Epilogue

The following summer…

T he Seaview Café teemed with its regular lunchtime energy, the chatter of patrons blending with the clink of cutlery and the steady whir of the new, infinitely more cooperative espresso machine. The café had become a staple in Cairnhaven again, for locals and tourists alike.

Kirsty perched at her usual spot by the window, laptop open in front of her, fingers tapping rapidly across the keyboard. She paused, a triumphant smile spreading across her face as she read the email confirmation from her agent. Her romantasy novel, set against this very coast, was not only finally complete – it was going to be published.

There were different definitions of success, and this right here was hers.

PulseJournal’s vertical had long since been discontinued. Good that she’d quit before that. She would have crashed hard on that massive glass cliff.

A lot could change in a year, Kirsty mused, attention drifting to the cusp of the North Sea visible through the café window. Around this time last summer, she’d been shackled to a soulless content writing job in London, her creativity atrophied, her spirit withering. Heart black and cynical. But now? She was back home in Cairnhaven. Doing what she was born to do. Writing stories that set her soul on fire, surrounded by the people she loved most in this world.

Speaking of loved ones…

Her gaze found Connor behind the counter, his dark hair tousled, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up to reveal ink on the bronze skin of his forearm. A new mermaid tattoo, detailed and stark. Seated on a rocky shore, red hair the only colour against the obsidian and grey. Her curved tail a smooth arc against the backdrop of stormy waves. A point of calm in the chaos. Like some kind of sexy, gothic Arielle.

Kirsty liked to think it was her.

Connor moved with an easy grace now, the limp barely noticeable as he navigated the espresso machine and chattered with customers. Gone was the shadow behind his eyes, the brooding shell replaced by a warmth that rivalled the sun today. It was one of those nice July days on the Scottish east coast.

He caught her watching and shot her a wink. Kirsty’s heart twirled in her chest. A year together, and he still had the power to reduce her to a randy, tongue-tied mess with a single look, heat creeping up her neck and down to her core.

She’d always assumed that sex would be less frequent, get boring, become routine after a while.

Not with Bannerman.

Just last night, he’d hit that spot again that made her see stars, hands scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. She’d nearly blacked out, his name a ragged prayer on her lips. He celebrated her body, heart, soul.

I’m a hell of a lucky girl.

So was Lucy. She’d found herself a solid boyfriend, John, a colleague from the wind farm. They were moving in together next month. Great guy. And he definitely wouldn’t chicken out at the last minute, like Kirsty had to live with Connor last year. A hasty decision? Not really.

When you know you know.

Blinking back happy tears, her heart full to bursting, she couldn’t have been more thrilled for her friend.

Connor finished up with the last customer in line and made his way to the wall of regrets. It had become a focal point for Cairnhaven’s people. With a grin, he plucked a scrap of paper from the burlap and shook his head. He held it out towards her and Kirsty craned her neck to read the note.

I regret not ordering a second slice of the salted caramel tart. It haunts my dreams.

A snort escaped Kirsty. Only in Cairnhaven would someone pour their heart out over a dessert. But that was the magic of this place, of the community they had cultivated within these walls during the past year.

Who’d have thought that Connor himself had the strongest Bannerman baking gene? That man was thriving in the kitchen. One scrumptious pastry at a time, he’d even baked his way back into the heart of the people here. Most of them, that was.

Connor was in charge of the café and Kirsty in charge of the writing and marketing. True partners.

The bell above the door jingled, and she glanced up to see her parents entering.

Right on time.

‘Look who’s here,’ Connor called out. ‘How’s my old flat treating you?’

‘Like a dream,’ Myles said. ‘You did a fine job with the renovations, son. It’s all accessible and top-notch.’

Her parents had moved into his old ground-floor flat a few weeks ago, while Kirsty and Connor were now living above the Seaview Café. Her mum’s hip was as good as new and for now, her da’s Parkinson’s was under control with meds and physio. But the stairs were getting too much. Their swap made sense.

