“It would have to be sincere.”
“Right.”
“You would have to use words.”
“Stuart,” I growl.
“What?” But he’s chuckling. “Why now?”
I glance around us at the farm. Same weathered stone buildings. Same ivy growing up the walls. Same ramshackle eaves. Everything the same, and yet utterly changed. No longer mine.Ours.
“Last year, I wasn’t ready to feel about anything the way I feel about Rowan. Da, everything that happened with him, I still hadn’t processed it. And Ross was right. I was scared.”
“I can’t tell you how much I hate that you said that.”
“Ross is right?” I shudder. “Awful.”
“You cannot tell him.”
“I’d rather roll naked in nettles.”
Stuart is quiet for a moment. “So what’s changed?”
Wind whistles through the courtyard, stirring the dandelions poking their yellow heads between the flagstones. It smells oflate spring: wet and loamy, the last bite of frost, the perfume of flowers, the promise of warmer days ahead.
“Time, I suppose. Therapy. Time again.” I sigh. “I’m not my Da. No matter what happens, I’m never going to turn into him. I couldn’t save him. Fuck knows you were right about that. But I can save myself. I can make different choices. Better choices. And Rowan is one of them. I wasn’t ready then, but I am now. If she’ll forgive me.”
“I’m so happy to hear you say that, Angus.” Stuart’s eyes gleam with unshed tears.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I’m not!” He holds up his hands and blinks rapidly. “Promise!”
“If you start, I’ll start.”
“I’m not starting!” Stuart turns away, only looking back when he has himself under control. “You like her that much then?”
“I love her,” I admit, saying the words out loud for the first time.
They feel right.
“Then go after her. Show up at her door. Stand outside with a boombox. Do the whole grand gesture thing. Women love that shit.” He claps me on the back. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
“She slams the door in my face and tells me she never wants to see me again.”
A shiver runs through me at the thought.
“At least you’ll know.”
“I don’t have her address.”
“We both know someone who can help with that.”
“Who?” I search my mind. Bloody Ewan. Of course.
Stuart already has his phone out and is typing rapidly. “Oh,” he says, peering at the screen. “Oh!”
“What?”
