Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

K irsty sat across from her father in the café, his veiny hands wrapped around a chipped mug of tea. Her stomach flopped as she processed his words. ‘So someone made an offer on the café? And you accepted?’

He sighed, his shoulders sagging beneath his worn jumper. ‘Aye, love. It’s time. We can’t keep working until we drop deid.’

‘But the café’s doing better now. And this place, it’s your life. Yours and Maw’s.’ Her throat seized.

He reached across the table, his fingers gripping her hand. ‘It was, for a long time. But things change, Kirsty. I’m not getting any younger, and this bloody Parkinson’s…’ He trailed off, his hand twitching rhythmically against hers.

Kirsty suppressed her tears. ‘Da, I’m sorry. I should’ve been here more, should’ve helped—’

‘Naw, none of that.’ His voice was firm, his blue eyes boring into hers. ‘I didn’t want to keep pressuring you, making you resent us even more for tying you down. Your maw and I, we want you to be happy, wherever that takes you.’

‘But the café is everything to you.’

Her dad leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. ‘It was, aye. But it’s time for a new chapter. With the money from the sale, we can get a nice wee ground-floor flat. Something easier for us to manage. With all that’s coming.’

Kirsty nodded, her heart bleeding. She understood, logically, but the thought of someone else behind the counter made her chest constrict.

Her dad’s hand covered hers on the table. A silent understanding passed between them, an acknowledgement of the end of an era.

‘You’ll be fine, love. You’ve always been a bit different to us,’ her father said, his eyes taking on a faraway look. ‘From the moment you were born, all fiery hair – from your maw’s side – and wilful spirit.’

A watery laugh welled up in Kirsty’s throat. ‘I was a right terror.’

‘Oh, aye, you gave us a run for our money.’ His smile was full of affection. ‘It was challenging, us being a bit older and all that. But it was also a privilege, raising such a strong-headed lass. Watching you grow into the woman you are.’

Tears spilled over, hot trails down Kirsty’s face. ‘Da—’

‘I mean it, love. This big job in London now, but also starting in a new place so young as you were…that’s impressive. And Bannerman was right. You showed up for us when we needed you. And for him.’ He shook his head, wonder etched in the lines of his face. ‘We don’t have to understand you to love you, Kirsty. But we do. We do love you. I don’t reckon we told you that enough.’

She, however, hadn’t told her parents anything about her decision yet; that would have to wait until dinner. One life-altering piece of news at a time.

They smiled and sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of years of unspoken words settled between them. Finally, her father patted her hand and rose to his feet. ‘Right then, I best go check on my wife.’

Kirsty swiped at her damp cheeks. ‘I’ll help in a minute.’

As her dad shuffled toward the back stairs, her gaze wandered around the empty café. The wobbly tables and chairs, the wall of regrets, the ancient espresso machine coughing like an angry Victorian waif with consumption.

It hurt unexpectedly, the notion of letting this part of her life go. But her father was right. It was time for a new chapter, for all of them. Better do it now with a clear head and room and time for decisions than later, when it would be forced on them.

Even without the café, Cairnhaven was still her home. The salt-tinged air, the craggy cliffs, the wonky houses, and the nosy, tight-knit community that had raised her and welcomed her back. Well, more or less.

London, with its frenetic pace and cutthroat ambition, was a different planet. A different Kirsty, one who’d been so hell-bent on proving herself that she’d lost sight of what mattered.

She thought of Connor, his steady presence and quiet strength, the way he’d looked at her in the hospital, like she was his entire world. A bittersweet ache pulsed beneath her breastbone. Kirsty got up and took a long glance around the Seaview Café. It had been her childhood, her touchstone. But it wasn’t the end of her story.

She wondered who the buyer might be.

Hopefully, someone local.

Connor manoeuvred his crutches down to the supermarket for some milk, each laboured step sending jolts of pain through his battered body. He focused on the distant glint of the water at the end of the street. A small fleet of white houses anchored the curve of the rugged bay.

His ribs throbbed relentlessly and the cast on his thigh chafed with every bumbling hop-step. But he was lucky to be alive, lucky to be moving at all after that fall.

