Chapter 4

Chapter Four

A s the automatic doors slid shut behind her, Connor turned and picked up another bag of crisps, pretending to read the label. All he heard was the echo of Kirsty’s voice in his head. She sounded different, her Scottish accent almost undetectable. Had she lost it on purpose, had she forgotten where she came from? That rubbed him the wrong way.

Turning back to his shopping list, now a crumpled mirror of his inner chaos, he grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. Its cold exterior matched how he should be feeling – chilled, composed, contained.

Fat chance. Inside, there was a storm brewing. Worse than out there on the rig.

Kirsty. Here in Cairnhaven.

Memories of that last summer together came back in a wave.

Summer – seventeen years ago

Kirsty lay next to him on the sand. Her hair tickled his cheek as she shifted closer, her breath warm against his neck. Connor’s heart pounded like a drum. He glanced at her, catching the way the light played off her sun-kissed skin. She looked like she belonged to this beach, to this moment. With him.

She turned meet his gaze. He smiled at the way she scrunched her nose, determination and uncertainty flickering in her eyes.

‘Why are you staring at me like that, Bannerman?’

‘Like what?’ His voice creaked with nerves and anticipation.

‘Like you’re about to do something stupid.’

‘Maybe I am.’ Before she could respond, he leaned in, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her skin was warm under his fingertips. He hesitated, searching her eyes. All he saw was the same curiosity, the same yearning. Slowly, he closed the distance between them. The world stopped as their lips met for the first time.

It was soft, tentative. Her taste of strawberries, the way she sighed against his mouth… Her hands found their way to his shoulders and the first innocence of their kiss gave way to the clumsy fervour of teenage passion. She slipped her tongue in first, exploring and daring, and it felt like velvet. He didn’t breath the entire time.

When they broke apart, both panting and wide-eyed, Connor rested his forehead against hers, relishing their closeness, their shared heartbeat.

‘That was…’ she whispered with a smile and flushed cheeks, ‘…not bad for a first kiss. Less wet than I expected.’

‘Aye.’ He was unable to find the right words. He was sixteen, and he’d just kissed the only girl he’d ever wanted to kiss. In that moment, everything felt new and good and exciting, the future stretching out before them like an endless horizon.

The memory played like a grainy, sepia-toned movie behind Connor’s lids.

Not the right time. And definitely not the right woman.

But…seeing Kirsty after all these years was like dragging a sharp knife through scarred flesh. The pain and loss raced back, reopening wounds he thought had long healed. She was still beautiful, even more so than he recalled. It was the way she carried herself that had always set her apart. Back straight, chin lightly thrust forward. Her features had matured, her face was less round, but her baby-blues were as sharp and soft as ever. Like a rare, cloudless July sky. Just as he remembered them.

And those plump lips. Jesus.

He took a deep breath and forced his focus back to the present. Back to the supermarket aisle and the carton of milk in his hand. The woman he had just met seemed dimmed, like someone had blown out a candle. Didn’t sit right with him. And she’d muted the colour of her hair. Her vibrant red locks were now duller, painted over in a bland shade of brown. It was as if she had given up a piece of her fiery spirit.

What happened, Freckles?

The swell of tenderness surprised him.

Nope. Not going there. Not my place.

Connor fumbled with his wallet to pay for his groceries, the cashier chatting about the weather and some upcoming fitbaw game. He nodded along absently, unable to concentrate on anything but the tumult that was raging in his chest. He struggled to keep his tumbling thoughts in check. On his way back to his flat up the hill, he nearly stumbled over the cobblestones.

Back then, he’d ruined it because of his stupid, fragile teenage boy ego. His foolish pride. Things hadn’t ended well all those years ago. Which was a euphemism for he’d screwed up. Colossally. And even though they’d both moved on with their lives, there was still a part of him that wondered ‘what if?’

