The fire snapped in the hearth, sending a ribbon of warmth across the room. And then she saw her.
Eleanor sat at a corner table near the window, shoulders squared, hair pinned back. Not laughing, not eating. Watching.
Heather threaded her way through the tables, that first conversation playing in her mind—the polite smile, the strained kindness, the hush that had fallen at the name Glenoran.
This time, no hush. The lunchtime crowd had gathered, filling the room with clinking glasses and chatter. Still, something about the sight of Eleanor tightened a small knot of nerves in Heather’s stomach.
“Eleanor?”
The woman looked up from her glass, her expression much as Heather remembered: kind eyes, polite smile, a little too controlled.
“Ah, you again,” Eleanor said, voice smooth but not unkind. “Didn’t think I’d be seein’ you back here.”
Heather slid into the chair across from her, with Flynn settling easily at her side. “I’ve come to ask you something. About Glenoran,” she clarified.
The faint smile faltered. Eleanor set down her glass, hands folding together. “You’ve inherited a fine auld place. Most would leave it at that.”
Heather leaned in. “But I can’t. There was more to it. My mom, Eilidh… she left me more than a house.”
For a blink, Eleanor’s eyes flickered—recognition, sharp and unguarded—before the mask returned.
“I told you before, lass. Glenoran’s full of stories. Some better left as such.”
Flynn shifted beside her, crossing his arms. “She’s not here for ghost tales.”
Eleanor’s lips twitched. “No, I can see that.” Her gaze softened slightly as it settled on Heather. “You’re your mother’s daughter, right enough.”
Heather stilled, as if someone had nudged a puzzle piece into place.
“My mom?” she echoed. “You… you knew her?”
For a heartbeat, something raw surfaced in Eleanor’s expression. Then it was gone. She took a slow sip of her drink, set it down, and shook her head.
“Come back tomorrow, hen. Let an auld woman think on whether she’s got anything worth sayin’.”
Heather opened her mouth to press, but one sharp look from Eleanor cut off the attempt.
“Some things can’t be given back once they’re dug up. Think on that.”
With surprising swiftness, she rose, shrugged on her coat, and slipped out into the misty street.
Heather stared after her, heart thudding with a bright, electric thrill. Eleanor had known her mom.Reallyknown her. The door wasn’t cracked open—it was standing wide.
Flynn’s hand found hers beneath the table, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.
“Well,” he said lightly, “that went better than expected.”
Heather snorted. “Better? She practically bolted.”
“Aye, but she didn’t throw her drink at you or shout. That’s progress.”
Heather shook her head, pressing her palms to the table.
“She knew her, Flynn. She tried to hide it, but… she knows something. I can feel it.”
Flynn sobered. “Aye. And she’ll tell you when she’s ready. Push her now and she’ll run for real.”
Heather bit her lip. “What if she changes her mind?”
