Chapter 5

Chapter Five

K irsty jabbed at the stubborn buttons on the temperamental coffee machine. The useless antiquity had chosen her fourth day back in Cairnhaven to stage another of its revolts. The automat whirred loudly, a grating noise that aggravated her. Her parents were out and about all day for consultations with various doctors, leaving her alone to run the café. She cursed under her breath. So far, she had served Doctor Emslie and three other customers. The Seaview Café was quiet this morning. Almost eerily quiet.

On the one hand, that gave her time to fix the machine, against which she felt an inordinate amount of rage. On the other, it didn’t bring in money that would enable her parents to buy a new one.

The bell above the café door jingled. Without looking up, she called out, ‘If you’re here for a latte, you’re out of luck. This place only serves up steam and despair today.’

A deep voice responded, ‘I was hoping for tea, but I’m flexible on the despair part.’

Kirsty’s head shot up.

Standing in the doorway and blocking out the sun, looking like a cross between a wayward sailor fresh off the sea and an advertisement ripped from an adventure magazine, was Connor.

Again.

His moss-green eyes held a gravity, like someone who carried a burden on their shoulders. Particularly broad ones at that. His muscles strained against his tight t-shirt.

Such a show-off.

She quickly glanced down at her apron, trying to hide the sudden hot blotches in her face. ‘Are you following me, Bannerman? Let’s not form a habit.’

‘You’ve been away too long.’ He sauntered towards the counter. ‘This is small-town life, Freckles. There’s no escape.’

Freckles .

The endearment rolled off his tongue in a way that made her heart leap. Why did he keep calling her by her old nickname? She wasn’t the same na?ve teenage girl he remembered. She was a seasoned Londoner now, tougher, with edges sharpened by city life and hard-learned lessons. Back in sleepy Cairnhaven only to help her ailing parents. Long immune against his rugged, small-town boyish charm.

And she would prove it to him.

‘Welcome to the Seaview Café. What can I get you?’ Her voice was a blade, cold and sharp, hiding the agitation inside her.

‘Just a cuppa with milk.’

The faint wrinkles around his eyes, his lightly tanned skin, and his stubble only added to his good looks. He had a full mop of wavy dark hair. His jawline was more pronounced, sharper. That bastard had aged well. Not okay. And there wasn’t a ring on any of his fingers.

Not that she gave a fuck. ‘Sugar?’

‘You know the answer.’

‘I don’t. People change, Connor. Perhaps even you.’

He glanced around the café, a glint of nostalgia in his gaze. ‘Can’t say I have. This place is much the same, too.’

‘Not quite. Which you would have noticed, if you’d paid attention. But that’s never been your forte. We put up our new wall of regrets.’ She gestured towards the large burlap-covered pinboard that spanned the wall where the collection of vintage photos used to hang.

He looked baffled. ‘A what now?’

‘Wall of regrets,’ she repeated syllable by syllable. ‘Supposed to spark meaningful conversations. People can write their biggest regrets on these little pieces of paper,’ she picked up a stack of pastel-coloured sticky notes from the counter, ‘then they pin it up on the wall.’ She pointed to a basket with pins and a sign that read, ‘Share, Reflect, Connect.’

He rose an eyebrow in an irritatingly slow arch.

‘Then, if they want, they discuss things they missed out on. Passed opportunities. Mistakes,’ she continued, her eyes scanning the few notes that had already found their place on the burlap. Each a reflection of the café’s patrons. Words left unsaid, missed opportunities, abandoned dreams. ‘It’s inspirational.’ Her tone carried a hint of defiance. ‘Think about it. By sharing our regrets, we’re not dwelling on the past. We’re opening up conversations about change, forgiveness, growth. It’s about finding common ground, learning from each other.’

‘If you say so.’ He ambled over to the board and read a note aloud, ‘I regret not learning to fish from Grandda before he passed. Now I can’t even catch a cold.’ He turned his head towards her, sarcasm glinting in his eyes. ‘And what does your da think about this inspirational idea?’

‘Never mind. Of course you don’t get it.’

He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Don’t treat me like some backwater bampot.’

‘You said it, not me. But if the shoe fits…’

He ignored her remark. ‘And what would your biggest regret be, Freckles?’

Kirsty bristled at the use of the nickname again. It made her feel like she was still that girl, helplessly in love with him. Which she wasn’t. ‘None of your business, Bannerman.’

He leaned sideways against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. ‘You can’t bring up this wall of regrets and not share yours.’

‘Watch me.’ She let out a huff of annoyance and made his tea. ‘Also, I don’t have any.’

‘You’re telling me that if you had the chance to change something in your past, you wouldn’t take it? No regrets at all?’

There was something blazing in his eyes that she’d rather not see. She stiffened, gripping the handle of the kettle tight. ‘No.’ She poured hot water into a mug. ‘I believe that everything we go through makes us who we are today.’

After adding a splash of milk, she slid the mug across the counter towards him.

He reached for it but paused before taking a sip. ‘Wait. Did you spit in it?’

‘If I had, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.’

His gaze shifted from the cup in his hand to her face, lingering on her lips. Then he slowly shook his head. ‘What have you done to your beautiful hair?’

