Chapter 38
Saoirse
The pub patio was full to bursting, the kind of summer night where the breeze carried laughter and the tang of ale, and the dogs—bless them—were all tangled beneath the table like someone had spilled a basket of fur and tails.
Ajax had claimed his spot under Finn’s chair, lean body stretched out and one ear twitching at every loud burst of laughter.
Falkor had wedged himself beside him, tail thumping the ground every time someone passed with a plate of chips, while Maeve curled with catlike efficiency near Ciara’s boots, gnawing on a chew toy.
Ewan’s dog Havoc—really Isobel’s now, as we all knew—was stretched out beside his lady’s chair, heaving the occasional contented sigh as she reached down to stroke his fur.
Our table had no right to still be standing, groaning under the weight of pints, plates, and far too many elbows.
I was squashed between Isla and Finn, legs tangled somewhere with his beneath the bench, and across from me, Alex and Callum were arguing about whether you could use sheepdog training techniques on stubborn humans.
Ewan kept muttering something about lost causes and handed off another bowl of chips to Jade, who sat beside Parker with a look that said she was used to managing chaos with one eyebrow raise and a well-timed eyeroll.
Parker had her arm looped comfortably through Callum’s, her chin tipped toward him as she said something that made him huff out a laugh before pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
It was all so domestic, so casual, like this was any old night—which, in its own way, made it all the more profound.
Locals filtered past in a steady stream, half of them using the excuse of dropping off fresh drinks to ask questions they had no business asking.
“You lasses all right then?” “They say it’s going to be in the papers, is that true?
” “Heard you clocked a man in the jaw with a rock. Any truth to that?”
I offered vague smiles and noncommittal hums, and every time I started to tense, Finn’s fingers brushed lightly against mine beneath the table.
I didn’t need to answer the questions, not really. We were here. Whole. Together. And that said enough.
Alex leaned back in his chair with a pint in hand and a grin too smug to be anything but trouble. “You do know you’re officially the most interesting thing that’s happened to Glenlaig since the sheep parade ran wild down High Street.”
I arched a brow over my glass. “Please. We didn’t even get a scandalously blurred photo. I feel cheated.”
Across the table, Callum snorted. “Be grateful. I had to dodge three reporters and a drone on the way into town. You think I wear this face because I like people?” He pointed at the fearsome scar that bisected his eye, as if he’d donned it for cosmetic purposes instead of receiving it in battle.
There was a ripple of laughter, and then, as often happened in these conversations lately, the tone dipped slightly. Still light, but edged with the weight of reality. Isla, quiet until now, lifted her glass in a small toast. “To the arrests. And the fact that it’s no’ our problem anymore.”
Alex raised his pint in kind. “Multiple warrants. Seized assets. Every name we handed over is either in custody or sweating their passports.”
I had to ask. “Sandhurst?”
Finn nodded beside me. “He’s no’ talking, but he disnae have to. The records Alex pulled are airtight. Financials. Satellite tags. Communications. He’s going away for a long time.”
“And the rest of it?” Ciara nudged a half-empty plate of chips toward Isla, who pretended not to be starving but didn’t hesitate to snag one.
Ewan kept his arm around Isobel. “Media’s being managed. Too many protected species involved for the story to be ignored completely, but it’s being framed as a wider crackdown.”
Finn’s hand brushed mine again beneath the table, and I held on to that quiet relief as I exhaled.
It was over. Really over. And the only thing anyone in Glenlaig had to gossip about now… was us.
The bell above the patio gate jingled, and I glanced over as Rory Fraser, the Glenlaig constable who’d been liaising with the assorted other legal agencies to wrap up the mess, wandered in with his uniform jacket unzipped and rain still clinging to his boots.
“Afternoon.” He nodded toward the table with a casual confidence that somehow didn’t tip over into cocky. “Heard the full roundup went through. Every one of them charged. You lot made it easy for the Crown. Paper trail’s a mile long. They willnae be seeing daylight anytime soon.”
