Until Heather perked up. “Is that Taran Macbeth?”
Sure enough, Taran sat a few meters away on her own wee tartan blanket with a book in her hand. She looked like a rabbit caught in a trap as she gaped at us. “Uh, hi,” she finally offered.
“Are you readingFourth Wing?” Heather strode through the sand toward Taran, her tone suddenly light and curious.
The only time she was bubbly and sociable lately was whenever we bumped into Tierney and/or London. And, of course, when their aunt Cammie came around. Heather idolized Cammie and was like a different person with her.
I, on the other hand, only seemed able to push my daughter further away.
“I am.” Taran waved the paperback in her hand. “Have you read it?”
Heather kneeled beside her. “I loved it. Wait until you read book three.”
Taran cocked her head on a smile. Her dark hair spilled down her shoulders in shiny waves with the movement. “Is it good?”
“Aye. I love romantasy, though. I’ve got loads of recs, if you want them.”
I didn’t know that. Why the hell didn’t I know that? I’d never heard of romantasy. What was romantasy? My gaze moved between Heather and Taran, ludicrous envy striking me in the chest at how easily the two females conversed while neither seemed to want to say two words to me.
“Ugh, they’re talking about books.” Angus wrinkled his nose as he opened the picnic basket.
“You used to love books.”
“They’re for geeks.” He shrugged, grabbing a sandwich. “What’s on this?”
“Your favorite. Cheese and pickle. And books aren’t for geeks.”
“Kyle says they are. He says cool people don’t read books.” He took a massive bite of the sandwich.
Who the fuck was Kyle? I thought Angus’s best mates were Aaron and Aidan. Angus was on the Oban’s under 13s field hockey team with them. I called them the Triple As, which made them giggle every time. “You know what truly cool people do?”
Angus shrugged and shook his head.
“Cool people don’t care what other people think about the things they like and do. A truly cool person is someone who is confident enough to be themselves.”
“Like you?”
“Pfft, Dad’s not cool.”
At Heather’s snarky tone, I turned and then froze.
Taran stood awkwardly at my daughter’s side, hovering beside the picnic blanket I’d just laid out. “If there’s one thing your dad has always been, it’s truly himself.”
Taran’s words surprised me.
Heather looked between us. “You knew each other, right?” She knew we did. I’d taken my kids to Isla’s funeral because they’d spent lots of time with her over the years. They’d grieved her too. Heather had asked me about Taran over the years, and I’d mentioned we’d been friends years ago.
“Right.” Taran shifted on her feet. “Anyway, I should go.”
“No, I invited you to picnic with us.” Heather turned to me, expression wary. “That’s okay, right?”
“Of course.” I nodded, even though my heart banged in my chest at the thought of spending time with Taran.
I’d tried over the past year to make some inroads with her. After deciding to back off, I’d then found out she was no longer engaged, and Ramsay had encouraged me to try with her again. While she’d softened ever so slightly since New Year’s, she hadn’t made any overtures toward me. She’d been civil but not overly friendly when we did meet.
After the new year, I started going back into her shop for my coffee, and she hadn’t told me to stop. But any conversation I attempted fell flat. Or she’d hide in the back room until I left the store.
I realized I was staring at her and cleared my throat. “Eh, we’ve got plenty of food. From the bakery.”
