“Yeah,” he said, a bashful pink creeping across his cheeks. “I’d love to.”
Jonah crept past me, and I took a moment while closing the front door to breathe, to try and collect myself.So what if the man you haven’t seen in a lifetime has suddenly appeared at your front door? It’s no big deal. Another regular Friday.
I turned to find him fixated on the hallway, analysing every photo that hung on the walls, every painting, looking for clues of the years that had flown by. I almost wanted to pull at my clothes – a light white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans – feeling suddenly out of place in my own home, my own skin. It was as though I’d been thrown back to that winter, suddenly missing all the turtlenecks and sweaters I’d worn that week, the very ones I’d kept locked away in my attic. Unable to throw them away, only ever taking them out to see if they still held his smell.
Men had come and gone from my life. Some had offered engagement, some entire islands, and I’d always turned them down. None of them were him. None could live up to even the memory of him, and in the end, it was unfair on them.
It felt like only yesterday.
“Do you want a cuppa?” I offered, leading him to the large kitchen. He looked around for a moment, his attention floating across every expensive cabinet before returning. “Or a coffee? Maybe something harder to take the edge off.”
A relieved smile split his face. “Stronger is needed, definitely.”
Placing a new glass in front of him – my own I’d been mid-way through before he arrived – I offered him the rest of the bottle.
Jonah took a long sip, his eyes closing as he drank. “You always had excellent taste.”
I almost blushed under his intense gaze, memories rushing back to me. How he’d looked in that bar when I’d first arrived intown. Flashes of his pink cheeks and bobble hat. The way he’d gazed up at me from between my thighs.
“Thanks,” I said, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, the moment teetering on awkwardness. “Do you still visit the village?”
Our village. Ciallach.
He shook his head. “No, not for a long time. I think about going back all the time. Seeing if the bar still only accepts Scottish notes.”
I laughed lowly. “They do. All the tourists hate it.”
His jaw slackened, shock rippling across his face. “You still visit?”
I nodded, taking another sip for courage. Every time I was up north, I made sure to drive through. To visit our lodge and imagine the insane amount of Christmas lights on his balcony. I visited the hall and remembered us dancing in the snow. The village shop and the lake. The pub where I’d met him first.
I couldn’t forget a single second.
“I inherited Gran’s house. My dad died a few years back, and Mum never had any interest, so it fell to me.”
“You got it?” he said, a genuine smile growing on his lips. “Did you do it up? Like you wanted to?”
It surprised me that he remembered it. To this day, I don’t know why I took him there, showed him that part of me. I’d never taken anyone close to me there before him – or after.
“Yeah, I did,” I said. “And it’s true what they say, contractors are a real bitch to deal with. Most of it needed to be rebuilt because of the damage, and there’s still some work to be done on it.”
It was years in the making, working with architects and builders to bring the old house back to its former glory. There’d been a million setbacks, but finally, it was looking how I remembered. How Gran had kept it.
His hand stretched across the island, catching mine in its grasp. “That’s amazing, Kit,” he said, a faint smile across his lips. “I know how much that meant to you.”
I didn’t pull back, didn’t move. Instead, his hand on mine was the sole focus of my attention, and suddenly I was thrown back. The same calloused hands, the ones that had caused me to unravel on the kitchen counter. And the sofa. And the bed.
“What about you?” I asked, intentionally changing the subject. “Did you finish the book?”
“I did,” he confirmed, a burning pink extending to his ears. “It didn’t make a huge splash, but it was enough for the publisher to get off my back. And it was a good way to get into one-on-one coaching, made me look like I knew what I was talking about.”
I smiled, my eyes flickering around to his left hand. No ring. He could’ve left it at home, taken it off for the shower, forgotten to put it back on. There was no tan line either, almost certain in his profession. “And how is the family?”
“They’re great. My nephews are in college. One is even playing tennis. An excellent backhand. He can read a court better than I ever could.”
He looked so proud that it hurt my heart to ask my next question. “And any kids of your own?” I knew he wanted them, could see he’d suit that father figure better than most.
He shook his head. “It never happened for me. The travel, and my job. I never had time. Never met somebody else I could see myself with.”