He was done with rigging. Here or in Norway or anywhere else. He’d rather go back to being an accountant, and he’d fucking hated that job.

Memories of the accident were coming back. The sickening lurch as he lost footing, the heart-stopping plummet. He shook his head, dispelling the images. No point dwelling on it. He’d been given yet another chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. For real, this time.

In a way, though, his empty flat had been worse than the rig. Suffocating. Each room haunted by memories of Kirsty.

The bed where they’d spent hours, her hair fanned out on the pillow, her pale skin glowing in the morning light, him silently counting each freckle. The sofa where they’d binged old episodes of Still Game , her head on his chest, his fingers combing through her curls. The shower where she’d pressed him against the cool tiles, her mouth hot and demanding on his, water sluicing over their bodies. Even the bloody kettle held memories of her humming off-key as she made their morning cuppas, sleep-rumpled and cute as fuck. Every corner resonated with her absence, a constant ache in his chest sharper than any physical pain.

Since his accident, he and Kirsty had reconnected carefully, treading around each other on eggshells. Neither of them had made any attempt to address the elephant in the room, though. As if his recovery was a strange pause. An injury break of sorts in a game whose rules he didn’t wholly understand.

A commanding voice jarred Connor from his thoughts. ‘Mornin’, Connor! Heard ye took a tumble. Ye must come and see me soon.’

Connor pivoted on his good leg, coming face to face with Doctor Emslie, the town’s GP. He looked him up and down, his face creased with concern and humour.

‘Aye, got a bit too friendly with gravity,’ Connor replied, shifting his weight on the crutches. ‘Reckon it’ll be a minute before I’m opening a town dance again.’

Doctor Emslie put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Och, ye’ll be right as rain soon enough. Ye’re a tough one. Remember when I fixed that gaping cut above yer eye? Barely a scar now.’ He paused. ‘I was just at the Seaview. Liz mentioned somethin’ interestin’ about yer lass.’

Connor’s heart stammered. ‘Kirsty?’

‘Aye. Word is she’s handed in her notice at that London job. Stayin’ put in Cairnhaven, she is.’

‘She did?’ Connor gripped his crutches. ‘She is?’

With her high-powered job in London, he wasn’t sure where their relationship stood or if she planned to return to the city. She’d been treating him like a fragile glass, avoiding any potentially upsetting topic – even rugby – and he hadn’t dared to ask.

‘Aye, that’s the gist of it. For good this time. Seems the lass has had a change of heart.’ Doctor Emslie winked. ‘Can’t imagine why.’

Connor’s mind reeled. Kirsty was choosing Cairnhaven. Choosing him. This was… His eyes lost focus. ‘I have to go,’ he said, already limping in the café’s direction. ‘Thanks, Doc.’

‘Aye, go on then,’ the doctor called after him. ‘But be careful, lad. And pop in next week.’

Connor threw a glance over his shoulder and nodded. Each thump of his crutches against the pavement echoed the mantra in his head.

She’s staying.

He didn’t feel like he didn’t matter anymore. He did to her. Took him almost fifteen years to understand that. And hell, he’d work his arse off to be the man she deserved.

He was finally ready.

As he turned the corner, a familiar figure came into view, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Shockingly familiar, actually.

What the… Fucking hell.

Alistair?

His golden boy brother, the last person he expected or wanted to see here. Connor’s grip tightened on his crutches. What was that fucker doing in Cairnhaven? They’d long ago divided their territories, an uneasy truce keeping each other at arm’s length. Him up there, Connor down here.

Wasn’t enough geographical distance, apparently.

Alistair turned, a greasy smirk slithering across his face as he caught sight of Connor. ‘Brother mine! So good to see you. Glad you’re on the mend.’

‘Fuck you,’ Connor growled, hobbling closer. ‘What do you want here, arsehole?’

Alistair wagged a manicured finger. ‘Ts, ts. No need to be uncivilised, little brother.’

Connor glared, his patience fraying. ‘Spit it out or get out of my way. No, wait. Not interested. Just get out of my way.’

Alistair’s eyes glinted, a shark scenting blood. ‘If you must know, I’ve made Myles Munro an offer to buy the Seaview Café and we’re talking it through. Prime location for our expanding café-bakery chain along the east coast. And, well, your feisty little girlfriend’s father needs the money, what with his health problems and the café going to shite,’ he sneered.

