“I can see that.” He reached out to touch my cheek and I forced myself not to react. “You seemed so much more like yourself in there.”
“I’m getting back to that person. But hopefully to a better version of her.” I slowly eased away so it didn’t seem like a rejection. “How are you?”
“I’m not done asking about you. When do you come home?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you’re retiring. That you’ll be announcing it soon, right? So when do you come home?”
“Oh.” I’d battled with the idea of returning to Ardnoch and landed on splitting my time between here and London. “I’m not. I’m staying in London. While I figure things out. I’ll spend a few months in Ardnoch over the summer, though.”
“You should come home.” He scowled. “You know that’s where you need to be.”
“I know I need to take all the changes that are happening in my life one step at a time,” I replied calmly.
The muscle in his jaw twitched as he turned to glower out at the darkness beyond. We could hear the water crashing against the shore below and see glimmers of waves catching in the half-moon light.
“How are you?” I repeated.
“All right.” He shot me a reluctant smile. “Been worrying about losing those damn wedding rings.”
Fyfe was Lewis’s best man.
I laughed. “The pressure.” Then, because I was a masochist, “Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
He tensed for a millisecond, shot me a look out of the corner of his eye, and then returned to staring straight ahead. “No. I am … I’m casually seeing someone, though.”
The thought of him with someone other than me was so painful, I had to shut all emotion down.
“It’s not serious.” He turned to me now. “You know I don’t do serious.”
“Right.” I smirked as I created a mental shield between myself and my jealousy.
“We started seeing each other last month. She’s from the US. Here on a work visa until January. We’re just passing the time together. There’s not a huge selection in the Highlands, you know. So it’s just … fun. Can’t invite her to the wedding. It would give her the wrong idea.”
Please stop talking.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Aye.”
Fyfe flinched like I’d hit him. “Who? When?”
“Oh, I’m not seeing someone romantically.” I took perverse pleasure in his reaction. “I’m seeing a therapist. Her name is Diana.”
His shoulders seemed to slump with relief. My eyes narrowed. Interesting.
“That’s good. Is it helping?”
“Definitely.” I relayed to him what I’d told Dad, falling so easily into that place of sharing with Fyfe because I couldn’t seem to help myself.
He reached out and curved his hand over mine. “Eilidh … it kills me that you ever felt those things about yourself. Do younot know that your friendship has meant so much to me and to others over the years?”
Friendship.
Bloody friendship.
I smiled tightly and pulled my hand away. “Thank you. I better get back inside. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
