Cat rose to her feet. “I’ve gotta run and give the cats their dinner. You’ll be okay?”
I nodded. “Of course. Thanks for coming over.”
“Always.” She squeezed me from behind. “Text me if you need me.”
Cat headed off, and I finished my tea, sampling Agnes’s shortbread for dessert because I deserved it. I groaned as it melted against my tongue. It was so good, but even those buttery carbs couldn’t distract me from Locke trying to buy the distillery. How serious was he?
Only one person could answer that. I picked up my phone and dialed my father.
“Hiya, love,” he said when the call connected.
“Hi, Dad. All right?”
“It’s good to hear from you.” He sounded genuinely delighted, which made me feel a burst of guilt. I pushed it down. Yes, I should probably call more, but phones worked both ways. If he wanted to talk to me more, it wouldn’t kill him to put in the effort. “How are you? What’s been going on?”
“I actually called because I…want to talk about the property.”
“Which property?” he said.
“The distillery in Braeburn.”
He chuckled. “Oh, that old thing.”
“What are your plans for it?” I asked, getting right down to business.
“You know I intend to sell it, love.”
“Yes, but to who?” I wondered. “Is it really going to either end up as a factory or whatever Fraser Developments has planned for it?”
Dad made a disgruntled huff. “Oh, has word already gotten out about Fraser Development’s offer? I daresay Old Jo’s been at it again. Never met that woman’s match for keeping her ear to the ground.”
“Yes, but who are you going to sell it to?” I interrupted.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Are there any other options?” I asked hopefully. “Because neither one sounds very good to me.”
I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.”
I gritted my teeth, giving Ranger a pat to keep my composure.
“Hey, you never got back to me about coming down to Edinburgh for dinner,” he continued. “What’s the chat?”
I sighed. We didn’t need to do dinner. He was always saying that he’d like to see me more, but he took it for granted that I would come to him, rather than the other way around. I didn’t doubt that my father loved me, but that didn’t mean he treated me as a priority. When it came to personal relationships, Dad always expected someone else to do the heavy lifting.
“Dad, if you really want to sell the distillery?—”
“Put it from your mind,” he said like he was waving me off. “I’ve got it handled.”
I grimaced, biting down on my retort at his dismissiveness. “I don’t know why you won’t just sell it to me. You know I could get the money together—enough to offer you a fair price.”
He scoffed, not taking the idea seriously—yet again. We’d had this conversation before. “What are you going to do with an old distillery, sweetheart?”
“Protect the property from all the other people who want to destroy it! I could?—”
“Isla, I’m not letting you throw all your savings away for that decrepit building.”
“It’s not about the building.” I’d tried to explain this over and over again, but he didn’t understand. Whatever memories, whatever fondness I had of the place, he shared none of it.
