Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

T he morning sun beat down on Connor’s neck. He was itching for a day by the water, to cool his head. There was a spot, a secret gem tucked away to the right-hand side of Cairnhaven’s harbour on the rockiest point. The rugged cliff where the sea didn’t kiss the shore, but claimed it. Bold and blue. When the tide was low, however, it was teeming with plaice and dab. Might have been the remnants of generations of fishermen in his genes, but standing still and waiting for them to bite gave him peace of mind.

By God, he needed every bit of that he could get. He cursed under his breath.

Kirsty .

Her name alone sent a surge of heat through his body, dredging up memories that nearly knocked him off his feet. She had been painfully, dangerously close the other night, body bare and tempting.

The moment when she’d opened up to him… It had almost done him in. He’d felt strong and needed. Invincible and fragile. And oh boy, had she felt right in his arms. Like she belonged there, like her shape had been missing from that exact spot.

And yet she’d bolted. Leaving him with the silence and the stars, and a sense of longing that gnawed at him.

In his essence, he was a rugby man. Used to tackling obstacles head-on. But with Kirsty…

Then there were the other memories, of course.

They damn near drove him insane, those thoughts of her back then in the quarry. When they’d been both fearless and helplessly in love. He could still feel her skin against his. She’d imprinted herself on his soul. And that heat? Coursed through his veins like a wildfire flaring up again.

Now here he was, a grown man pining for a woman who had long moved on without him. And rightfully so.

Damn her for haunting him.

Damn him for wanting her still.

He let out a long, laboured exhale. No, today was not about the catch; it was about getting his head straight. Fishing was meditative. It demanded patience, stillness, and an acceptance of things he couldn’t control.

At least he got his apology out. Christ, it had sounded so lame. Even in his own ears. He shook his head.

Knobhead .

The words had tumbled out of this mouth, unfiltered after years of keeping them locked inside.

But when he’d held her body against his chest, when she’d cried against his shoulder, he’d realised words would never be enough.

So he wasn’t going to leave her side now. She was up to her eyeballs in shit and he was going to help her through this difficult time. In whatever way she needed him to. That sort of trouble was a lot for anyone to handle.

No, he hadn’t asked for it. Damn, he couldn’t even believe it. If anyone had told him two weeks ago that he was willing and ready to tear a limb off for Kirsty Munro, he’d have jeered.

But he’d do it. One limb after the other.

He mustn’t push her, though. She despised him for a good reason. He couldn’t force her to forgive him. With time, all he could hope for was a morsel of friendship. He would work for it. Make up for what he’d said and done. Earn back her trust. Her good will.

Just friends.

She didn’t have to know about his underwater boner.

Screeching gulls fighting over a stolen ice cream cone brought him back to reality. The way to his favourite fishing spot led along Cairnhaven’s pier. Right now it was busy with people setting up stalls for the annual food festival this weekend. The rumble of engines and clanging of metal filled the air as people unloaded crates and boxes. Colourful buntings hung from the shopfronts and between the cast-iron streetlamps. With his fishing gear in hand, he passed the lorries. At the moment, the pier seemed like mayhem. Before noon tomorrow, there would be stalls of local vendors alongside food trucks from Aberdeen, Inverness, and Edinburgh throwing overpriced food at people.

Connor, however, would spend Friday to Sunday in his flat. Or in the quarry if the weather allowed. This many people, it simply wasn’t his thing. He’d moved back to Cairnhaven because it was quiet, out of his arsehole brother’s way, and because people left him alone. Most of the time. He still caught disgruntled side-glances from former employees who hadn’t moved on.

At times Connor wasn’t so sure if he had either.

Not in the mood for banter, he tried to keep his head down as he passed the pier. It was no use. Isa Douglas, who ran the local butcher’s and had fingers in every pie – metaphorical and literal – spotted him from behind her van.

‘Connor Bannerman!’ she called, her voice slicing through the commotion with the precision of a referee’s whistle. ‘Ye cannae sneak by!’

Not for want of trying, though. ‘Mornin’, Isa.’

‘Are ye here to help set up, or are ye just gallivantin’ aboot?’

He shifted his fishing gear, holding it like a weird shield. ‘Just off for a bit of fishing before the madness.’

‘Aye, too much kerfuffle for a man like you, I reckon,’ she teased. ‘But there’s somethin’ ye might want to try.’ She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘My haggis turnovers. Ye’re a baker’s boy, ye know what’s good. Tell me – are they the best or are they the best?’

‘I’m a pescatarian, Isa. I don’t eat meat. Why do you think I never come into your shop?’

That declaration caused a minor quake in her world, eyebrows knitting together as if he had suggested the earth was flat. Which everybody knew to be nonsense, allowed only in Terry Pratchett’s books.

‘Not even a haggis turnover, lad?’

‘Not even that.’

She looked at him with unveiled confusion. ‘But surely a wee bit of chicken?’

‘Nope, no chicken.’

Isa sized Connor up as though he were a mystery she wanted to solve but didn’t have the time to. ‘Now that I have ye here – have ye heard that Kirsty Munro is back in toon?’

Connor’s grip on the rod tightened, and he could swear his heart did a backflip before landing squarely in his throat. ‘I have, aye.’

Isa’s eyes sparkled with the sort of curiosity that fed the town’s gossip mill. ‘Yous were an item back in the day, right?’

‘A long time ago,’ he said, ‘when we were bairns.’

‘She’s not a bairn anymore, that’s for sure.’ Isa nudged him with a smirk, her knowing gaze holding onto Connor as if she was privy to the secrets of his heart. ‘She’s turned into quite the woman, wouldn’t ye say?’

Connor cleared his throat, looking out towards the water to avoid Isa’s penetrating stare. It was true, Kirsty wasn’t a child anymore. Neither was he. But he couldn’t allow himself to think about what that did or didn’t mean.

‘Have to scoot, Isa. Lovely to chat.’

‘Aye, off ye go. The fish wait for naebody. Cheery bye!’

‘See you later.’

It wasn’t that he didn’t like people individually. He just didn’t like them in herds. And he, for the life of him, couldn’t stand their nosy banter.