’

Kirsty had barely noticed how other dancers had joined them.

‘Freckles…I…’ He was struggling for words and it touched something in that dark, dead corner of her soul that didn’t want to be touched. Ever again. A feral, terrified clump of hurt began to twitch.

‘I thought we had a plan. Our plan. We wanted to see the world. Just us.’ His voice was strangled. ‘I wouldn’t have married you until later. But I wanted to promise my life to you.’

Since this moment, she hadn’t even considered his pain. She’d assumed that he’d simply…not loved her enough, not cared enough, and simply moved on with the next best girl.

The rapid rate of his breathing told her otherwise.

‘It was always the two of us,’ he continued. ‘But then…you made plans without me. Didn’t even talk to me. As if I didn’t count at all. Dammit, Kirsty. I didn’t even know that you’d thought about going to London! How could you not tell me?’ A hint of anger flitted over his face. ‘And long-distance wouldn’t have worked. I knew you’d meet more interesting guys in London. You’d have forgotten all about me in a week. And I couldn’t see myself in England. So no, after that I wasn’t in the mood to go down on one knee and make an idiot of myself.’

Kirsty’s heart seized at his confession. This wasn’t a simple black-and-white thing anymore. Probably never had been. Now she began to wonder who’d broken whose heart. She was a stag caught in the headlights. The tempo of the music had quickened, but their dance remained slow.

And no, she hadn’t forgotten him. Not for a minute. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered.

‘That’s a first.’

‘I…I thought you didn’t love me enough to even try making it work. That you couldn’t be bothered. And what you said to me… You didn’t support my dreams, you ridiculed them.’ The feral thing in her soul scratched and howled. ‘You knew how strained the relationship with my parents was. That they didn’t accept me for who I was and what I wanted.’ Her cheeks burned with a rush of blood as her words spilled out. ‘You, Connor, were the only person in the world I was truly vulnerable with. I opened up to you. I trusted you. And you took that trust and shredded it. You called me a delusional loser, if I remember it right. You said everything my parents said to me. Almost word for word.’ She closed her eyes against the sting of old wounds reopening.

‘I know, Freckles. I know. And I’m sorry. I lashed out because I felt betrayed. That was wrong. Weak.’

‘You bet it was, arsehole. But…I probably should have talked to you before making plans, instead of forging ahead on my own.’

‘Aye, you should have.’

‘We were both daft.’ Kirsty took a deep breath as she gazed up at Connor, the night air warm against her skin. The lights playing over his handsome face illuminated the regret and sorrow in his eyes.

‘But what about Rhona?’ she asked.

He blinked. ‘What about her? What does she have to do with anything?’

‘You wasted no time is all I’m saying.’

‘What the fuck are you on about?’

‘You and Rhona, making out on the memorial steps. What else would I be on about?’

‘Wait. What… You think we… No. God, Kirsty. Fuck no. She comforted me. Nothing happened.’

‘You think I’m stupid? It looked like you—’

‘No, I don’t think you’re stupid. Just hot-headed and quick to jump to conclusions. I don’t know what you saw. But as I said, she comforted me. I was pished, desperate to numb the pain. A sobbing, blubbering mess, Kirsty. While everyone was belting out Auld Lang Syne , all I wanted was for the hurt to end. Rhona took pity, gave me a long hug, and told me about her Stephen-drama. Can’t remember the details. We held each other in a moment of heartbreak.’

‘Steve-O?’ she asked sheepishly.

‘Aye, Steve-O.’

‘Right. Now I kind of remember her being into him. So you didn’t…’

‘Nope.’ He rolled his lips to contain a smile. ‘But you thinking it explains the cupcake.’

Heat travelled in a slow wave up her neck. She began to see this Hogmanay night not through her teenage-eyes, but from the view of a grown woman. And from the present, the illusory giant of betrayal looked a hell of a lot smaller.

His hand rested a fraction too low on her back, hot and heavy, searing into her skin. She felt almost dizzy with the intimacy that had crept up on them, like a static buzz before a thunderclap. But the sturdy breadth of Connor’s shoulders beneath her fingertips steadied her.

One more question to ask.

‘Did you write the note?’

‘What note, Freckles?’ He leaned in so close that his breath tickled her ear.

‘In the café. On the wall of regrets. It looked like your handwriting and said, “My biggest regret is that I let her go”. Was that you?’

‘And what if it was?’ He burred against her cheek. ‘Would you like that?’

Kirsty’s heart hiccupped as his breath licked over her skin. Her mouth went dry, and she leaned into his touch, resting her head against the nape of his neck. Despite everything that had happened, there was a pull between them she was frankly tired of ignoring.

They’d long since grown up. She was a different woman, he was a different man. A sweet, strong, sexy man. This wasn’t about their past anymore. No, this was new. Brand new and terrifying.