“To remind you of something.” He walked around to the back of the house, and I followed him, my hiking boots trampling overgrown weeds, unkempt hedgerow scratching into my jeans as we waded through it.
Quinn stopped in the garden on the cliff top. Even though I’d already seen the view, my breath caught again as I looked out at the harbor to the sound of Glenvulin. Beyond the deep blue waters was the rugged coastline of the mainland of Scotland.
The large guesthouse was built on the hill above the harbor. Below was the main street with colorfully painted buildings that lined the coastal front of Leth Sholas. Leth Sholas was a tiny harbor town on the Isle of Glenvulin. Leth sholas meanthalf-lightin Gaelic and the town was colloquially nicknamed for its English translation.
Half-Light Harbor.
I’d fallen in love with the tiny village while backpacking around Scotland in search of the perfect place to start over. Half-Light Harbor, like many of the towns on the cluster of isles off the west coast of Scotland, was a dying community trying desperately to rejuvenate so they could provide opportunities that tempted their younger generation to stay. I was concerned as an American that I’d be viewed as some outsider intruding on their island. However, the community council had been more than helpful aiding me in obtaining the planning permissions needed to turn the guesthouse into a modern bed-and-breakfast.
“Once we open up the front”—Quinn gestured to the frontage with its too-small windows—“the views will be spectacular. I’ve always thought this place could be tremendous.” His look was warm and reassuring. “We’re all with you, Tierney, and grateful someone is investing their time and money into this old lady.” He nodded back to the house. “She deserves it.”
Gratitude suffused me. Since arriving a week ago to stay permanently on Glenvulin, I’d vacillated between excitement and panic. However, every time I slid toward the panicked end of the spectrum, someone from this tiny harbor town made me feel good about my decision. They were the most welcoming people I’d ever met. Some gruff and blunt, but always friendly. Well, almost always. There were one or two members in the community council who enjoyed making me sweat and uttered passive-aggressive comments about my not understanding how island life worked.
Scanning the stunning view, not for the first time, I was drawn to the small island off the coast of Leth Sholas. A causeway road connected the two islands, but only when the tide was out. Otherwise, the smaller island sat isolated and disconnected in the middle of the sound.
“That’s Stòr.” Quinn pointed to the tiny piece of land.
“Is it inhabited?”
“Only by the bloke who owns it.” He flashed me an attractive grin that crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. “You’ll meet him soon enough. Ramsay McRae is my business partner. We own the building company together. He was an … engineer. But he’s also a dab hand at woodwork. Some of the custom work we’ll be doing around the house will be Ramsay’s.”
“I look forward to meeting him.” I cocked my head in curiosity. “So, are people allowed on his island?”
Quinn considered me. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you wanted a wee look around. Just remember to check the safe crossing times if you do decide to venture over.”
Last year when I drove around Scotland looking for the perfect place to either build or renovate to start my B and B dream, I’d gotten used to the driver’s seat being on the right side of the vehicle and having to drive on the left side of the road. However, while the main A road around the coast of the island was large enough for passing vehicles, most of the B roads were single track. Having learned the hard way last year driving the NC 500 around Scotland, I’d opted to buy the smallest SUV I could find.
My cute Suzuki Ignis in bright turquoise bumped along the rough causeway that connected Leth Sholas to Stòr. There was water on the road, which made me a little nervous, but I guessed the tide never fully went out. When I was a kid, my parents were forever joking about my curiosity and how it was going to get me into trouble one day.
A nagging ache gnawed at me as I passed the tide times warning sign because as it turned out, my parents’ curiosity had gotten them into trouble first.
“Nope.” I squeezed my hands around the steering wheel. “I’m not going there today. Today I’m going to Stòr to wander around the island and have a peaceful, lonesome picnic.”
A glance in my rearview showed the coastline growing farther behind. The causeway connected to a road outside of town.
Growing closer to the island, I discovered it was larger than I expected.
As I reached it, I noted another tide time warning sign. I was surprised to learn that high tide could shut Stòr off from the mainland for as long as eight hours. But I had the rest of the afternoon and the evening to explore. According to the safe crossing times, the tide would stay out from now until almost eleven o’clock tonight.
The road was single track and climbed upward through thick forest. Taking it easy, I drank in the views back to Glenvulin through the thicket of trees. Following the road around the island, it didn’t take me long to drive it. A third of the land didn’t even have a usable road, it seemed. What I did drive, according to my vehicle, was only around seven miles long. The trees opened up as I crossed the island. A few miles passed and then the landscape transformed into fields and rocky terrain. Eventually, I spotted a white house on the opposite side. It was perched right on the coast, looking back toward Leth Sholas, and had its own dock. Deciding it was only polite to introduce myself since Ramsay McRae was partners with Quinn, we’d be working together, and I was on his land, I drove toward it.
However, there was no vehicle in front. Parking my SUV, I got out and strolled up to the house that was typical of island homes. One story, small windows, white render. I knocked first. I inhaled the crisp salty sea air and enjoyed the mild breeze that blew through my hair.
There was no answer, so I meandered around to take a nosy peek in one of the windows. From what I could see, it was a small snug. Around the back was the kitchen. There was a lot of clutter, almost like it was being used for storage.
Was thisnotRamsay McRae’s home?
There was a large bank of solar panels positioned next to the house, so obviously someone was using it because it had power.
Frowning, I noted the lack of a boat at the dock. Perhaps my new co-contractor was not home.
Returning to my car, I drove back the way I came but stopped around the halfway point between the white house and the causeway. Parking as far off the road as I could, I grabbed my backpack, which held my picnic along with my latest paperback romance obsession. Then I hiked down through the wooded coastline until I came to a tiny, pebbled beach.
I sucked in a breath at the turquoise waters surrounding the inlet. It was stunning. Finding a grassy knoll, I sank down and listened to the water lapping at the shore. From here, the mainland of Scotland was even closer. Quickly, to get it out of the way, I took a snapshot of the view. Part of my marketing plans for the B and B was to share the progress of the renovation on social media. I interspersed photos and videos of my old Victorian building with photos of the setting. As someone who didn’t particularly enjoy documenting experiences and preferred to live in the moment rather than break out of it for a photograph, I had to constantly remind myself to take pics. Quinn had politely declined my request to upload videos of him and the men working to socials (he and some of the guys were hella hot), and I respected that. With a sigh, I put my cell away and drank in the view.
For a moment, though, I felt like the only person in the world.
All my stress and anxieties, all the responsibility I felt weighing on me, for a few beautiful minutes, it all just melted away.
