“Well, it looks... very good on you.” I swallow. “And, er, it’s the same story with me, actually. This is the outfit I was planning to wear on that date we never quite made it to.”
Struan’s eyes darken slightly, travelling over me again in a way that makes my skin warm. “Aye? Fuck, Ainsley. You look incredible. I wouldn’t have been able to resist you if I’d seen you like this.”
I scoff, though my heart is racing. “You didn’t exactly resist me in my casual clothes. That’s why we missed the date in the first place.”
He laughs—that warm, rumbling sound that does things to my insides. “That’s true.”
Sophie raises her eyebrows with interest. Then she stands. “It’s been lovely to meet you, Ainsley. But I think I’m maybe intruding on what should be a private conversation between you two.” She looks at Struan. “I’ll see you on Friday?”
“What?” Struan blinks. “Oh, aye, right. Friday. See you then.”
Sophie catches my eye and winks—a small, conspiratorial thing—before slipping away.
Struan gestures to the vacated chair. “Join me?”
I do. The candle flickers between us. Beyond the window, the glen stretches into darkness.
“I’m still trying to get my breathing back to normal,” I admit. “I honestly thought I’d lost my chance. I thought you’d moved on.”
Struan reaches across the table and takes my hand. His hand is warm and calloused and fits around mine like it belongs there.
“I haven’t looked at anyone else since the day you fell into my lap at soft play.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. “Well. We made it to the Glen Garve Resort in the end. Only, it’s not quite how I imagined our first date going.”
He chuckles, his thumb stroking across my knuckles. “No, me neither. Still, I’m sitting across from you, and you look incredible. That’s something. But this isn’t our first date, Ainsley. This is just... a preview. Trust me.” His fingers tighten around mine. “Our first date for real is going to blow you away.”
“Oh, aye?”
“Aye.” He grins, slow and devastating. “By the end of our firstproperdate, you’ll be mine.”
My breath catches. “Bold claim.”
“Not a claim, Ainsley.” He holds my gaze, steady and sure. “A promise.”
EPILOGUE
STRUAN
Spring
The gate is coming together nicely. Sturdy oak slats, brass hinges I salvaged from an old wardrobe on a job last month, and a latch simple enough that wee fingers can work it.
The spring sun is warm on my back, and somewhere in the garden behind me, a blackbird is going absolutely mental with its singing.
“I’m helping,” Lily announces beside me, giving the gatepost an enthusiastic whack with her plastic hammer.
“Aye, you are. Couldn’t do it without you.”
She beams up at me, all round cheeks and pigtails, then delivers another blow that wouldn’t dent a marshmallow. “This isveryhard work, Stwuan.”
“The hardest,” I agree.
Next up is the middle hinge, the fiddly bit that needs both hands and a level of concentration that’s hard to maintain when a four-year-old is tapping everything within reach. I catch Isla’s eye across the garden.
She’s lying on the picnic blanket with a book, but a twitch of her mouth tells me she gets it. That’s my girl.
“Lily!” She sets down the book. “Come see what I’ve just spotted. I think it might be a fairy house.”
