But he was honest and I respected him.
If he thought my screenplay was good, then it would buoy my confidence.
I could email him, but it might be better to talk to him face-to-face. Which I could do now, since I was home.
But I needed time.
I needed patience with myself. Just some time to … merelybe. And yes, I knew I was privileged to take that time. Most people had to keep working through life and its struggles. Most people also hadn’t experienced the amount of international pressure I’d dealt with.
I needed time to enjoy writing, enjoy my family, without all that other stuff clouding my mind. Ultimately, I’d decided to give up London. Ardnoch was where I wanted to be, so I didn’t sign another rental agreement on my flat. My landlord Peter practically begged me to stay and offered me a longer term of rent control. I’d thanked him but packed up all my belongings. Most of it was in storage while I moved back into my childhood home.
The sea breeze fluttered over me as I rested my arms against the balcony railing on the deck of my parents’ house. Being home was all about fresh starts. With everyone. Mum and Dad had redecorated the annex knowing I was coming home, and I was bravely facing my fears of the space. Last night was my first night in the detached guest suite, and it took me a while to fall asleep. But I was determined to persevere. The guest annex allowed me to be near my family while still providing some privacy. Of course, I could get my own place now that I was home, but I wasn’t ready to do that either.
They’d even set up a desk for me so I could write. Once I told them what my aspirations were, they threw themselves into supporting me. Not only was there a desk but there were notepads and a cork pin board above the desk with pins and empty note cards all ready for my thoughts and ideas.
An ache moved through me as I stared out at the North Sea. Years. I’d kept myself from them for years. No wonder I’d been miserable. I’d separated myself from the people who made me whole.
Yet despite our reunion, there was still an emptiness in me.
It had a name.
Fyfe Moray.
His warm dark eyes filled my mind and I flushed, remembering the last time we were together. I’d avoided my brother’s best friend for six months. Ever since he kissed me at Lewis and Callie’s wedding and then blamed it on alcohol again. Fyfe had tried calling. For weeks and weeks. About six weeks in, he gave up. He sent me a text promising he’d leave me alone and reiterating how sorry he was.
Ignoring Fyfe wasn’t part of my new approach to life. No, avoiding him was temporary. I needed to deal with all this other stuff first and fully intended to have a serious discussion with him upon my return home.
I knew Fyfe was terrified of commitment.
I also knew we were drawn together. That there was a connection between us neither could deny. And I was done denying it. I was going to admit my feelings to Fyfe. Either he’d reciprocate and together we’d deal with how that affected Lewis … or he’d reject me. The latter would hurt like a motherfucker. But I’d have my answer and I could move on.
I was done with being dishonest with myself and others.
Butterflies erupted in my belly as I pushed away from the balcony and turned to open the sliding doors to the living room. Stepping inside, I shut it behind me and locked up. Mor was at school, Mum was at the childcare center she ran, and Dad was at his office in Inverness.
The house was empty, but their warmth still lingered. Mor had asked me a question about the William Shakespeare projectshe was doing for English, and I’d helped her with it over breakfast. She’d hugged me before she left for school and it had felt wonderful. Mum had fluttered around us all, multitasking like a boss, taking care of us even as she readied herself for work. Between helping Mor, I’d watched her and Dad in the kitchen. She stopped what she was doing to tie his tie for him and then he’d handed her a coffee as she offered him a plate of scrambled eggs on toast. Afterward, he’d taken both their plates to wash them and urged her out of the kitchen to finish getting ready for the day.
Before Dad left for work, because he thought Mor and I were preoccupied, he’d kissed Mum thoroughly. When she was flushed and smiling, dimples appearing, he dropped a tender kiss on the tip of her nose and just stared at her for a few seconds. Like she was a miracle.
After all these years.
I’d returned my focus to Mor because I was afraid I might burst into tears. Ones of happiness for my parents. Maybe ones of sadness and longing for myself.
I think because … I knew what the outcome of my quest would be today.
And I still intended to do it.
Fyfe was not at home.
I tried calling him, but it rang out so I called Lewis instead.
“He’s at my place,” my brother told me. “There’s some new security system he wants to install. We told him the one we have is good enough, but ever since those guys broke in without him knowing, he’s paranoid.”
Lewis referred to the Frenchmen who had been looking for a piece of vital evidence Callie’s police officer ex-boyfriend had hidden in a gift. They’d ransacked my brother and sister-in-law’s beautiful home. It didn’t surprise me Fyfe still held guilt about the fact that he’d been charged with installing their security, but he hadn’t gotten it up and running when the break-in occurred.
“Is he still there?”
“Aye, he just got there.”
