Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

T he damp grass squelched beneath Connor’s boots as they headed towards the rugby field, the air heavy with the scent of wet earth. No surprise, summer on the Scottish coast was a fickle thing. The rugby posts, guardians of the pitch that had seen its fair share of blood and sweat, stood against a sweep of tall, green trees.

Kirsty walked beside him, and everything was right. The sight of her in his pilot jacket? Too damn cute. Connor felt a contentment he hadn’t known in ages, if ever. It wasn’t just about the physical closeness; it was these simple moments – the girl wearing the jacket –that made him feel like he belonged. Somehow, somewhere. The doubts that usually clouded his mind were silent. At least for now.

The past few days with her in his bed and by his side, he’d pinched himself several times. Could this be real?

As they approached the crowd, the weight of curious gazes settled upon them. Whispers rustled through the onlookers, barely audible over the wind. He squared his shoulders, bracing himself for the inevitable judgement that always followed him in Cairnhaven.

‘Coach Connor!’ A squeaky voice punctured the murmurs. A boy in a rugby kit barrelled towards them, his face split in a gap-toothed grin. ‘You made it!’

Connor smiled as he ruffled the lad’s hair. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Hamish.’

The boy’s eyes widened as he noticed Kirsty. ‘Is this your girlfriend?’

Heat rushed up Connor’s neck as he glanced at her. She bit her lip to suppress a giggle.

‘This is Kirsty. She’s…’ He hesitated. Were they together? Dating? Shagging for a bit? Old friends with new benefits?

She saved him from his mental fumbling. ‘I’m a good friend of Coach Connor’s, and I’m excited to watch you play today.’

‘Cool.’ The boy beamed before scampering off to join his teammates.

Connor caught sight of a group of parents bunched together, gazes fixed on him and Kirsty. Their expressions ranged from curious to cold. A figure approached them, and he recognised Dean Quinn. His father had been one of the long-time employees at the Bannerman Bakery. Connor steeled himself, knowing all too well the bitterness that lingered in some corners of the community.

Dean stopped a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets. ‘Playing the big shot with the bairns, are we? Don’t you have better places to be? Like the bottom of the deep, deep sea?’

Connor fought to keep his face neutral, even as the old guilt thrashed inside him. ‘No, Dean. Look, I’m sorry—’

‘Save it, Bannerman.’

It was Kirsty who wouldn’t let it slide. She put on a menacing smile. ‘Hi. I’m the winner of Cairnhaven’s steak pie contest. And you are…?’

‘The son of an unemployed father who can’t find another job cause he’s too old. Thirty years he worked for the Bannermans. Thirty bloody years! I don’t know why you keep showing your face here. Can’t take a hint?’ The disdain in his voice was palpable.

Connor knew there was nothing he or Kirsty or anyone could ever say or do that would change this opinion.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ Kirsty said casually. ‘And so sorry about your da. Truly. But that kind of explains your face. So bitter.’ She tilted her head, all charged charm. ‘Could you please do me a wee favour?’

Dean had a question mark written all over his expression. Then she leaned forward. ‘If you insist on being a mean prick – would you kindly fuck the fuck off?’

Anger slashed across Dean’s features. ‘Aren’t you the Munro’s brat?’

‘The very same. So kindly also stay the fuck away from the café. At least until you come back to your senses. Bye now!’

Connor swallowed a laugh as she snapped around, dragging him with her. They were a team, she still had his back. Like the day she’d defended him from Jamie Emslie.

Today might have been dreich, with leaden clouds rolling across the sky. But he had sunshine inside. Because of her.

He pulled her close, hands settling on her waist. He leaned down and captured her lips in a small kiss. ‘I have to go. Enjoy the tiny-people riot, Freckles,’ he murmured against her mouth before reluctantly pulling away.

There was a sparkle in her eyes. ‘Go get ’em, tiger.’

How could she make him feel like a giant with only a few words?

