Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ELLIE
“Right,” Blair says, planting both hands on the table like she’s about to conduct an interrogation. “We’ve had teasers. Breadcrumbs. A vague, deeply unsatisfying ‘it was really nice’ text. Now we want the full report.”
Beside her, Ainsley nods. “And no skipping the good bits.”
It’s Tuesday lunchtime and we’re at the Lighthouse Café, tucked away at a corner table, out of earshot of the other locals.
Still, this is Ardmara and you can never be too careful, so I keep my voice low as I fill them in on the date.
How Douglas looked at me as I walked towards him along the harbour, his eyes taking in all of me.
The Mary Beth, scrubbed within an inch of her life, and the ache in my chest when I realised how much effort he’d gone to.
The food we ate. The way he talked about the sea, about the history of his boat, like it wasn’t just a job but something handed down, something that mattered.
I also tell them how it felt wearing his jacket. How it felt to be out there, away from everything, just the two of us with nothing but dark water and quiet all around us.
And then—
I stop, because Kathy appears at our table with our lunches. “Here we are, ladies,” she says, setting them down one by one. “Lentil soup, baked potato, and the panini.”
“Thanks, Kathy,” we all chirp.
The second she’s out of earshot, Blair says, “And?”
I pick up my soup spoon. “We kissed,” I say, trying for casual, but the heat creeping into my cheeks gives me away. “And things progressed. A bit.”
Blair’s eyebrows shoot up, and despite the fact I’m blushing in a busy café at lunchtime, I can still picture it with alarming clarity.
The look on Douglas’s face when I couldn’t resist touching him through his jeans.
The hot, dizzying thrill of feeling just how much he wanted me.
Then his big warm hands on my breasts. The way his eyes went dark, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the hunger in him.
“Define ‘a bit’,” Ainsley says.
“Hands over clothes. But it was . . .” I search for a word that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous. “. . . intense.”
I take a couple of spoonfuls of soup, more to distract myself than anything.
“When you say hands over clothes,” Blair says, “did you happen to feel his fishing rod?”
I nearly splutter on my soup.
Ainsley smirks. “Aye, did you get a chance to inspect the fisherman’s tackle?”
My cheeks now flaming, I glance around, checking for eavesdroppers. “Yes,” I confirm in a low voice. “I may have checked the equipment, so to speak. But that’s all I’m saying.”
Ainsley grins, while Blair lets out a wistful little sigh, as though over-the-clothes groping on a boat is the height of romance. “So, when is the next date, then?” she asks, cutting into her baked potato.
“About that,” I say carefully. “You know how the other day you mentioned you could help out with the twins if it means Douglas and I can spend some time together?”
Ainsley swallows a mouthful of panini and nods. “Of course.”
“Anytime,” Blair adds.
“Well, what would you say to”—I brace myself—“a weekend?” I give them a quick version of the phone call I had with Douglas last night.
“Yes!” Blair says. “Do it. Ainsley and I can handle a couple of nights with the twins between us, right?”
“Aye. I’ll be roping in Struan to help, but it’s no bother at all.”
“You have to go,” Blair says. “Let’s do it this weekend.”
Ainsley shrugs. “Suits me.”
Relief and gratitude rush through me. “Really? Are you sure?”
“You can thank us by having an obscenely good time,” Blair says with a wink.
“Where are you thinking of going?” Ainsley wants to know.
“Oh. I, er, haven’t thought that far ahead.”
She laughs. “Right, then let’s brainstorm. Have you heard of the Glen Garve Resort?”
“I think so, but I couldn’t tell you anything about it.”
“Struan was meant to take me there for our first proper date, but it didn’t happen. We, er . . . ended up in his bed and missed our booking.” She waves a hand as if this is beside the point. “But the place itself? Stunning. A luxury getaway. Good food, fancy rooms, the works.”
“That sounds perfect,” Blair says.
An excited shiver runs through me. It does sound perfect.
That evening, I call Douglas and tell him the exciting news: Blair and Ainsley are happy to help, and we can do it this weekend.
“This weekend? Jesus. That’s brilliant.”
“I know! I looked into the Glen Garve Resort as a possibility.” I tuck my legs under me on my sofa. “Ainsley mentioned it at lunch, and just as she said, it looks amazing. Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Aye?”
“Aye. And then I saw the price.”
Douglas laughs. “That bad?”
“Let’s just say it’s aimed at people with a bit more disposable income than you and me.
But it got me looking at other places nearby, and I found somewhere called the Bannock Hotel.
It’s not far from the Glen Garve, but it’s in a town rather than a big country estate.
It’s smaller, cosier, family-run, and more our price range.
It’s been done up recently, and the reviews since then have been great.
Everyone raves about the food, and the rooms look really pretty. ”
“Sounds great. Honestly, as long as you’re there, it’ll be perfect.”
A pause stretches between us, then Douglas says, “That was a bit cheesy, wasn’t it?” I can practically hear the wince in his voice. I laugh, and a second later he does too.
“It really was, but it was sweet too,” I say. I feel stupidly, embarrassingly happy. Once I’ve composed myself a little, I add, “There’s one room available this weekend. Should I go ahead and book it?”
“Aye,” he says. “Book it.”
“Mum, I wanted to let you know that I’m going away this weekend.”
It’s the next day and I’m sitting in Mum’s living room with a fish supper balanced on my knees. Mum, seated in her usual chair, has one on her lap too. I picked them up from the chippy on my way over from work as a wee treat, and to soften her up before telling her this news.
“Away?” Mum pauses with a piece of fish halfway to her mouth.
“Just for a couple of nights. Friday evening to Sunday. A wee trip.”
“A trip,” she repeats, setting the fish back down. “Where?”
“A place called Bannock. It’s about forty minutes from here.”
“And who are you going with?”
I chew on a chip. “Oh, it’ll just be me going.” I hate lying to her, but she’d never approve if she knew who I was really going with.
A groove forms between Mum’s brows.
“I just fancied a change of scene,” I add, aiming for breezy and not at all sure I’m pulling it off. “Some, er . . . time to myself.”
Mum watches me, and I can see her turning this over. For one horrible second I think she’s going to ask if Douglas Fraser has anything to do with this, but instead she says, “We normally have dinner together on Fridays.”
“I know. That’s why I thought we could have it tonight instead.”
Mum’s frown deepens, and she looks down at the fish on her lap as though it’s personally offended her.
“Don’t worry,” I say, keeping my voice bright.
“I’ll make sure you’ve got easy meals in the fridge for the weekend, things you just need to heat up.
And I’ve already arranged for Margaret to pop in.
She’ll check on you, help with anything you need, and take you to church on Sunday morning and bring you home after. ”
Margaret is a friend of hers from church. She’s kind, capable, and familiar enough that this shouldn’t feel like a stranger intruding.
“I don’t need Margaret popping round as though I’m an invalid,” Mum says, her voice clipped.
My heart sinks.
“She’s not popping round because you’re an invalid. She’s popping round because she’s your friend and she’s happy to.”
“Hmm.”
The rest of the meal is pretty awkward. Neither of us says very much, but hopefully, with a bit of time, Mum will come around to the idea. And if she doesn’t? I’m going anyway. I’m allowed a weekend away.