When he finally stepped back, wiping his brow, the house seemed to exhale.
“That’ll hold,” he said confidently. “For now.”
Heather leaned the broom against the wall. “The whole place feels… different. I don’t like how it’s making me feel. Like the house itself feels… violated.”
He crossed over to her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Then maybe we give it some space to breathe. We can stay at mine for a few days. It’s closer to town, safer if the police need us again.”
She nodded, relief loosening the knot between her ribs. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
Eleanor emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “I’ll keep an eye on the house while you’re gone,” she said firmly. “You’ve both done enough surviving for one week.”
Flynn gave a small nod. “We’ll be back soon enough. My girl needs rest, and so do I.”
Eleanor smiled faintly. “You? Rest? I’ll believe it when I see it.”
He grinned, but the shadows under his eyes gave him away.
They stopped at The Thistle Haven Inn on the drive out of town. The inn’s windows glowed warm against the gray sky, festive wreaths preemptively hung for yuletide cheer. Heather’s pulse softened just seeing it.
Claire Kinnaird appeared from behind the counter the instant the bell chimed, apron dusted with flour, hair in her usual messy knot. “Heather Campbell,” she said, half-laughing, half-scolding as she hurried forward. “You two practically gave me an ulcer! Everyone’s been talkin’. Word was there was trouble up at Glenoran, and when you stopped replyin’ to my texts, hen, I thought the worst.”
Heather barely got out, “I’m so sorry—” before Claire pulled her into a fierce hug. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she muttered into Heather’s shoulder. “I’ve been worryin’ myself sick.”
Flynn cleared his throat behind them. “Bit of a break-in,” he said, keeping his tone light as he feigned a casual air. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
Claire turned on him with narrowed eyes. “Aye, and you—Mr. Contractor-of-the-Year—could’ve picked up a phone too.”
Flynn raised his hands innocently, a hint of a grin tugging his mouth. “Och, fair point.”
Heather smiled, though her eyes stung. “We came to collect our Byrdie girl.”
“She’s been waitin’.” Claire disappeared into the back room and returned a moment later with Byrdie draped regally over her arm.
“Well, look who’s been runnin’ the place,” Heather mused, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Miss Byrdie Campbell, the undisputedQueenof Thistle Haven.”
She gathered her close. Byrdie immediately launched into a chorus of chirps and purrs, rubbing her face against Heather’s chin and kneading at her collar. “I missed you, too.”
Claire laughed. “Missed you, sure, but don’t let her fool you. She’s been livin’ like royalty. Half the guests snuck her treats, and the cook lets her nap by the stove. She’s had more attention than the breakfast menu.”
Flynn smirked. “Figures. Wee beastie knows how to pick her kingdom.”
Byrdie meowed pointedly, as if in agreement, then gave Flynn a perfunctory sniff before turning her back on him with great ceremony.
Heather snorted. “Yep. Still my girl.”
“Healthy appetite, glossy coat, and enough sass for ten felines,” Claire said, folding her arms. “She’s been doin’ just fine, hen. But I reckon she’s glad to see you all the same.”
Heather kissed Byrdie’s head, relief loosening something in her chest. “Thank you, Claire. For everything.” She laughed, the sound breaking something loose in her chest. “God, I missed this place.”
“Then you come back when you’re ready,” Claire said, eyes bright. “The Haven’s yours as long as you need it.”
The rain began again as they reached Flynn’s cottage: thin and persistent, the kind that blurred the edges of the hills.
Flynn carried in their bags while Heather brought in Byrdie, who immediately trotted toward the fire and curled up as if she’d never left. The cottage smelled of Flynn, the warmth wrapping around them like a tender embrace.
Heather caught her reflection in the entryway mirror, noticing her cheek was still fairly bruised. She touched it once, and made a mental note to dab the purple shadow with concealer until it disappeared. Not vanity, just reclamation. She needed to look like herself again.
Flynn came up behind her, voice low. “Better?” he asked.