He watched as she made her way towards the spectators. Kirsty Munro. The girl who had shattered his heart, now the woman who was piecing it back together. And he kept staring at her like an idiot. His grin broadened as he saw how she tried to conceal her cowboy walk. Each sway of her heart-shaped ass in those jeans reminding him of how she’d pushed back against him last night, sweaty and…

Damn. He forcefully redirected his attention back to the field.

This is a family-friendly community event, for Christ’s sake!

But fuck, sex with her was good. So incredibly good. Better than anything. Made him feel whole and free.

It would be hard to go back to the rig. This was new, usually he didn’t care much. But the thought of not having her hot little oven of a body snuggled up against him at night pushed all air out of his chest.

Connor shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Then he turned, striding towards the makeshift coaching bench, where Head Coach Morton was already seated.

‘Bannerman!’ Morton greeted him with a robust clap on the arm. ‘Glad you could make it.’

A group of eight-year-olds in matching rugby kits swarmed around him. ‘Coach Connor! Are you here for good luck?’ one boy asked, bouncing on his toes.

‘Always!’ The tension in his shoulders eased as he knelt to their level. ‘Let’s focus on the game, aye? You ready?’

A chorus of cheers erupted from the young players.

As Connor took his seat beside Morton, he glanced over at the side-lines. Kirsty stood out among the small crowd behind the white rails, chatting with people. A prick of unease slithered through his belly.

The whispers and sideways glances from earlier clung to his thoughts, a reminder of the trust he had lost here because of Alistair’s ruthless, short-sighted decision with the bakery closure. That small, insidious voice began to whisper in the back of his mind, feeding the doubts that had taken root.

Because honestly – she couldn’t be after something serious.

What could she possibly see in him? A washed-up accountant-turned-rigger with a tarnished past and a future as uncertain as the Scottish weather. The town outcast. She was a bright light, destined for greater things than this place could offer. She always had been. Even as a girl it had been clear as day. And he was…what? A bit of rough to scratch an itch before she moved back to her London life?

He had told her he’d been loving her since school. Had just slipped out. Seemed to be a habit around her. But she’d ignored it.

Why?

Connor tried to focus on the field. But his mind kept drifting back to her.

Then she gave him a small wave, her smile bright enough to chase away the chill and the clouds. And she wore sunglasses in this weather like she didn’t care. This astonishing girl could set the world on fire with a wink.

No, he wasn’t in a position to make any claims or complaints. He’d just have to enjoy whatever time he had with her before he had to go out to the rig again. Less than a week. He would make it count. They’d figure out the rest later. Maybe…

The whistle blew, signalling the start of the match.

But for Connor’s heart in this second half with Kirsty, it was already game over.

Kirsty settled into a spot on the side-lines, Connor’s jacket wrapped around her, the warmth of his kiss still on her lips. She tugged the collar up around her ears, relishing the way the worn leather embraced her with his scent. Did she look like a bit of a dick, wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day? Beyond a shadow of a doubt. But she’d run out of fucks to give. Besides, the Ray-Bans helped hide the dark circles beneath her eyes. A consequence of much sex, little sleep.

Her body still hummed. It was a surprise she could stand upright. Connor might have had little experience. But oh boy, that man was a natural if ever there was one. They’d made out a gazillion times as teenagers. But they’d only slept together on Christmas Eve. How his body reacted to hers now and vice versa, that completely blew their past out of the water.

If she’d known what a ferocious, unbridled, worshipping event Connor Bannerman was, she would…

Well, what?

Not have left? Or have returned earlier?

Kirsty pushed the nagging thoughts aside. She was here now, so was he, and they’d make the most of their time together. Before she would go back to London and Connor to nowhere in the sea.

Two days ago, she’d told Charlotte that she needed one more week to sort things with her parents. Her boss’s reaction had been less than empathetic. Kirsty couldn’t run away from her job forever.

Heaviness settled deep inside her.

But as she watched him on the field, encouraging the wee ones with that signature frown, her heart doubled in size. Beneath that stoic exterior beat the heart of a man who cared deeply. The way he crouched down to console a crying kid, his large hand gently patting the boy’s back…it was enough to make her ovaries do a wee jig.