Liz huffed, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Aye, and now I’m stuck with him underfoot twenty-four seven. Retirement, my arse.’

Kirsty choked back a laugh. Her parents’ good-natured bickering was as much a constant as the tides.

‘Och, hush, woman,’ Myles said, reeling Liz in for a peck on the cheek. ‘You love having me around and you know it.’

‘Aye, suppose I do,’ Liz said. ‘Even if you did cost me the pie contest this year with your “helpful suggestions”.’

‘Isa’s still crowing about that, you know,’ Connor said. ‘Doubt we’ll hear the end of it soon.’

Her mum nodded. ‘Next year I’ll show her.’

But her parents weren’t here for a chit-chat. They were here because of the plan, Kirsty reminded herself.

Time for action.

She saved her document and shut her laptop. ‘Could yous close the café?’ she asked them a bit too casually with feigned innocence. ‘I have to show Connor something. We’ll be back in a few.’ She grabbed her bag and strode out the door, heart hammering. ‘You coming or what, Bannerman?’

Connor fell into step beside her. ‘Where to, Freckles?’

‘You’ll see, ya nosy numpty,’ she said, lacing her pinkie finger with his. Just like they used to. Like they’d been doing again every day for a year.

She led him down the winding path to their secret spot on the beach, the one they’d claimed as theirs over fifteen years ago. The one where they’d shared their first kiss, where they’d whispered secrets and dreams to the stars. Where she’d forgiven him last July. They’d both forgiven each other that night.

Late, but not too late.

As they rounded the bend, she heard Connor’s breath catch.

Because there, nestled in the sand as planned, was a romantic picnic setup. Thanks to Lucy and John. A cosy tartan blanket, a wicker basket overflowing with his favourite treats, shortbread and strawberries. Even a bucket of ice and champagne.

‘I see you brought out the big guns, Munro.’

‘Shut up and sit down.’ Kirsty pulled him onto the blanket, mindful of his bad leg. ‘It’s been nearly a year since you took over the café. A year since I put down roots here again, built something real. I wanted to celebrate that.’

She reached into the basket and withdrew a single cupcake, the frosting swirled into a perfect peak.

Connor arched an eyebrow. ‘Smashing that into my face again?’

Kirsty stuck her tongue out at him. ‘Can’t say I’m not tempted.’

He laughed, a full-bellied thing that made her feel weightless and free.

‘Alright then, hand it over. If I survive this, you’ll know it’s true love.’

She passed him the cupcake, heart thumping. ‘Careful with the frosting.’

This was it. The moment of truth.

Connor peeled back the wrapper and froze, his eyes flashed open wide.

There, scrawled in her curved handwriting, were three words that would change their lives. Nothing would be the same either way.

Marry me, Bannerman?

His head shot up, huge eyes locking on hers. Kirsty reached out with trembling fingers and swiped a dollop of frosting off the top of the cupcake. Nestled in the centre was a ring. A simple silver band, engraved with their initials and the coordinates of this beach.

She exhaled slowly. ‘See, I want morning kisses and burned pancakes and fights over the remote for the rest of my life. I want laughter that makes our sides ache and tears that soak each other’s shoulders. I want a love that knocks the wind out of me every single day until I’m old and grey.’ She gripped his hands. ‘I want the gritty and the mundane. I want you, in all your broken pieces and ragged edges. I want us, in all our chaotic glory. Because that’s what love is. Not a fairy tale, it’s a choose your own adventure. And I choose you, Connor. Every day. I’m never going anywhere if you don’t want me to.’

He took the ring with reverent fingers. ‘Aye, Freckles,’ he said, voice rough with emotion. ‘A thousand times, aye. But please, for the love of God, let me do the cooking. No more burned pancakes.’

Then he kissed her with a smile, lips salty with tears and sweet with frosting.

