‘I bet you don’t! The man is a hunk. All brooding and brawny. Does he handcuff you to the bed and do unspeakable things to you?’
I blush so hard I think my face might explode. ‘No!’ I reply firmly, as though I’m horrified. Truthfully, I do feel a little throb down below at the thought… it seems I’ve turned into some kind of sex pervert since I came to Scotland. I wonder if he even has handcuffs?
‘More’s the pity! So, it’s just a wee holiday romance, is it? No future plans?’
I shake my head, and stare into my glass as though it holds answers. ‘No. It’s just a wee holiday romance.’
Even as I say the words, I wonder if they’re true. If I’m the kind of woman who can pull this off. The sex is amazing, and being here has definitely brought me back to life in so many different ways. I know I should just be grateful for that, and go back home to my normal routines with a confidence boost and possibly a drinking problem. But the truth is that I will miss it all, desperately.
I’ll miss the sunrises over the sea. I’ll miss the sound of the waves singing me to sleep every night. I’ll miss Bonnie Bay, and all of its colourful characters, and the bookshop that now feels like a second home. Most of all, I’ll miss him. His strong arms, his gentle kisses, the way he’s so sweet beneath his tough exterior. I’ll miss the way he makes me feel, in and out of bed –like the world is a wondrous place, as full of magic as the folklore and legends I’ve been reading about.
I’ll miss him so much that I can’t even bear thinking about it. Live in the moment, I tell myself. Live for the now, not the what-might-have-been or the what-could-be. The moment is really all I have.
NINETEEN
BRODY
We’re back at the bookstore, and it’s looking good. The floors are fully restored, polished and varnished, and the walls have been painted. I look around, enjoying the feeling of satisfaction at a job well done. Hopeful Hearts indeed. The nickname suits.
I snap a few pictures and send them over to Shannon. For the first time in years, I feel like I have something worth sharing with her. Something I’m proud of. It’s not just the renovation work, it’s the way we’ve helped Moira. She’s here right now, and it’s like she’s come back to life along with the Edge of the World. She’s now making regular appearances, sitting proudly at her till, often on hand with a piece of gossip or a book recommendation. She’s been talking about buying new stock, but then backtracking – getting excited about new releases, but then reminding herself that the bookshop might be a hotel this time next year.
I have no idea what will happen with the place, and I have to keep telling myself that it’s none of my business – that I will be gone. But for now, I am content – more than that, in fact, I’m actually happy. Things might not have worked out exactly as we’d expected, but there was some truth in the words on that card – I’ve certainly lived fully while I’ve been here, and maybeI’m learning to love the world again. I just hope that translates into real life as well.
I listen to Moira and Kate chat in the back room as I wait for a response from Shannon, knowing that these women are a big part of how full my life currently is. The women, this store, this place, all of them bring some kind of magic into my world. I’m already way more used to it than I should let myself be, having them around, living like this – as though I’m part of it, and not just a visitor. As though this can last.
Shannon replies quickly, telling me how proud she is of me. That also feels good, but still I poke around at it a little, asking myself if she means it or if she’s just humouring me. It’s stupid, but maybe part of me still isn’t convinced I deserve this happiness, no matter how brief it is.
She goes on to tell me she has a break coming up in her experiments, and would I consider staying on a while longer so she can come and visit. With Drew.
The question unleashes a whole flurry of thoughts. I’m due to go home in four days’ time. I’d planned one night in Oxford to see my girl, then home, back to Chicago, and the job that my buddy Miguel says is mine for the taking.
It’s clear cut, and it’s safe. All I need to do is book the flight. But would staying a little longer hurt? There’s more work to do here, and Rory Callaghan has a couple of old motorcycles he’s asked me to take a look at. I’d get to show Shannon Bonnie Bay. It’d be possible, but not without risk. How much harder will it be to say goodbye if I drag it out? Could Kate even stay, and if not, would I want to be here without her? Also, how long will it take me to scare the crap out of this Drew guy?
I tell Shannon I’ll get back to her, just as the women emerge from the back rooms, obviously with mugs of tea. This whole place seems to be powered entirely by tea, and I’ve got to admit, I’m getting used to it. Just like I’m getting used to waking up tothe sound of the sea, with Kate in my arms. The tea I’ll be able to get in Chicago – the rest might leave a gaping wound.
I rub my back, feeling a twinge, and Kate raises her eyebrows at me. She gave me a massage last night, which should have been relaxing, but it ended with a way-too-athletic sex session. I wink at her. It was so worth it.
Moira watches us, missing nothing, a small smile on her face. She’s still in her wheelchair, but now we have the ramp she’s visiting more often. She’s clearly enjoying being here, spending time with Kate, taking book sales. Being part of something again, even if it is only for the summer.
‘Have you been reading this?’ she says, holding up a battered copy ofMacbeth.
‘Yeah,’ I tell her. ‘I couldn’t understand a damn word. Is there a kids’ version, ideally with pictures?’
She slaps me with it. ‘Hold your wheesht, man! You’re not as dumb as you look.’
‘That wouldn’t be hard,’ Kate quips. I’m not sure I’m enjoying this any more. ‘Wheesht… that means shut up, right?’
Moira is giving us a lesson in its use when the bell over the door rings, and a middle-aged couple complete with walking poles and a Labrador walk in. Kate is still working on a few of her projects, and Moira has some crazy official reopening event brewing, but the store definitely looks good enough to attract customers now. They’ve been wandering in regularly, and Moira says she’s happy to make a few more pennies before it’s potentially turned into a ‘boudoir hotel’, still milking her joke of deliberately getting the name wrong.
Kate chats to the couple, shows them the Doggie Den, and they stay to browse. When they leave, they’re a lot poorer than when they arrived, the proud owners of a pricey history of Aberdeenshire.
‘Just walk down the beach,’ she tells them as they leave. ‘You can look up the cliffs and imagine it all! Bloody Pits!’
‘What the hell are the Bloody Pits?’ I ask.
‘Oh, it’s a local story. Apparently there was a Viking invasion back in the eleventh century, and the villagers fought them off by throwing rocks at their heads!’
‘Aye, and the story goes it was all the womenfolk,’ Moira adds with glee. ‘That they used their stockings as slingshots – the poor Danes never knew what hit them!’
