Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

T he pen scratched against the paper, a rhythmic sweeping sound that blended with the gentle hum of chatter in the café. Kirsty paused. She tapped the barrel against her bottom lip as she scanned over her scribbled notes strewn across the worn oak table, her favourite spot by the window overlooking the cobbled lane and that little edge of the Atlantic that gave the café its name.

The outline of a fantasy romance woven with threads of local folklore was taking shape on the pages. Of this land, bounded by the North Sea and the Grampian mountains. Broonies, fair folk, and kelpies, curses and fated love. It was leagues different from the formulaic drivel she’d been hammering out back in her London office, shackled to soulless deadlines and click metrics. But this, this felt right. Like stepping into a cherished memory. Remembering who she was, coming home to herself.

The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. It had been years, decades even, since she’d felt this kind of pure creative energy coursing through her. The London grind of corporate politics and punishing schedules had leeched it away, drop by drop, until her well of imagination ran dry. But here in this sleepy corner of Scotland, on the Aberdeenshire coast that had formed her, the words flowed freely again, a babbling brook in her mind.

No idea if she’d ever publish it. That was a bridge she’d cross later. For now, the simple act of putting pen to paper and watching a story unfold was enough. For the first time since she was a teen, Kirsty was writing for the sheer joy of it. No obligations, no outside expectations. It was as natural and necessary as breathing.

Her train of thought shifted to her newfound roommate situation. Kirsty had decided to move in with Lucy in Cairnhaven in two weeks. They’d just seen an affordable and cosy flat with space enough for two. A new chapter. Kirsty would have to hop back to London to clear out her old flat, a loose end to tie up. But her heart was set. This was the right path.

The shadow on her contentment was the looming sale of the family café. If she’d squirrelled away more savings, she could have stepped in, taken the burden off her parents’ shoulders. But her bank account was anaemic from the London years.

Kirsty startled at the chime of the bell above the door. In walked Isa, her round face etched with worry. ‘Mornin’ love,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen you perched at this same table since ye were a lass.’ Isa slid into the chair across from her. ‘I’m here for a wee coffee. My machine is kaput.’

‘And our machine is evil, but the coffee is solid,’ Kirsty replied with a smile.

‘Aye, I know.’ Isa shook her head. ‘Shame about the bad Bannerman turning the place into another soulless chain.’

‘Come again?’

Isa leaned in. ‘Rumour has it Alistair Bannerman was spotted here, thick as thieves with your da. Haven’t ye seen them? Apparently, they talked and shook on something. Ye don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to suss it out.’

‘Alistair? Are you serious?’ Hot fury unfurled in Kirsty’s chest. ‘If that weaselly bastard shows his face in here, I’ll cave it in with the kettle.’

Isa snorted and got up. ‘I’ll join you with the toaster, lass. That one is bad news. Och, shame. Right, I’m getting my coffee now. Ye have a good day, hen. It’ll all sort itself out, ye’ll see.’

What the actual fucking fuck?

Kirsty stared sightlessly at the scuffed table, a torrent of emotions swirling within her at the thought of Connor’s vile older brother. Her da must be absolutely desperate if he’d agree to sell the Seaview to that stinking bag of dicks. He probably didn’t know about the full extent of Alistair’s arseness, but the bakery thing surely hadn’t passed him by or left his memory. Not when bits of the town were still so pissed about it.

Bloody bad news indeed.

Alistair owning the Seaview. That must never, ever happen.

A flash of movement outside the window caught her eye. Connor. He limped past the café, leaning heavily on his crutches, his dark hair a tousled mess, his stubble longer. Each laboured step, stiff and cautious, made Kirsty’s heart constrict.

Right now, she yearned for his solid presence like a parched flower craving rain. She’d given him time and space to heal, to recover. But she couldn’t keep that up. Not one more minute. Hastily gathering her notes, she darted outside.

‘Oi, hot stuff. Need a hand?’

He glanced up, his eyes the colour of a murky pond. Surprise crossed his face, chased by a hesitant half-smile that made Kirsty’s pulse stumble.

‘Should you be out and about, Bannerman? How are you feeling?’

‘Never worse,’ he said and lifted a shoulder. It made him groan in pain. ‘And you?’

Kirsty chewed on her lower lip, the knot of emotions in her chest tightening. ‘I’m…okay, actually. Started writing again.’

Something soft and warm bloomed in his eyes. ‘That’s great, Freckles.’

A breeze whipped down the lane, and Kirsty hugged her arms around her body. There was something else burning on her mind. ‘Did you know? About Alistair buying the café?’

Connor’s gaze shuttered. ‘Aye.’

‘That can never happen,’ she said fiercely.

‘No, it bloody well can’t.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ The words came out sharper than she intended, razored by hurt.

‘I came by the other day. But you were out and about with Lucy.’ He faltered, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

‘You should’ve told me as soon as you knew. I hate the guy.’

