The Highland Fling(90)

Fuck.

Bonnie . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry.

The thoughts ring through my head, but my mouth can’t seem to form the words.

“Rowan, please say something,” she begs, her beautiful eyes pleading, but a wave of numbness falls over me. Bonnie’s distraught, and it’s my fault, but I can’t find it within me to care.

Turning away, I stride back to the cottage and flee to my room before slamming the door shut.

Sinking onto my bed, I bury my head in my hands and think about what the hell I’m going to do.

It takes about two seconds to decide.

London.

I’m going to London.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN





BONNIE


Broken heart: One.

Nausea is in full force. What the hell just happened?



I’ve seen Rowan grumpy.

I’ve even seen him angry.

But I’ve never seen him like that.

It was as if a completely different person took over his body and lashed out.

After he stormed back inside, I stood in front of the shed for a few moments until I found enough courage to go back to the cottage, but when I entered, he was locked in his room. His message was loud and clear: he didn’t want me near him. After that, I didn’t waste any time in leaving. I gathered my things and practically ran back to my cottage.

Now, sitting in my unmade bed, I wait for Dakota to get home.

When I was delirious and striding back to the cottage, I sent her a few panicked texts. When I got to my bedroom, a few more. And two minutes ago I tried calling, and after two rings, the phone went to voice mail.

No response.

No best friend when I need her the most.

Anxiety at an all-time high, I try to steady my breathing, knowing I have a lot to get done today.

I can do this. Everything will be okay.

God, I wish Dakota was here.

Shakily, I stand and change my clothes, feeling like I need a fresh start. Once my shoes are on, I stick my phone in the back pocket of my jean shorts and head to the coffee shop, where I find Fergus standing by the door.

Trusty, dependable—

“Ahhhhhh.”

Screaming Fergus.

At the sight of what seems to be my only friend these days, I swallow down a flood of emotions and give him a pat on the head. “Good morning, Fergie. I see you’re clearing the lungs out already. Getting ready to startle some tourists, I hope.”

With a small back kick of his legs, he lifts his nose and clops away.

I’m going to take that as a morning greeting and not as another person screaming at me.

Making quick work of the lock, I let myself into the shop, flip on the lights, and take in the clean, white-walled space. We hung up the inside shutters and the pictures, giving the room a much more homey feeling. I’m still waiting on installing shelves, because we haven’t settled on merchandise. Before we go all in, we want to make sure the baked goods and new coffee choices attract more business.

At least, that was the general consensus. Now I have no idea.

I make my way from table to table, setting the chairs on the floor and putting out the little vases Rowan brought in the other day. I pause, realization dawning on me as I look down at the vase in my hand. He made these. He said he had them lying around. But what he meant was they were lying around his shed.

I look at the bottom of the vase. No signature, no indication that he was the one who made them, and yet they’re pristine. Beautifully shaped, with a red glaze that adds the perfect pop of color the space needs.

I should have asked him where they were from. I should have complimented them more. Then again, he probably wouldn’t have admitted he made them. Is that what he’s been hiding this whole time? The life he wanted to live but never got to?

Just as I set the vase down, the door to the shop opens and Dakota steps inside.

“Jesus, where have you been?” I ask, facing her. “Why didn’t you answer my calls and texts?”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest, her stance defensive. I tense up, my gut telling me I’m about to be yelled at—again.

“Do you have something to tell me?”

I sigh. “Listen, Dakota, I really need a friend right now. Can we put whatever I did to make you mad on hold? I think Rowan just broke up with me and—”

“What did you say to Isla?”

So much for putting a pin in whatever I did. Nope, she’s addressing it right now.

“Uh, I’ve said a lot of things to Isla.”

“She told me she really appreciated the walk you guys took yesterday because you told her all about Isabella, and now she knows why I’m acting the way I’m acting.”

Oh, the walk.

“I didn’t say anything bad; I just told her about Isabella and how she was manipulative and vindictive. How you weren’t sure if you knew how to be in a same-sex relationship. How you’ve been confused.”

“Why would you tell her that?” Dakota asks, distress in her voice.

“She asked what Isabella did to you. What was I supposed to say?”

“Nothing. You were supposed to say nothing and then tell her that’s a conversation she should have with me.”

“What does it matter?” I ask, my brow furrowed. “It’s the same information, and clearly you weren’t telling her. It’s something she needed to know. She was worried about you. She said you weren’t clueing her in on anything.”