prologue
LUCY
Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted kids. I’d pictured myself with a small hand in mine long before I ever pictured myself in a wedding dress or climbing career ladders or whatever adulthood was supposed to look like. Maybe it comes from growing up as the youngest of three, always orbiting around my older brothers with their scraped knees, loud games, and bigger-than-life energy. Our house was chaotic in the best way, and being wrapped up in that noise made me crave a future filled with the same kind of love.
I never thought much of it then. It was simply part of who I was.
I was twenty-four when the pain started getting worse. Those sharp, twisting aches that made me double over or curl on my side through the night. I told myself it was normal. Women were built to endure, right? And for a long time, I did just that. Endured.
It wasn’t until the afternoon I found myself perched on an exam table in one of those crinkly paper gowns that everything I’d imagined for my future tiltedoff its axis.
The doctor was kind enough. She walked me through the details, the numbers, the what-ifs and maybes. With each one of her carefully chosen words, something I’d always taken for granted shifted from a given into a question mark.
I nodded, thanked her, and scheduled a follow-up. I think I even smiled.
The crying inevitably came later.
It wasn’t grief for children I might never have, because that was the key word—might. It was, however, grief for the version of myself who had believed something so deeply, so wholeheartedly, without ever imagining I’d have to fight for it.
But here’s the part I didn’t understand back then…
A diagnosis doesn’t close a door. It just changes the path.
one
LUCY
The bell jingles as the café door swings open. I spin, coffee pot in one hand, half eaten scones on a plate teetering in the other. I narrowly dodge a toddler who has decided the aisle between the tables is a runway. The espresso machine hisses and one of the baristas mutters something about “mutiny” while wrestling with the grinder.
It’s chaos, and I love it. Thistle & Spoon isn’t just a café, but also a piece of my heart and a piece of Mum’s, too. She built this place from nothing, pouring her soul into every cozy corner, every battered book tucked onto the shelves. And now it’s mine.
Juliette strolls in, calm as a Sunday morning, tote slung over her shoulder, and stops dead. Her eyes sweep the room, twinkling with amusement. “Did someone declare war on this place?”
I drop the scones onto the counter. “You’d know all about that, Mrs. Mum-of-Twins Extraordinaire.”
She laughs. “At least my little terrors are at home withKnox today. I swear your brother thought twin girls would be a breeze.”
“Knox has always been overly confident,” I say, wiping my hands on my apron. “He doesn’t do reality checks unless reality hits him square in the face.”
Juliette moved here to Scotland from the States when she started dating my oldest brother, Knox. Now they’re married with two girls, Maisie and Keira. After Juliette moved here, it wasn’t long before her best friend, Bree, ended up with my other brother Callan. Now she’s future sister-in-law number two.
I never imagined my hard-headed brothers settling down, but somehow these women have softened them in ways I didn’t think possible. Watching them all pair off so easily, like it was written in the stars, makes me so happy for them. Jules and Bree are the sisters I never had. At the same time, though…I’m a little restless. My brothers found love that crossed oceans, and I can’t even decide if I want to give the guy down the road a proper chance.
The thought barely settles before Juliette slides onto a stool at the counter, instantly making herself at home. “Speaking of MacKenzie men and their delusions, have you heard from Callan and Bree?”
I roll my eyes. “Callan texted this morning. According to him, Bree has decided they need to taste test every wedding cake in Scotland before they commit.”
“That sounds like Callan’s idea, not Bree’s.”
“Oh, it absolutely was.” I grin, pouring her a cup of coffee without asking.
“This is such a cute idea!”
I glance up and catch the sparkle in her eye as she studies the stack of flyersbeside the till.
“Kids’ night at Thistle & Spoon,” she reads aloud. “Stories, snacks, and stargazing. Every child leaves with a homemade treat and memories to keep.Lucy, this is exactly what we need.”
I nod, a flutter of excitement and nervousness mingling in my chest. “I’ve been thinking about it for ages. The town has plenty for the grown-ups, but the wee ones deserve their own special night, too.”
