Tell me Scotland is worth missing London.
I grinned at her pun. London Wetherspoon had been my best friend since the ninth grade. We’d both attended a private New York high school that wasn’t quite as vicious asGossip Girldepicted, but we knew kids who lived in actual hotel rooms, who partied hard and dirty, and lived in a world of privilege beyond most people’s imagination. London’s parents were both top surgeons and she barely ever saw them. They were neglectful at best, emotionally abusive at worst. My parents were loving and hands-on and my mom was adamant I didn’t get sucked into a life of crazy ostentatiousness because of our wealth.
Despite her own privileged upbringing, London never acted like a pretentious asshole or superior to anyone who had less. She’d envied those whose parents were around and cared. Her parents only cared when London’s grades weren’t high enough. They’d stopped caring altogether when she refused to go to medical school and she’d used her trust fund to put herself through culinary school. London was now a sous chef at a restaurant in Manhattan and worked long hours.
To my surprise, she was still dating Nick. Nick had attended our school but was a few years ahead of us. I remembered him being gorgeous, popular, and a bully. London promised he’d matured since then, but I had my reservations. Nick was a successful stockbroker, and I thought he was wrong for my best friend. He wanted London to quit her job, and it had become a point of contention between them. I thought Nick didn’t really know London if he thought she’d give up her career for him. However, London seemed infatuated with him, despite their differences.
It’ll never be worth that. But London could come to Scotland
It was too early to get a response. I’d need distraction elsewhere. Keeping busy. That’s what I required. The past week, I’d spent my time sightseeing, in between traveling to antique stores on the mainland and across the isles with Cameron to find pieces that might work for the B and B. I attempted valiantly not to think about Ramsay.
I saw him yesterday, bringing his small boat into harbor, the rocking chair he’d been working on in the back of it. He’d obviously finished it and was bringing it to Cammie. Ramsay hadn’t seen me and I’d hurried away before he could.
Cammie had asked me about getting stuck on Stòr. Apparently, Annie at the volunteer lifeboat service had told everyone. I shrugged it off like it was no big deal and changed the subject.
There was no point letting everyone know I had a big ol’ silly crush on a man who had left his beloved dog alone with a stranger rather than converse with said stranger.
Throwing back the last of my coffee, I grabbed my keys and purse, glancing around the apartment to make sure I had everything I needed. It was a small one bedroom with an open-plan living and kitchen. It had a nice view over the harbor, though the windows weren’t big enough to really take advantage of it. Aodhan usually rented the apartment out as a vacation let and it wasn’t purpose built for someone to stay in long term. But it would do until the B and B was ready. We were designing an owner’s suite where I’d live permanently.
I hurried down the stairwell, out the front entrance of the building, and almost walked into a group of tourists. Murmuring apologies, I strode down the harbor road that bustled with life. As long as the weather allowed, there were regular ferries to the mainland not only for tourists but for locals. Many people on Glenvulin worked on the mainland, so they had to catch a ferry in the mornings and afternoons. There were also tourists, of course, and fishermen and excursion boats already filling the harbor. The smell of seawater, fish, and the sound of gulls crying overhead had become a familiar and welcome assault on my senses. Cammie had joked that there were only two seasons on Glenvulin—June and winter.
It was June and I was going to enjoy the heck out of the mild, calm weather while we had it.
For the past few weeks, I’d ventured all over Glenvulin, snapping photos for my social media, starting with the colorful row of buildings that curved along the coastline. For a tiny village, the rainbow Main Street overflowed with businesses. There was everything from the volunteer lifeboat service and ferry crossing to vacation apartments, two hotels, a hostel, a beauty salon, a convenience store, a coffee/bookshop, a bakery, two gift shops, a museum, a hardware store, a chocolate shop, a whisky distillery, pharmacy, Italian restaurant, and a fish-and-chips shop. And that was just on Main Street. In the village beyond were more stores, a fishmonger, a butcher, a doctor’s surgery, a fire and police station, and a small supermarket. Farther out on Glenvulin were a couple more cafés and restaurants, a cheese farm, Quinn and Cammie’s parents’ farm and their farm shop with fresh produce, as well as a few more hotels and B and Bs.
I’d been warned I’d miss my conveniences living on the island, but so far, so good. Certain services managed to do overnight to the isles, which amazed me, but getting some of the supplies we required for the renovation was a little more involved. I had to pay extra on delivery for the more unwieldy and larger materials. But I could survive with only a handful of takeout choices and stores.
Maybe not having everything at their fingertips, having to wait to receive things they wanted and/or needed, or having to travel for them was why the people of Glenvulin seemed a lot more laid-back and patient than the people from the world I’d left behind.
Work started today and Cameron had offered to meet me there. I enjoyed hanging out with Cammie and was pretty sure we’d remain friends after the B and B renovation was complete.
My first stop was my favorite place second to the bakery— the coffee shop/bookstore. It was housed in a pink and white building next to the blue and yellow building of the bakery next door.
It was called Macbeth’s Pages & Perks.
It was already busy inside the cozy store. Along the back wall was the coffee counter and all the machinery. The adjacent side of the room was lined with bookshelves and the front of the store with bistro tables. There was a comfortable couch and coffee table near the bookshelves, but it was always occupied whenever I ventured in. There were two armchairs next to an actual fireplace, but those were always the first spots to get taken.
Framed literary posters hung on the wall, interspersed between metal signs with sayings about coffee and books like “That’s what I do: I drink coffee. I read books. And I know things.” “Death to Decaf.” “Drink Coffee: Do stupid things faster with more energy.” “Heaven is a never-ending supply of coffee and books. Welcome to Heaven.”
The signs made me smile and wonder about the owner, whom I’d yet to meet. The store was run by Ewan and Martha, who had told me during a quieter moment in the shop that the owner, Isla Macbeth, was currently off sick.
Today, I was greeted by a new face behind the coffee counter. A beautiful brunette with large dark eyes gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach said eyes. “What can I get you?” she asked in a Scots accent similar to the locals. Yet I hadn’t seen her around the village before because I definitely would have remembered her.
“Americano for Tierney!” Ewan called from the opposite end of the counter, flashing me a grin of welcome.
I smiled back and nodded at the brunette. “He’s right.”
“Oh, you must be the American who bought the guesthouse,” the brunette said before turning toward the machine to start making my drink. She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m Taran Macbeth.”
“Oh, are you Isla’s daughter?”
Undeniable pain tightened Taran’s features. “You met Mum, then?”
“No.” I hesitated, not sure what was happening but feeling not-great vibes. I glanced down the counter toward Ewan who gave me a shake of his head, his eyes suddenly bright with emotion.
Oh god, what was happening?
Taran finished making the Americano in silence and then set it down in front of me. “I hope you like it here.”
