My eyes land on a man at a table near the window. For a split second, I dismiss him—too polished, too put-together—and I’m about to move on when something makes me look again.
My breath catches. Because itisStruan. Only he’s... different. Very different.
Gone are the usual crumpled checked shirt and worn jeans. Tonight he’s wearing dark tailored trousers, a crisp white button-down, and a blazer that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad. His hair—still shorter than I’m used to, thanks to my emergency rescue mission with the scissors—curls just above his collar, and even from here, I can see the way the candlelight catches in those golden-brown eyes.
He looksgood. The kind of good that makes my stomach flip and my mouth go dry.
And he’s sitting across from a woman.
They’re leaning close over the white linen, laughing quietly at something. Empty dessert plates sit between them. The candlelight paints them both in soft, romantic gold.
My heart drops straight through the floor.
The woman is gorgeous, of course. Dark-blonde hair falling to her shoulders, pretty features, a relaxed smile. She looks comfortable with him. Familiar.
For one horrible, lurching moment, I’m back in my old village. Walking in on Danny and Rachel tangled together. The shock of it. The humiliation. The way my world tilted sideways and never quite righted itself.
My chest tightens. My vision blurs at the edges.
No.
I force myself to breathe. Force the panic back down.
This isn’t like that. Because I’m not with Struan. He has every right to be here with another woman.Itold him I didn’t want this.Ipushed him away. Multiple times. I practically slammed the door in his face.
So what right do I have to feel this way?
None. Absolutely none.
And yet here I am. In a velvet dress. In a restaurant I wasn’t invited to. About to do something monumentally stupid.
For a moment, I consider turning around. Walking back out. Driving home and pretending this never happened.
But then I think about all the times I’ve let fear make my decisions for me.
No. I need to say my piece. I owe him that. I owemyselfthat.
If he’s moved on, fine. But I’m not leaving without trying.
I straighten my spine, smooth down my dress, and walk towards their table.
Struan is mid-sentence when he looks up. Whatever he was saying dies on his lips. His mouth parts, and he stares.
His gaze travels down, taking in the dress, the heels, all of it. Something shifts in his expression. Something warm and surprised and—unless I’m imagining it—a little bit awestruck.
That look gives me a bolt of courage I desperately need.
“I know how this looks,” I say. “And I know you’re clearly on a date—sorry—but I have to say this before I lose my nerve and run out of here and spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”
“Er, Ainsley—” Struan starts.
“Shh!” I hold up a hand. “There are things I need to say, and Iwillsay them.”
I glance at the woman—she’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read—and give her a quick, apologetic smile before turning back to Struan.
“Right.” I take a breath. My heart is pounding so hard I’m amazed the whole restaurant can’t hear it. “I pushed you away, and I’m sorry about that. I really am. But I was scared, Struan. Properly scared. The last time I let myself trust someone, it ended with my best friend in bed with my boyfriend andthe whole village whispering about me like I was some tragic cautionary tale.”
“Ainsley—”
