Not ever.
I climb the hill, boots crunching gravel, heart pounding harder than the climb should warrant. The cottage comes into view, lights on in the kitchen window, soft and warm against the gathering dusk.
I stop at the bottom of the porch steps.
Take a breath and knock. The door opens slowly.
Isla stands there, sweater sleeves pushed up, hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
“Ronan?”
I don’t waste time on hello.
“He’s here.”
Her face drains of color.
“Travis. Asking around town. Said he’s your fiancé and he’s here to take you home.”
She sways, just a fraction. I step forward instinctively, hand reaching to steady her elbow. She doesn’t pull away.
“He’s staying at the motel,” I say quietly. “On the highway.”
She closes her eyes for a second. When she opens them again, they’re bright with something that looks dangerously close to tears.
“I thought I was careful,” she whispers.
“You were.”
“Not careful enough.”
I tighten my grip on her elbow, gentle but firm. “You’re not going back to him.”
She looks up at me. “I know.”
“Good.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then she steps back, opening the door wider.
“Come in,” she says softly. “Please.”
I step inside.
The door closes behind me.
And just like that, the space between us shrinks again, smaller than it was last night, heavier with everything we haven’t said.
I don’t touch her, not yet, but I stay.
And for the first time in years, staying feels like the only choice that makes sense.
Chapter nine
Isla
The late-afternoon light slants through the kitchen window in long golden bars, catching dust motes that drift lazily in the air. I’ve spent the day trying to keep my hands busy—wiping counters that were already clean, folding laundry I’d left in the dryer too long, anything to stop my mind from circling back to last night. To Ronan’s mouth on mine. The way he held me was like I was something precious and breakable. The way he pulled away, like touching me, burned.