What if they’d stayed together? Would they have travelled? Got married? Would they have kids by now? Kids that could almost be the age they’d been when they’d fallen in love.

Those thoughts were unhelpful. Dangerous rubbish. They only led down a path of pain. Like running against a wall with open eyes. Nobody could be that dumb.

Get over it, Bannerman. You’re a pathetic eejit clinging to nostalgia because you have nothing to look forward to.

She was a successful writer and journalist who’d made it to Britain’s capital, living the high life in London. He was but an aimless, singular chunk of Scottish driftwood, stranded and stuck on the Aberdeenshire coast.

Kirsty bounded up the narrow and steep staircase leading to her parents’ flat above the café, taking the steps two at a time. Her mum hadn’t been happy that she’d returned without milk, but she’d eventually found some in the corner shop further up the road.

She reached the top landing and paused with her hand on the doorknob. The scent of musty wood and old carpet greeted her. She pushed the thought of Connor Bannerman to the furthest corner of her mind. No time for that smug, heartless arse right now.

Deep breath in. And out.

Then she stepped into her childhood home.

Her father sat at the Formica table in the small kitchen, ledger book open, brow furrowed as he scrutinised columns of numbers. His grey hair stuck out at odd angles.

‘Hey, Da. I’m home,’ she said, planting a quick kiss on his scruffy cheek.

He grunted in reply, not looking up. Her smile faded as she perched on the counter opposite him. ‘What happened to you?’ she asked as she saw the thick gauze on the side of his head. ‘I’m worried.’

‘I had a fall,’ he said. ‘You haven’t done much worrying in near fifteen years. No need to start now.’

Kirsty’s heart sank. Another low blow. She wondered when they would stop coming. ‘I know you fell. Maw told me,’ she said softly. ‘But how did it happen?’

‘How does anybody fall? Lost my balance and banged my heid.’

Kirsty could tell there was more to the story but knew better than to press him. Some things never changed, her father’s gruff stubbornness being one of them. She smacked her lips and switched the subject. ‘Right, how’s business?’

‘Shite.’

Kirsty sighed as she looked around the cramped kitchen. The faded wallpaper and dated appliances still the same. The dials on the stove turned so many times they were illegible. This place hadn’t changed one bit since she’d been a girl. But the world outside certainly had.

The once bustling café was quiet and outdated compared to the trendy coffee shops. She’d suspected the Seaview Café was struggling, but she hadn’t realised how much. It was different to see it with her own eyes, to physically be here.

True, she’d never pictured herself as the third generation in charge of the Seaview, but Kirsty’s heart ached for her hard-working parents. They’d poured their lives into this place. It wasn’t right that they could barely scrape by. The thought of Cairnhaven without the Seaview felt as wrong as throwing out a favourite cuddly toy as a teenager. She might not need or want it, but it had to be there.

‘How bad is it?’ Kirsty was unable to hide her concern.

‘Too bad to tell you. Not that you’d be interested.’

‘Wait. You mean, I won’t inherit a money-printing café-chain?’

‘What makes you think that you, my dear daughter,’ her dad said with a cheeky grin, ‘will inherit a single penny?’

She grinned right back at him. They both knew that if Kirsty ever needed anything, he’d rip out his kidney with his bare hands and sell it on the black market to make sure she was okay. And vice versa, despite everything that had come between them. Which is why she was here.

It was complicated.

Her father looked at her with eyes as blue as her own, a bit watery at sixty-eight. ‘I hoped my wayward daughter would make a shite ton of money down south and send some back home. After showing no interest in taking over the family business.’

There it was. The ugly truth that had driven a wedge between Kirsty and her parents.

‘Sorry to disappoint again, Da. London is expensive. Have you thought about making some changes to the café?’ Kirsty suggested, seeking a distraction. She wasn’t in the mood for the umpteenth unpleasant ’Why did you become a writer?’ conversation steeped in misunderstandings and accusations.