‘Believe me, I hate him more.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell me, Connor?’

He adjusted his grip on the crutches, neck taut, as he took a halting step toward the café door. ‘Because it won’t happen.’

Kirsty moved closer, offering her arm for support as he navigated the small rise. The heat of him radiated through her shirt. ‘But my father said there’s an offer on the table. That he’s selling.’

‘He is.’ Connor’s eyes found hers, his expression unreadable. ‘To me.’

The world wobbled. Kirsty grabbed the doorframe for balance. ‘What? How?’

‘Turns out risking life and limb on an oil rig for a decade builds a tidy nest egg,’ he said wryly. ‘And I couldn’t stomach the thought of Alistair swooping in like the vulture he is. Taking advantage of your family. Couldn’t let him sink his poisoned hooks into this town again. So I made my own offer and your da accepted.’

Tears pricked the backs of Kirsty’s eyes. Shock, gratitude, confusion, and a dizzying swell of love crashed over her in waves. ‘Connor, I don’t…I can’t even begin to…’

‘Let’s sit,’ he said, nodding toward her table.

She helped him into a chair, then sank into her own, knees shaking. Connor leaned his crutches against the wall, gathering his thoughts.

‘When I woke up in that hospital bed, shattered to bits, the first thing I saw was you. You by my bedside, your wee hand clutching mine,’ he said. ‘And it hit me, sharp as a knife to the ribs – my life is empty. Has been for longer than I care to admit. Because you’re not in it.’

He reached across the table, rough fingers grazing her knuckles. ‘I was a fool, Freckles. Let you slip away all those years ago without a fight. Convinced myself it was for the best. That you deserved better than me weighing you down. I blamed you for leaving, but I wasn’t exactly chasing after you.’ He dragged a hand down his face, his lids pressing together for a moment. ‘The truth is, back then and now, I was scared. Scared of how much I needed you. Scared I wouldn’t be able to keep up with your dreams. Scared of fucking it up. Not being enough.’

Kirsty’s vision blurred. She turned her hand over, interlacing their fingers. His palm was warm, calloused, familiar. Hers.

‘I tried to carve out a life without you,’ he continued, his voice rough with emotion. ‘Tried to fill the void with work. Even got married. Marta never stood a chance, and that’s on me. It was like living half a life.’

She held his hand snugly, the simple touch an anchor in the tide of feeling. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Letting you go the second time was even dumber than the first. I need to be with you, Freckles. I’m done fighting it. My heart is where you are. You’re my true north, always. The ink on my skin, the beacon in my blood. You.’

A sob welled up in her chest.

‘I love you, Kirsty Munro. I’ve loved you since the moment I saw your hair gleaming in the schoolyard, the moment Maisie stole your poem, the moment you kicked Jamie in the balls for me.’ He raked a hand through his hair, the dark strands standing on end. ’Loving you is thrilling and terrifying, all at once. It’s the feeling of my heart crashing against my ribs, the thunder of blood in my ears. It’s the knowledge that this could destroy me, shatter me into a million pieces, but God, what a way to go.’

He reached out and traced the outline of her face with his fingertips. ‘I want lazy mornings and waking up with your hair tickling my nose. I want your cold toes seeking mine in the night. I want to eat you for breakfast every morning. I want a future and a life. With you. There’s no one else. It’s you. You’re it. My human.’

Kirsty got up and launched herself onto his lap, mindful of his battered body. She peppered his stubbled face with kisses, tasting the salt of their tears. He held her tight, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his heavy exhales warming her skin.

‘I haven’t said it in far too long and not nearly often enough, but I love you too,’ she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. ‘Always have, always will. And all those things you want? I want them too. With you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I’m sorry that I left. Twice.’

‘I’m sorry that I made you leave. Twice. And I didn’t chase after you on account of fear. That’s on me,’ he said. ‘I dreamed of growing up and growing old with you, Freckles. It pains me I missed such a big part of your life.’

‘You’re here for the part that matters.’

Connor pulled back just far enough to study her face. ‘What about London? Your writing career?’

‘Och, sod London,’ Kirsty said with vehemence. ‘I’m meant to be here, in Cairnhaven, with you. We’ll figure the rest out together. So…do you want to be my boyfriend?’

A slow, wondrous smile unfurled across Connor’s face, erasing years of fatigue, hurt, and sorrow. ‘Aye, Freckles. You asked me that question a long time ago, and my answer has never changed.’ He drew her closer. And his lips found hers in a kiss that tasted of promise and homecoming and forever.

The café was safe, and so was she.

Ensconced in the arms of the man she’d loved across time and distance, Kirsty felt the remaining fractured pieces of her life click into place. She was exactly where and who she was supposed to be. Kirsty Munro from Cairnhaven on the Aberdeenshire coast, Scotland.

And for the first time in longer than she could remember, her soul had peace and purpose.