Red rage surged through Connor’s veins, his vision tunnelling. Alistair’s smug face swam before him, taunting him.

The older Bannerman continued gleefully. ‘Cute idea, by the way, this wall of regrets. Completely dumb, of course. What are your regrets, dear brother? C’mon, there must be something on your mind, since you almost bit the dust. Is it disappointing our parents from the moment you were born? Or not being able to make Marta happy? Do tell.’

‘Actually, there’s this one thing,’ Connor heard himself say. Before he could think, he’d put his weight on his good leg and lashed out, smashing his crutch against Alistair’s shin with a satisfying thud.

Alistair howled, staggered, and fell on his arse. ‘You fucking bastard!’

Connor didn’t waste any time and slashed his crutch across Alistair’s face. Not nearly as hard as he wanted to, but enough to let blood spill from his nose.

‘I really regret not doing that sooner,’ Connor snarled, chest heaving.

Everything hurt. Was fucking worth it.

The look in Alistair’s eyes swore retribution. ‘I’ll have you arrested for assault, you crippled fuck.’

Connor barked out a harsh laugh. ‘Aye, you try that. Go on, call the polis. But don’t forget, I know your books, Al. I have copies. Bet HMRC would love to hear all about them.’

Alistair’s face paled, then flushed an ugly red as he got up. He jabbed a finger at Connor, hand shaking with rage. ‘You’ll pay for this.’

‘Bring it on, brother dear ,’ Connor said, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs.

With a final venomous glare and holding his nose, Alistair stalked away to his Tesla, leaving Connor alone on the pavement, heart stammering and white-knuckling his crutches.

Christ, what have I done?

Alistair wouldn’t let this go easily. There’d be consequences. More trouble for Kirsty and her family. Because of him. Connor shook his head, wincing as he resumed his painful trek toward the Seaview. Only a few more steps. He’d deal with Alistair later. Right now, he had to see Kirsty. Had to ask her about her job, Cairnhaven, them.

The tinkle of the bell above the café door was a comfort as he shouldered his way inside. The rich scent of coffee chased away the bitter tang of adrenaline on his tongue. Liz Munro glanced up from behind the counter, her face dropping as she took in his battered state. ‘Connor! Love, what are you doing here? Should you be up and about?’

Should I have tried to beat the shite out of my brother? Probably a hard no in both cases.

He offered a strained smile, easing himself onto a stool with a muffled grunt of pain. ‘Says the one with the hip. I’m awright, Liz. Is Kirsty here?’

Liz shook her head, sympathy softening her careworn features. ‘No, she’s out with Lucy, running some errands. Lucy’s looking for a flat.’

Disappointment sat heavy in Connor’s abdomen, dripping into the anxious flutter of anticipation. He needed to talk to her. Life was too short for pussyfooting around much longer.

On the other hand, he’d loved her since he was twelve, waited half his life for her. He could make it through another day or two.

‘I see,’ he said. ’But there’s something important I need to discuss with you and Myles.’

A wrinkle cut across Liz’s forehead. ‘There is? Well, awright then. I’ll put the kettle on. I don’t need my crutches anymore, and you look like you could use a cuppa.’

Connor huffed a laugh, wincing as his ribs protested. ‘Aye, that I could. Thanks, Liz.’

Connor let his gaze wander, thoughts drifting. The Seaview was a far cry from the sleek, soulless chain he knew Alistair wanted to turn it into. It was the heart of Cairnhaven. A piece of their shared history.

Like hell he’d let his degenerate brother sink his dirty claws into it.

If nothing else, the people here despised Connor already more than enough for what his crooked, wretched sibling had done with the bakery.

The mug of tea Liz placed in front of him was hot and fragrant. Connor wrapped his hands around it, letting it warm his fingers. He had a fight ahead of him, on multiple fronts. Alistair wouldn’t hesitate to threaten and strong-arm anyone in his path.

But Connor was done hiding. Cairnhaven was his home, and Kirsty…Kirsty was his heart.

He’d battle the Devil himself to keep her safe and happy.