Finn lifted his pint slightly in acknowledgment. “Glad to hear it.” Pressed against him as I was, I could feel the subtle relaxation in his posture as full relief settled in.
Then Rory’s gaze slid to Isla, still half-curled at the end of the bench with a lemonade in front of her and a faintly haunted look she hadn’t quite shaken yet. “Might want to consider bringing backup next time you’re out chasing wildcats, though.”
Isla’s brow arched, sharp and skeptical. “You volunteering?”
Rory didn’t blink. “If you’re asking if I hike—aye. Pretty well.”
I raised my pint with a smirk. “Careful, mate. She bites.”
Isla leaned forward to smile over the rim of her glass. “Only when provoked.”
Rory’s grin was small, but unmistakable. “Good to know.”
The entire table leaned a fraction closer, collectively tuning in like wolves catching the scent of something juicy.
Rory tipped his hat to Isla and left us to our celebration. My friend smiled into her drink and snagged another chip from the basket in front of her.
The second round of pints had settled in, and the table was humming with the loosened joy that only came after survival and relief.
Someone made a joke about Ewan’s tragic attempts to take over the last time Dom Bassey, the pub cook, had been out sick.
Then Alex tipped back in his chair, eyeing me over the rim of his glass with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer.
“Not that I’m judging, but you two really thought you were being subtle?”
That earned a fresh round of snickers and raised brows from the rest of the table.
Callum didn’t even look up from his pint. “Subtle? They were about as subtle as a sheep in heat.”
Parker snorted. “The entire village knew before they did.”
“I’m pretty sure even Pippin knew,” Ciara added, deadpan.
I rolled my eyes and offered the table two middle fingers with a generous flourish, trying for unimpressed. But my cheeks were already warm, and my pulse had done that betraying flutter it always did now when Finn was near and looking at me like I was the only thing in the world worth watching.
With a smile, he leaned in and kissed me—unapologetic and slow, his hand curling lightly at the back of my neck like he didn’t care who was watching. Like I was his center of gravity, and he meant to prove it.
The noise around us blurred.
All I could feel was the heat of his mouth on mine, the solid press of him close, the sense that I could let go of every doubt because this— this —wasn’t going anywhere. I relaxed into him, letting myself soak in the heady warmth as he made silent promises with that mouth.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathless, smiling despite myself and already making plans for exactly what I wanted to do with him when we left.
Ajax thumped his tail against the ground in lazy approval. Someone groaned. Someone else cheered.
Isla folded her arms. “Honestly, we deserve a group apology for having to wait this long.”
I arched a brow in the look of disdain I’d perfected by ten. “Oh, because our relationship has anything to do with you lot?”
“We were the ones who had to listen to you hiss and spit at each other for the past year and change,” Parker pointed out.
“And to all your denials that there was nothing there, and you were each the last person the other would ever date,” Ciara added.
Finn glanced around with a faux sober expression and nodded. “Aye, you’ll get your apology. Sometime after never.”
And that was it. This was us, tangled up in the middle of everything, exactly where we were meant to be.
The warmth of his shoulder settled against mine like it belonged there. Because, impossibly, it did. We somehow fit, Finn and I. And I was so glad we’d managed to get out of our own way about it.
My hand found his without thinking, fingers slotting between his like they’d done it a thousand times before. His hand folded around mine in easy comfort, and he leaned over to brush a kiss to my temple. The moment stretched, a quiet perfection I hadn’t known I needed.
Around us, the pub carried on. Dogs snored underfoot, twitching occasionally in their sleep.
Callum had launched into a story that was either exaggerated or outright fabricated, judging by the way Parker rolled her eyes and muttered, “Lies” under her breath.
Ciara laughed so hard at one point she nearly knocked her chair over, and Isobel offered to arm-wrestle Ewan over the last fried pickle.
But none of it pulled me from the center of the world that existed right there—Finn’s thigh brushing mine, his thumb grazing the back of my hand, the quiet rhythm of his breathing beside me.
We’d fought so much to get here, and I didn’t think I’d ever take what we’d found for granted.