The Highland Fling(102)

“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “What do you mean, going home? To the cottage?”

“No,” Shona says, brow furrowed. “Going back to the States.” To the fucking States? “She leaves Tuesday. It’s nice she was able to patch things up with Dakota before she leaves. I guess Dakota wanted to go with her, but Bonnie told her to stay with Isla and help your maw at the shop. Finella tried to convince her to stay this morning, but I think she’s too heartbroken.” Shona looks me up and down. “Thanks to you.”

Fuck.

She’s going back home?

I . . . I can’t . . . fuck, she can’t leave.

“Maw talked to her this morning?” I ask, my throat growing tight.

Shona nods. “Bonnie was up early baking, getting ready for the day, teaching Dakota everything she knows. Not sure how long she’ll last. Dakota doesn’t seem like the baking type, but she’s giving it her best effort.” She shakes her head. “Such a shame you two didn’t work out. Bonnie was perfect for you. Perfect for the town.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to comprehend everything Shona is telling me.

“Anyhoo . . . need help with anything?” Shona asks, her gaze steely as she stares me down.

I shake my head.

“Well, if you do, you know where to find me.”

Whistling, she casually walks back to her register as my mind whirls. I glance over at her, and a smile stretches across her weathered face. How convenient, I realize, that Maw sent me to the Mill Market just now.

Maw has tried to talk to me about Bonnie, but I’ve brushed her off every time, unable to even think about the pain I caused her. Every text, every phone call—I ignored them all because I didn’t know what to say to her.

I still don’t.

I don’t even know if there is anything to say at this point.

She’s going home.

She clearly is done with me, and I don’t blame her. I haven’t given her anything to hold on to.



“I think it’s going to rain,” I say as I help Da out of my pickup and into his wheelchair.

“Let it rain.” He looks up at me. “Just means Callum is here with us, right?”

I smile softly. “I guess so.” Moving behind him to push him to my cottage, I ask, “Why did you want to come here?”

He holds his hand up to stop me. “I don’t want to go to your house. I want to go in there.” He points at my pottery shed.

“Da—”

“Don’t argue with me. Bring me to your shed.”

With a heavy sigh, I wheel him to my shed, open the double doors wide, and push him inside. I watch, a bit nervous, as he slowly takes everything in, hands folded on his lap. His eyes travel to the shelves, first landing on my completed work, which is ready for a home but has nowhere to go. Then they travel to the back, where I dry out my projects. Those shelves are empty. And then he takes in my workstation. Messy, with clay splatter everywhere, it’s a place where someone creates. The only question is, Does Da see it that way?

I watch him with bated breath. I try to gauge his reaction, try to understand what’s passing through his head. When his eyes return to my completed shelf, the corners of his mouth twitch upward toward the sky.

“That mug.” He points to one on the edge of a shelf, glazed and fired already. “Bring it to me.”

Of course he would pick that mug.

Reaching over to the shelf, I grab the mug and hand it to him. With shaky hands, he examines it. His fingers glide over the handle, the emblem of the hairy coo, the perfectly shaped cup I made for Bonnie. He checks out the bottom. “You don’t sign your work?”

I shrug. “It’s not like I do anything with it.”

“Because of me,” he says softly.

“Because I was afraid of doing anything that would cause the family more pain.” I lean against the wall. “I have so many regrets, Da, but setting aside pottery, in the grand scheme of things, is not one of them. For a while, I thought it was. I thought I was supposed to make something of myself through my hobby.” I shake my head. “I now realize how obtuse that is. I should have focused on you. On Maw. On mending our relationship.”

“We both should have. You are not to blame for the rift. I didn’t make it easy on you. And I pushed you away when I should have been holding on tighter.”

“Seems like I get that from you,” I say softly, looking out toward the leafy trees that surround my cottage.

“What do you mean?”

“Bonnie,” I say with a sigh. “We were seeing each other before I came to London. The day you and Maw rang and told me about . . . about your cancer, I found her right here, in my shed, checking everything out that I’ve always kept hidden. I honestly can’t remember what I said to her. I think I’ve blocked it out. All I remember is telling her to leave and the horrified look on her face. I haven’t talked to her since, and I’ve been ignoring her attempts to connect with me.”

He slowly nods and looks back down at the mug. “Do you love her?”

I don’t even have to think about it. The answer is clear as day in my head, even through the fog of my da’s illness. “I do. She’s the first lass I’ve ever loved.”

“Do you want her to be the last?”