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“There’s someone here to see you.”
“Oh? Er, send them in.”
I’m not sure who to expect, but I’m caught off-guard when Lewis strolls in, even though I really shouldn’t be. Every time I visited Bannock to see my maw and brother, Lewis would invariably pop over to say hello. And yesterday, I’d barely got out of my car when he showed up, almost as if he’d been waiting for me. But dropping in at my workplace? That feels like a step too far.
“Lewis, this is a . . . surprise.”
I get a hint of spicy aftershave, which makes me worry I might spell of Eau de Cow, but he’s not wrinkling his nose up. I think I’m all right.
“Sorry to pounce on you like this.” He holds out a cardboard cake box. “But . . . I wanted to give you a wee something to welcome you back—and to extend an olive branch. It’s a Victoria sponge.”
“Oh.”
As a girl, that was my favourite and it still holds a special place in my heart (and stomach). A classic British dessert with layers of light sponge, sweet strawberry jam, and whipped cream, it’s basically happiness in cake form. There was a period when Lewis would bake one for me regularly, especially when I needed cheering up. Back then, I’d never have guessed that kind boy was capable of wounding me as deeply as he did—so deeply I’m not sure I’ve ever fully recovered.
I don’t know what to say so I wordlessly take the box and place it on my desk.
Lewis stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, a gesture he’d do as a lad whenever he felt uncomfortable, and one he apparently hasn’t grown out of. It’s actually kind of endearing seeing him do in his filled-out adult body. Yes, he could probably bench-press a Shetland pony now, but some part of the boy I remember is still in there, peeking out from behind the brawny exterior of the man before me.
“Iona, I . . . am sorry. I can’t go back in time and change things. If I could, I would. Now you’re back in Bannock, is there any chance we could put the past behind us and be friends again?”
Friends? After what he did?
“I . . . don’t know, Lewis,” I admit, avoiding eye contact.
“Right.” He nods slowly. “Okay.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot and puts on a brave smile, those familiar dimples showing. “Well, enjoy the cake. And . . . I’m not going to give up.” He bobs his head, faster this time, as if to convince himself. “One day you’ll be laughing at my jokes again, just like old times.”
He grins with an air of forced confidence. I’ve known Lewis since we were in nappies—he should know I can see right through him.
“Anyway, I’ll let you get on with whatever you’re doing.” He gestures towards my desk. “Sorry for bothering you. Oh, by the way, your maw has asked me to help prepare a dinner to welcome you back.”
Oh joy!
“And to welcome Richard too,” Lewis adds. “Tomorrow—at the hotel.”
Our families—the McIntyres and the Stewarts—have always been close, and even now joint meals remain a tradition. They’re an opportunity to chitchat with Lewis’s siblings while simultaneously squirming every time he glances my way.
“Maw mentioned something about that.”
Lewis nods again then, when I offer nothing more, lifts one hand in an awkward wave before turning to leave. There’s something oddly charming about his obvious discomfort, and my heart melts, just a bit.
“Guess who my first appointment was with today?”
He stops mid-step and glances back, his eyebrows rising, apparently surprised but pleased I’m making an effort to keep the conversation going. “Who?”
“Fergus Murray. And he hadn’t forgotten about the pigs.”
Lewis laughs—a warm, nostalgic sound that evokes memories of long-gone carefree days. “Wow! Who knew something I dared you to do when we were eleven would come back to bite you when you’re twenty-seven?”
I give a small smile then tap the side of the cake box. “I really should get on, but thanks for this.”
“Anytime, Ona Pona.”
Before I can scold him for using that childhood nickname, he’s gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
IONA
