He crosses the room and pulls my suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe, where I stashed it when I arrived, and I walk over to it on legs that don’t feel quite like they belong to me and open it up. By the time I turn back around to take some of my clothes out of the dresser, the open doorway is empty once more.
I guess she decided to get the hell out, then.
* * *
Jett and I don’t talk as we move around the room, methodically packing our stuff. I don’t know whether his silence is him being tactful, and letting me process my conversation with Mum, or if he’s just feeling awkward about our kiss now that he’s had the chance to think about it, but, either way, I’m grateful for the space he’s giving me. I really want to thank him for what he just did for me, but right now I don’t have the words; and, even if I did, I’m not sure I could get them out without crying.
It’s not even 9 a.m., and this has already been one of the weirdest — and most emotional — days of my life. And that’s up against quite a bit of competition.
“I’ll take this downstairs for you,” Jett says, breaking the silence as he picks up the suitcase for me. “It’ll be okay, Lexie,” he adds, turning to look back at me as he leaves the room. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”
I smile weakly in response. He’s being so sweet. Surely he can’t be faking that?
As he disappears down the stairs with the suitcase, I pause and take a last glance around the room, wondering if I’ll ever see it again. Before I can leave it, though, a movement at one of the windows catches my eye, and I stop to look out, blinking in surprise as I see Mum standing in the garden, gesturing wildly as she chats animatedly to a woman whose face I can’t quite see. After a few seconds, though, Mum turns and walks away, and the woman she was talking to looks directly up at the window I’m standing at, and I find myself ducking out of sight before she can see me.
It’s Scarlett Scott.
Talking to my mother, outside my house.
What was that I told Jett about there being no witches in Heather Bay?
Chapter 35
The chauffeur firm we used to pick us up from the airport is fully booked, and none of the taxi companies I try instead can send someone round at short notice, so I do the only thing I can think of, under the circumstances: I call McTavish.
“Aye, I’ll take ye to the airport,” he says immediately. “I dinnae ken why ye didnae just phone me in the first place. I drive an Uber, ye ken.”
I had no idea we evenhadUber here in the Highlands, but, sure enough, when McTavish pulls up outside the house in his ancient Volvo, 15 minutes later, I see a piece of cardboard taped to the back window with the word ‘Uber’ scrawled on it with a sharpie.
Mum mentioned he’d been trying to make some extra money during our wine-fuelled chat last night. I guess this is how he’s been doing it.
“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” Jett asks in a low voice as we pull away from the cottage.
“What’s that” asks McTavish immediately, looking at us in the rear-view mirror. “What just happened?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, glancing warningly at Jett. “Absolutely nothing. Thanks for picking us up, McTavish. I really appreciate it.”
Jett shrugs and pulls out his phone and McTavish turns his attention back to the road, leaving me free to lean my head against the window and watch as Heather Bay slips past us, with its pastel-painted houses, its cluttered souvenir shops, and its cute little cafes.
I’m going to miss it.
I know I didn’t want to come back here, but now that I’ve seen it again, I can’t help wishing I’d had more time to show Jett around; maybe take him cold-water swimming in the loch, or buy ice cream cones and sit on the beach together. We could even have gone hiking together, and found some of those trees he’s so keen on.
It would’ve been nice.
Stop it, Lexie.
I steal a sidelong look at Jett, who’s buried in his phone again, as usual. The problem is, all of those things I’ve been imagining us doing together are the kind of things you do with your partner, not the guy you have a weird-ass business arrangement with. And, as of right now, that’s still all this is. Or, as far as I know, anyway.
Jett hasn’t mentioned the kiss, just like I haven’t mentioned the argument with Mum. McTavish’s larger-than-life presence in the front of the car means we’re unlikely to start talking about either of those topics now, so instead I just roll them around in my head, worrying at them like a kitten with a ball of wool.
Did he kiss me because he’s into me, or was it just a spur-of-the-moment thing, because he was so elated by the news he’d just had from Asher?
Did he say those things to Mum because he couldn’t stand seeing me hurt, or would he have done the same for anyone?
And whereisMum, anyway? Where did she go after her conversation with Scarlett at the gate? What were they talking about? Why do I have a horrible feeling about all of this in the pit of my stomach right now?
Round and round the thoughts go in my head, my mind jumping from one worry to the next, and then right back to the start again. By the time the car pulls in to the little private airfield we flew into just a few days ago, I’ve bitten my fingernails almost to the quick, and I’m no further forward with any of the questions that are tormenting me.