Good grief. First the hormones, then my vag, now them, too. A Connorspiracy.

‘If it isn’t Kirsty Munro.’ The voice, dripping with false interest, made her skin crawl.

She turned to find Maisie MacPhee standing behind her – her former school nemesis. The one who’d stolen her poem in their first week, trying to read it aloud to tyrannise her. The poem Connor had taken away to save her.

The dunderheid-density at this game is truly through the roof.

‘Is that you, Maisie? You look different. I barely recognised you.’

Maisie cut straight to the chase. ‘Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you with Connor Bannerman. Quite the reunion.’

‘You could say that.’ Kirsty crossed her arms, bracing herself for whatever barb Maisie was about to throw her way.

Bring it on.

‘I’m surprised he even remembered you, considering how long you’ve been gone. Fifteen years? Chasing your writing dream in London. How’s that working out for you, any bestsellers we should know about?’

‘Oh, you read? I had no idea. That’s so good for you.’ Kirsty’s lips curled into a smirk, her words laced with a biting edge. ‘I’m doing fine, thanks so much for asking.’

‘Indeed.’ Maisie’s eyes raked over her, taking in her wind-tousled hair and borrowed jacket. ‘So you and Connor just passing the time?’ She smirked. ‘I mean, it’s not like either of yous is here for the long haul, right? He’s going back offshore, you to the big city. But it’s romantic, all that fleeting nostalgia.’

The words hit a little too close to home.

‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s cute,’ Maisie continued. ‘And after the whole bakery thing, I didn’t think he’d keep showing his face around here. But he does. The only of the Bannermans who does, actually. Forty people losing their jobs, just so the Bannermans could make more profit.’

Kirsty slanted her eyes. ‘Seriously, this bloody town.’

Maisie snorted, ignoring her again. ‘No clue why Connor came back. But Alistair lives up in Aberdeen now. With Connor’s ex-wife. Would you believe it?’

Kirsty’s stomach swooped. She’d had no idea. Shit. Alistair of all people. That must have stung like a bastard. His brother and his ex-wife. Alistair had always been a nasty piece of work, but that was next level Bond-villain bullshit. Sick.

Maisie waved a dismissive hand. ‘Enjoy it while it lasts. Men like Connor, they can’t settle down. Too much baggage, too troubled.’

Not that Kirsty had been remotely thinking about settling down. Her fingers curled into fists, the urge to wipe that smug look off Maisie’s face painfully tempting. ‘Love that kitchen psychology journey for you, Maisie,’ she said instead. ‘But, I hate to say it, green isn’t your colour.’

Maisie’s fake smile froze. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Jealousy. Envy.’ Kirsty tilted her head. ‘It’s written all over your wee face, darlin’.’

‘Don’t darlin’ me, darlin’.’ Maisie’s cheeks glowed an angry red. ‘You’ve gone off your crumpet. You’ve always been insane.’

‘Sure, whatever. Bye now!’ Kirsty’s smile never wavered.

With a final glare, Maisie stalked away.

Kirsty would definitely put up a note in the café when she got back: I regret not having taken the piss out of Maisie a lot more when we were at school.

Then she turned her head back to the field. Back to where Connor stood, concentrated on the game.

Some of these people were so hard on him. Unjust.

And yet, here he was. Still supporting this community, even when they didn’t always support him back.

Still finding a way to let her in.

She wrapped his jacket tighter around herself, inhaling his scent. Maisie’s words ringing in her ears. Was she right? Was this thing with Connor a temporary distraction? A way to pass the time until they each went in their own direction? What else could it be?

And the truth about her writing, her pitiful little life in London… If Connor knew what a fraud she was, would he look at her the same way?

Kirsty shook her head, trying to dispel the doubts creeping in. She focused on the field, on the boys running and laughing, on Connor’s broad shoulders as he knelt down to give instructions and encouragement.

She wanted to believe in this. She needed something good in her life.