Her father scoffed. ‘What changes? This is our family café. Was my da’s before me. We do things our way. Always have.’

‘Perhaps it’s time for a new way?’

‘Naw.’ He shook his head, strands of wiry hair quivering. ‘No point.’

She sighed, trying not to let her father’s dismissive tone sting too much. She understood his resistance to change. This café represented tradition, heritage, family. But the world was moving on without them.

‘I know you want to preserve what you built,’ she said gently. ‘But maybe we can find a way to honour this legacy while making a few updates?’

‘You have a fine sense of humour, speaking about legacy. And what updates? I thought you were here to help us, not disrupt things.’

As usual, Kirsty navigated past her father’s grumpiness by ignoring it. An idea formed in her mind. The least she could do was try to breathe new life into the café, appeal to a younger crowd. Ideally even create something that might inspire people, bring the community together.

For all the people who kept asking themselves ‘what if…?’

What if I hadn’t left home to pursue a pipe dream of a career?

Or something along those lines.

Potted plants and a fresh coat of paint alone wouldn’t cut it. Although she was already committed to slather a layer on. No, the Seaview Café needed something that made it stand out. It had to become a place where people not only came to get a cup of coffee and a cupcake, but also to talk. To connect.

‘I’ll paint it,’ she said. ‘That okay?’

‘If you must, paint away. I’ve been wanting to, but recently…don’t feel too stable on my feet.’

Worry dug its way into Kirsty’s heart, but she focused on the task at hand. ‘I was thinking we could start a community board where people can post their biggest regrets.’

She’d written an article about something like that in London. An immense wall on which passers-by wrote their dreams and hopes. Bit over the top, yes, but inspiring. Such emotive stories were the only positive content among all the divisive, hate- fuelled clickbait that the internet gobbled up. At least according to Charlotte, Grigori, and their omniscient ‘metrics’.

‘Regrets? What good will that do?’ he asked.

She leaned forward, warming to her idea. ‘It’s about perspective. Seeing what others regret most in life might motivate people to go after what they truly want.’

Like reconnecting with lost love , her traitorous mind whispered. She squashed the thought down. This wasn’t about her. Or him. Definitely not about him.

‘We would leave pens and sticky notes to encourage participation.’

Her father seemed sceptical but didn’t immediately shut her down. Progress. A smile spread over her face at the hint of concession. It was as close to agreement as she’d get for now. ‘Imagine it, Da. People coming in for their morning cuppa and a roll, reading the board. It’ll be a talking point. Just what we need. More people to be curious and stay for a minute.’

He huffed a bit. A sure sign he was mulling it over despite himself. ‘That head of yours has always been full of ideas.’ He grunted noncommittally.

She thought he’d put up more of a fight; he was probably just tired. Her mind continued to buzz with ways to revamp the Seaview Café while honouring its essence. A bridge between past and future. What was there to lose?

‘I think it’s worth a shot,’ she said. ‘Besides, we can always take it down if it turns into a sob fest or failure.’ With that, she hopped off the counter and hugged her father from behind, his gruff demeanour easing a little under her affectionate squeeze. ‘I love you, Da. It’s so good to see you.’

‘I love you, too. Glad you’re home. Still don’t know what took you so long.’

She released him, stepping back, and he rubbed his temples before resuming his grip on the pencil. There was a twitch in his hand. He must be under more stress than he’d let on. But now she was here to help him. At least for the next three weeks. And although it wasn’t anything she’d planned on – nor was she particularly keen on the early hours and fights with the coffee machine – but already she felt the tickle of a renewed sense of purpose. To be needed.

‘I have to go downstairs. Maw’s waiting.’ She gave him another peck on the cheek.

‘Off you go then. Don’t want to get on her bad side.’

She sniggered. ‘Never. I’m not mental!’

‘That’s debatable.’

With a laugh, Kirsty made her way back to the café. And for a moment, she was a careless teenager again.