Kirsty resisted the urge to flatten her unruly curls. ‘Why is everybody going on about my hair? It’s brown. Jesus, get over it.’

‘Doesn’t suit you.’

Her spine snapped to attention. ‘Well, I happen to like it. And what gives you the right to comment on my appearance?’ The weight of his disapproving stare rested on her as he remained stoic and silent.

‘Right. That’s two pounds then,’ she said.

But Connor wasn’t done yet. ‘What’s the special today? Any pies?’ He searched the display.

‘I made cupcakes this morning. Unless your former rugby-self is too tough for a bit of sweetness.’

‘I can handle sweet,’ he said, ‘depends on who’s serving it.’

That arse was winding her up on purpose. She wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction. ‘Then it’s vanilla-raspberry or chocolate-cherry.’

‘Surprise me.’

A reckless urge rose within her. That was a dangerous sentence even in the most innocuous of situations. And this wasn’t one of those. She picked up a cupcake, the vanilla frosting perfectly swirled, and dangled it in front of his face. ‘Here, isn’t it pretty? Take a peek.’

Connor leaned forward. At his own peril.

Her hand jerked upwards and smashed the cream right into his face. ‘Oops. Oh no! So sorry. You know how clumsy I am.’ A small catharsis surged through her.

Slowly, Connor lifted his head, a deep line between his dark brows. ‘Really? That’s how you wanna play it, Freckles?’

She burst into laughter. ’I wish I could say I’m sorry and mean it, but nope. Impossible. You look adorable.’

He wiped the frosting off his chin. ‘Guess I had that coming,’ he admitted, a trace of the boy she once loved in his voice.

Kirsty gave him a napkin, trying to stifle her giggles. ‘Don’t think we’re even now, Bannerman. Not by a long shot.’

A hint of guilt crossed his face and disappeared again, like the sun behind a cloud. ‘Is that how you treat all your customers?’

Her smile vanished. ‘Only the ones who dumped me like a hot tattie after hearing I got a scholarship in London,’ her words dripped with anger and hurt, ‘and moved on five minutes later.’ The sting of betrayal lingered. ‘Was probably the worst Hogmanay anyone had. Except the people who died that night, perhaps.’

He dropped the soiled napkin and rubbed a hand over his chin. ‘Kirsty, I—’

‘Save it, Bannerman. We’re not angsty teenagers anymore. We’ve got history, sure. But that’s all it is. And now excuse me. I have a coffee machine and a cake to tend to in the here and now.’

When she returned from the kitchen a few minutes later, he was gone. But he’d left five pounds on the counter. Despite the unbidden sting of Connor’s departure, a part of Kirsty felt lighter for having told him where they stood.

Miles apart.

As she wiped down the tables, her mind wandered to Connor’s face. The Y-shaped scar next to his right eye that he got when Stephen’s elbow accidentally met his face in a scrappy line-out only added to his handsome hotness. He could be the poster boy for a Scotland brochure and make females all over the globe ovulate just looking at him. Which he didn’t appear to know or care about.

But…his expression had seemed open and earnest as he tried to speak. There was something lurking in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.

Remorse?

Which was absurd. Bannerman wasn’t capable of that. He was an empty paper bag of a human.

Kirsty didn’t have time to dwell, because the bell above the door rang as a customer entered. She plastered on a professional smile. Was easier to lose herself in orders and chit-chat than untangle her feelings regarding Connor. Anger, mostly. Disappointment, too. And…

Nothing. Absolutely nothing else.

All afternoon, her mind remained with him, replaying their interaction like a song stuck on repeat. As she cleared the front table – the one where she had loved sitting as a child, doing homework, writing her diary, watching people – she caught her reflection in the window. A woman, not a child. Eyes just wide enough to reveal more of her thoughts than she’d like, and lips that pursed in judgement – like right now – of herself more often than not. Those damn freckles all over her nose and cheeks. Cairnhaven shrunk around her, heavy with memories.

Annoyed, Kirsty turned around – and was surprised that she hadn’t seen it earlier.

There, on the wall of regrets, was a new note. The paper was pale yellow, not pink like the others. Curious, she inched closer to the board.

My biggest regret is that I let her go.

A lump rose in her throat as she read the words scrawled in a hand that seemed familiar. Was this some twisted joke? Silly to think Connor would admit to something like that. Especially here, of all places. And why would he? No, this could be anyone’s regret. The two of them weren’t the only ones with a parade of ’what-ifs’ trailing behind them like a conga line of shadows.

Who knows what’s going on in that wooden head of his?

Kirsty turned away from the wall. Her heart was a rogue drum in an orchestra, refusing to follow the rhythm of practicality and common sense that she tried so hard to conduct.

The café door jingled again, pulling her back to reality.

‘So you didn’t burn the place to the ground,’ her mother goaded as she came in, followed by her husband. ‘That’s a relief.’

‘Believe me, it wasn’t for lack of trying,’ Kirsty said with a wink. ‘Here, have a cupcake. What did the doctors say?’

Her father looked sallow and bewildered, sharing a long glance with his wife before turning to Kirsty. ‘You might want to sit down for this one, love.’