The Highland Fling(103)
I reach up and grip the top of the doorframe. “Yeah, I would, but I don’t think that’s an option. She’s going back to America on Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?” I nod. “Then that means you still have today.” He smiles.
“Da, I can’t—”
“What is your biggest regret, besides me?”
I glance away. “My fight with Bonnie.”
“So what’s stopping you? Your stubborn pride? Don’t let a personality trait you inherited from me keep you from getting what you want. You love her, yes?”
“Aye.”
“Then be the man I know I raised. Apologize, and beg her to stay. If there was one thing I noticed when we’d speak to you on the phone, it was the passion you had for that girl. The same passion I have for your maw. It’s one-of-a-kind love, Rowan. Don’t be an eejit and lose it.”
“But, Da, I should be focusing on you.”
His eyes narrow. “You and I are right where we’re supposed to be. Do you understand? The best thing you can do for me, in these last days of my life, is make sure I leave this earth knowing that you’re taking care of your maw, that you’re a man of this town, and that you’re happy. And I mean deep-rooted, to your marrow, happy. Can Bonnie bring you that kind of happiness?”
“She’s the only thing that’s ever washed away the pain and brought me joy.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing here, talking to me, you bawbag? Go get her.”
“Just like that? Go up to her and ask for her forgiveness?”
“Aye. Helps if you have a peace offering as well.”
I glance at the mug in his hands. “I actually made that for her.”
He holds up the mug and smiles. “Then it’s very fitting.” He holds it out, and I take it from him. I move to the back of his wheelchair, but he stops me with a hand to my forearm. “Rowan, come here.”
I squat in front of him, and he places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a feeble squeeze. I know it’s all he can muster, but it’s enough for me, and I put my hand on top of his.
“I need to tell you something I should have told you many years ago.” His voice chokes up and he coughs a few times before he steadies himself and makes eye contact with me. “Your talent . . . it’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen. This”—he points to the shed—“this is what you should be doing, and I never should have made you think differently. I’m sorry, Rowan.”
“Da, please don’t apologize.”
“I need to. I need you to know I’m ashamed of my behavior, and I would be honored . . .” His voice cracks, and my throat tightens. “I would be honored if you would make my urn.”
“Da . . .” Tears fill my eyes. “I can’t—”
“Do this for me, Rowan. Please. Make my urn. It would mean so much to me.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Please.”
Wiping a tear from my eye, I nod. “It would be my honor, Da.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BONNIE
Cake slices consumed: One full Dundee cake, courtesy of Isla.
Tattie scones consumed: Two; one was burnt, courtesy of Dakota.
Cake batter consumed: At least one cup, courtesy of my fingers, which couldn’t stop scooping up gobs. Don’t worry, I used the batter for my own cake. Which brings me to . . .
Box cake consumed: A measly half of one, thanks to my dippy fingers.
All of the above is because I’m headed home without my best friend and with something new: a broken heart.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dakota asks as I wipe down the coffee shop counter, my flight back home tomorrow looming over me.
“No, but I think it’s what I have to do. I can’t stay here. Not now that Rowan’s back. It’s too painful.”
“But, Bonnie, don’t you see what you’ve done?” Dakota motions to the now-empty coffee shop that was bustling all day. “You made something of this place. You created an environment, not only for tourists but for the locals too. You saw Hamish and Alasdair—they were here for an hour, just talking and enjoying some tattie scones. You brought this place back to life.” Dakota shakes my shoulders. “You, Bonnie. You did that. No one else.”
“I had help,” I say, flushing as I allow myself a moment to feel proud of what I’ve created. I glance around the shop, my heart completely invested in these four walls.
Find yourself in Scotland.
I found myself . . . and so much more.
“You had help, but we just executed your vision. The success of the coffee shop rests in your hands. You’re just going to leave that?”
“Would you be able to stay here if Isla wasn’t talking to you?”
“I would at least try to talk to her before I left. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“And say what?” I toss my cleaning rag into the laundry basket we keep under the counter.
“That you’re sorry?”
“I’ve tried to do that. You should have seen the look on his face at the Mill Market. There was nothing there other than the desire to retreat as quickly as possible.” I work my way around the counter and start lifting the chairs off the floor and onto the tables. “I can’t stay here.”