“Thanks.”
Walker nodded again. “Oh, and if by some miracle you do convince Callie … if I see her on the back of that bike going at anything above forty … I’ll kill you. Make that a blanket statement—if you hurt her physically or emotionally or put her in harm’s way physically or emotionally, I will end you.” With that, he stepped inside, closing the door on me without another word.
His threat wasn’t unexpected, and he’d said similar on multiple occasions when I was a teenager. It had terrified me then, just not enough to stop dating Callie. Now? Well, since he hadn’t killed me yet, I wasn’t too concerned.
I did feel dejected, and a bit pissed off at Fyfe (which I knew wasn’t fair), as I strode toward my bike. However, as I was throwing my leg over it, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Slipping it out, I relaxed at the name on the text.
Fyfe:
She’ll probably kill me for this, but Callie’s here with Carianne. You should stop by.
Grinning, all resentment disappeared. Everyone should have a friend like Fyfe Moray. The mention of Carianne, Callie’s old friend and Fyfe’s ex from when we were kids, barely registered. All I could think about was seeing Callie. Since our night together, the memory of it had tortured me. The thought of never being able to experience being with her again was an agony I couldn’t shake. I was determined that this year would end with Callie Ironside in my bed for the rest of fucking eternity.
Fourteen
CALLIE
The houses on the development were spaced out across the large parcel of land so if Fyfe wanted to, he never had to talk to his neighbors. One of his new neighbors, I’d discovered, was Aunt Ally’s cousin-in-law, Sarah, and her husband. My mum was heading over there to help set up for their daughter Rose’s fourth birthday, so she’d dropped me off at Fyfe’s. I knew Sarah and Theo split their time between Gairloch and London, but it looked like they were putting more permanent roots down in Ardnoch too.
When we were younger, I used to tease Lewis that I had a crush on Sarah’s husband. He was outrageously good-looking with a sexy, plummy English accent, and it used to make Lewis adorably jealous whenever I waxed lyrical about him. When we were really young, Lewis used to blush around Allegra, so it was only fair. Not that it wasn’t understandable. Aunt Ally was beautiful and sweet and had an undeniable charisma. She was also married to the love of her life, Jared (Sarah’s cousin), who owned the farm Fyfe’s home sat on.
Aunt Ally and Uncle Jared had started off with building glamping pods to rent out. Those had become sosuccessful that they’d expanded the business into holiday lodges. And then instead of selling off some more of their extensive land to a housing developer, they’d decided to develop the plot themselves. On top of their businesses, Allegra was a successful artist and ran an art gallery in the village called Skies Over Caledonia.
When I was younger, I envied Aunt Ally so much. She’d claimed Ardnoch as her own and made a home here with the love of her life. I thought I’d follow in her footsteps, and we’d maybe even raise children together. But Lewis had left, and Aunt Ally and Uncle Jared had decided to enjoy a few years of just each other before starting a family. She fell pregnant as I departed for Paris and as her sister, Aunt Aria, and her husband North adopted a wee boy called Maddox who was three at the time, now six years old. And Aunt Ally had a two-year-old called Collum. I was his pseudo aunt, and he barely knew me. But I intended to change that.
“You’re off in dreamland.”
I turned from staring out of Fyfe’s floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking nothing but rolling fields and trees to meet Carianne’s eyes.
Carianne and I had stayed in touch after I left for Paris, and we always caught up whenever I visited home. She worked as a stylist in a hair salon in Thurso and lived in a small upstairs flat a few streets behind Castle Street. When we were younger, she’d wanted to get out of Ardnoch but had no money. So she’d stayed and trained at the salon. After Fyfe invited me over to breakfast this morning, I’d discovered Carianne here and that she and Fyfe had struck up a friendship again when he’d returned to Ardnoch. They’d only dated for a year when we were kids, and it had ended amiably, so we’d all remained friends.
Her pretty blue eyes held mine. We shared a similar coloring with dark blond hair, blue eyes, and olive skin, butthat was where the similarities ended. She had delicate features, whereas I had big eyes and full lips. I was also outgoing and laid-back about most things. Carianne used to be a huffy child. She’d wanted everyone to be her best friend but no one to be anyone else’s best friend. She easily felt neglected even when you were giving her your full attention, and if something happened—anything—her first thought was always for herself.
However, after her first thought, she’d take some time to process and then she was sympathetic and loyal and caring. She was one of the first to call if you were sick or sad or if something had gone wrong in your day. Her gifts were always considerate, and she was a good listener when a person needed her to be. No one was perfect. I certainly wasn’t. And so I’d put up with the annoying huffy side of Carianne so I could still have all the other lovely qualities she brought to a friendship.
We hadn’t spent much time together in the last three years, but I wanted that to change and to see all the ways she’d grown up in my absence.
“It’s strange to be back here with you and Fyfe,” I finally answered. “In a good way.”
“How can we compete with Paris and French lovers, though?” Carianne teased, throwing her arm around me to give me a squeeze.
“Let’s not talk about French lovers,” Fyfe said from the kitchen where he was making breakfast.
“Look at him.” Carianne nodded to Fyfe as he cooked. “All grown up and cooking breaky in his swanky house. Wee Fyfe Moray has come a long way.”
Fyfe rolled his eyes at her comment.
“He has. And we couldn’t be prouder.”
“Bursting with it,” Carianne assured.
“Stop it,” Fyfe grumbled, “or you’ll make my head swell.Just get over here and eat up.”
We sat down at the midcentury-style dining table as Fyfe served us fluffy homemade pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs.
“This looks delicious.” My belly grumbled. “Marry me, Fyfe.”
Fyfe raised an eyebrow as his doorbell rang. “I think that might piss off the person at my door.”