Kirsty twined her arms around his neck, pouring every ounce of love and longing into the kiss. This man, this beautiful, complicated man, was truly hers.

But she wasn’t done yet.

She looked into his eyes, feeling the depth of their shared history and future. ‘There’s one more thing.’ She bit her lip. ‘I also want mini-Bannermans running around in the café.’

Connor arched an eyebrow and grinned. ‘Oh, really now? You want bairns with me?’

Kirsty nodded, heart in her throat. ‘Aye, I do. Just no violin lessons for any of them.’

‘A whole bunch of cute troublemakers, just like their mother.’

She swatted his chest. ‘Oi, you’re the troublemaker, mister. I’m the responsible one.’

Connor laughed. ‘Keep telling yourself that, Freckles.’

She leaned into him, her head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. ‘So, what do you say?’

He pulled her into a tight embrace. ‘You want my babies? I’ll give you a whole damn rugby team.’

After they’d drunk half the champagne, and he’d fed her a few strawberries – which, unsurprisingly, had led to a make-out session – it was time for the second part.

‘We should head back,’ Kirsty murmured, nuzzling his neck.

‘Why?’ Connor asked, letting his hands glide down her back. ‘I’m oddly enjoying my fiancée dry-humping me on the beach.’

‘There’s an engagement party waiting for us.’

Connor’s brows shot up. ‘An engagement party? Awfully sure of yourself, weren’t you?’

‘Let’s say I had a hunch. I mean…I am quite the catch. Besides, we’ve waited long enough, you and me. No more time to waste.’

‘Can’t argue with that.’

Hand in hand, they made their way back to the café.

As they approached its blue fa?ade, Kirsty heard the thrum of music, the chatter of voices. The windows glowed with warm light.

They stepped inside to a chorus of cheers, friends and family surrounding them in a tangle of arms and laughter. Myles and Liz beamed with pride and joy. Lucy tackle-hugged Kirsty, nearly knocking her off her feet, while John clapped Connor thrice on the back.

Behind the counter, which had become an impromptu bar, Connor’s aunties, Sylvia and Janet Bellbottom, doled out drinks and good-natured barbs.

Janet was wearing a rather weird fancy hat: a pale pink base topped with what looked like the frosting on a cupcake, including sprinkles and two fake chocolate bars sticking out of it.

‘There you are, dearies,’ she said. ‘Congratulations! Have you thought about a wedding venue yet?’

Her wife Sylvia gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Let them enjoy their engagement for a minute, love.’

‘I’m making a suggestion, that’s all,’ Mrs Bellbottom said. ‘See, there’s this gorgeous wee castle back home in Kilcranach. Hazelbrae would be perfect for your wedding. I got a feeling you’d love it there.’

Kirsty bit back a smile. Those two were going to keep them on their toes until their wedding day, that was for sure.

As the party wound down and the last of the guests trickled out, Kirsty found Connor leaning against the bar, his eyes soft as he watched her approach. It was just them now.

‘Quite the shindig.’ He encircled her in a hug. ‘You never do anything by halves, do you?’

She leaned into him, inhaling the scent of saltwater and soap that clung to his skin. ‘Go big or go home, that’s my motto.’

‘I thought your motto was “why use ten words when a hundred will do”?’ he teased.

She swatted his chest. ‘Ha ha. Just for that, I’m putting you on dish duty tonight.’

‘Worth it,’ he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hairline. ‘For you, Freckles, anything is worth it.’

Kirsty leaned her head back, drinking in the sight of him. Her best friend, her lover, her fiancé. Her first for everything. The man she’d loved through heartbreak, darkness, and triumph. The man she’d choose, again and again, in a hundred lifetimes.

‘I love you, Connor Bannerman,’ she whispered, her lips brushing his. ‘Here’s to second chances and forever.’

‘Forever,’ he said, his voice a steadfast promise. ‘I like the sound of that.’

– THE END –