The train pulled into Goldloch, and I dragged my wheelie suitcase through the usual platform chaos, feeling slightly seasick from the train’s rocking motion now I was back on solidground. As I cleared the barriers, I spotted a familiar figure waiting on the other side, and couldn’t suppress the grin that took over my face.
Eliza was clad in tartan trousers that should have looked ridiculous, but somehow made her look like she belonged, her blonde hair catching the morning light. Just the sight of her made something in my chest do an embarrassing flip, like my heart had just woken up from a very long sleep. She held a sign that readPoppy Voss, CEO, Voss Watchesin bold black letters, as if she were the world’s most strangely attired chauffeur.
I shook my head as I approached. When I was close enough, she turned the sign over. The reverse side declared:I’m Sorry. Can You Forgive Me?
I stopped just short of her. To her left, two teenagers wandered past in a passionate clinch, oblivious to the world. We weren’t there yet.
Eliza lowered the sign and offered a tentative smile. “I wasn’t sure if this was endearingly romantic or mortifyingly cheesy.” She tilted her head, studying my expression. “Judging by your face, I’d say it’s landing somewhere in the middle?”
“It’s veryLove Actually, which was nobody’s finest hour.”
“In my defence, I’m significantly less stalker-y than Andrew Lincoln.’
I raised a single eyebrow. “You did send me train tickets to travel the length of the country.”
She grinned. “But I gave you a choice and didn’t kidnap you. And I wore tartan trousers to make you feel at home. Can we agree it’s a good start?”
Eliza reached out her hand and took my suitcase.
I let her.
“I wasn’t even sure you’d get off the train,” Eliza admitted, shepherding me towards a red Mini Cooper. “But I thought, onthe off-chance you did, I should be here. I’m glad I took the gamble.”
“And you’ve got a car, now?”
“I hired it for a bit.”
As we drove through the village, Eliza waved at various locals like she was running for town mayor. She pointed out the butcher chopping in her shop window — “A female butcher. Everyone’s very excited!” — along with where to find the best coffee, and which road worked better for avoiding tourist traffic. It got me wondering, how long was “a bit”?
At the pub, Marcus greeted me with a hug, then launched into easy banter with Eliza about some local drama involving the postie and a territorial cockerpoo. This wasn’t casual acquaintance. Rather, this was the familiarity of someone who’d become part of the furniture.
Once I dumped my bags in my room, Eliza turned to me.
“Are you hungry, or can I show you something first?” There was a strange energy radiating from her.
“So long as we can get a coffee on the way, you can take me where you need to.”
We did just that, then drove down to the loch, stopping right on the shoreline beside Loch Cottage. In the overgrown garden, the estate agent’s sign still proclaimed it was for sale, though something about Eliza’s expression suggested that might not be entirely accurate anymore.
I stared at the cottage, its stone walls the same weathered grey, the windows still crooked in their frames like sleepy eyes. The wild garden spilled towards the water in a riot of Scottish roses and brambles, exactly as I remembered it.
“What are you showing me?”
I had an inkling.
She nodded towards the cottage. “This.”
This was the place we’d invented stories about as children, the one we’d sworn we’d buy someday when we had money. The cottage that featured in every daydream I’d ever had about the best view to pair with a morning coffee. About a life that moved at the speed of seasons rather than quarterly reports.
“Eliza.” My voice was a whisper. “Please tell me you haven’t—”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out some keys.
“You’ve bought it?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, but I’ve put in an offer, and it’s been accepted. I just need to give the nod, and it’s mine. But I didn’t want to do that until you arrived.”
This was still making zero sense. “You’re buying a house here? But you’re doing one up in London.” I had to say the words out loud to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. When she told me it wasn’t necessarily the house of her dreams, I never thought she meant it.
