Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DOUGLAS
I’m still inside her.
Sunday morning light slips through a gap in the curtains. Ellie is under me, flushed and wrecked-looking in the loveliest possible way, her lips parted, her hands gripping my back like she doesn’t want to let go.
Jesus.
I kiss her. The last of it is still moving through us—those small aftershocks, her body fluttering around me, my own breath not yet steady. When I lift my head, she makes a quiet sound of complaint. I smile, then ease out of her and drop onto my back beside her.
For a moment I just lie there, staring up at the ceiling. My whole body feels loose, emptied out, good in a way I’d forgotten a person could feel. I’m going to miss this tomorrow, when my alarm goes before dawn.
“You know,” I say, “back in Ardmara, finding time for this isn’t going to be easy.”
Ellie shifts closer to me, her fingers drifting over my chest. “Mmm. It won’t. Which is why . . .”
I turn to her. Her grey-blue eyes are close enough to drown in.
“. . . we should probably squeeze in another round after breakfast and before we check out.”
“That,” I murmur, sliding my hand down to her arse and giving it a squeeze, “sounds like a very good idea.”
Our bags are packed, and we’ve left the bed looking vaguely respectable, despite all we got up to on it. It’s time to go.
I hold the door open for Ellie and follow her out, but I pause on the threshold and glance back. Something in me shifted in this room. It’s where I stopped being the man who tells himself he’s not allowed to want things.
Never thought a weekend away could change so much.
I pull the door shut behind me, and we head downstairs. Lewis is behind the reception desk, same warm smile as when we arrived.
“Morning. How was your stay?”
“Brilliant,” Ellie says. “Really lovely, thank you.”
“Glad to hear it. We’ve had some great feedback since the refurb, so it’s always good to—”
A door behind reception opens. “Lewis, I know I’m overthinking which baby monitor to get, but—” A woman steps out, then stops when she sees us.
She’s got blonde hair piled up in a messy bun, glasses, and a hedgehog-print dress stretched over a pregnancy bump.
“Oops. Didn’t realise you were with guests. ”
Lewis grins at us. “Sorry. First kid. Iona and I are both pretty excited.”
Ellie’s face lights up. “Congratulations! Douglas is a dad. Any tips for them?”
I look at Lewis and the woman, Iona, both of them bright-eyed and hopeful, standing in their wee hotel with a baby on the way.
“Aye,” I say. “Don’t have twins.”
They laugh. Lewis shakes his head. “We’ve got that sorted. Definitely just the one in there.”
“You should be all right, then.”
Lewis gives Iona a quick kiss on the lips, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, then turns back to us. “Right, well, you’re all settled up. Hope to see you again.”
We say our goodbyes and head for the door, but even after we’re outside, I can’t shake the image of how easily Lewis kissed her.
No hesitation, no glance around the room to check who was watching, no quick mental calculation about whether it was appropriate or what anyone might think.
Just a man kissing the woman he loves because she was there and he wanted to.
I want that. But back in Ardmara, where everyone knows about me and Leah, it won’t be that simple.
I load our bags into the boot of my car then glance at my phone. There’s a message from Mum.
Mum
Collected the twins from Ainsley’s. All fine. No need to rush back. Take your time x
“Mum says I don’t have to rush back,” I tell Ellie. “Seeing as it’s a nice day, do you fancy a walk before we head home?”
She beams. “Yes, please.”
We take one of the paths out of town, following a river upstream.
It’s a different route from yesterday, and the atmosphere is different entirely, though that’s more to do with us than the scenery.
Yesterday everything was new and charged with the giddiness of being somewhere together.
Today is quieter, because I think we both know the drive home means the end of this wee bubble we’ve been living in.
The end of hotel rooms and locked doors and nobody needing anything from either of us.
Ellie walks close beside me, her arm brushing mine. The river runs clear to our left, catching the light here and there.
“Is it just me,” I say, “or does it feel like this weekend put things on fast forward?”
Ellie glances at me, waiting for me to elaborate, so I do.
“I mean, I feel like I got to know you better in two days than I might have in weeks of dating back home. Maybe months.”
Ellie nods. “Probably because it was just us. No boat, no library, no twins, no mums. Just us.”
“Aye.” I reach for her hand, and she laces her fingers through mine. “I do miss the twins, but I’ve enjoyed it just being the two of us for a while.”
We walk on by the river, neither of us in any rush to turn back.
The drive home is peaceful. Windows cracked open, the road winding through open moorland and past lochs that flash silver between the hills. Ellie rests her hand on my thigh as I drive, her thumb drawing patterns through the denim.
We chat easily, the sort of unimportant, comfortable talk that fills a car when you don’t have to force it.
Breakfast. The hotel. How it’s going to work when Lewis and Iona have a baby that cries at three in the morning.
But every familiar landmark that appears—the turn for the coast road, the first glimpse of the sea—pulls us a little closer to real life.
Back to the world where I’m Douglas Fraser, fisherman and father, and she’s Ellie Macpherson, librarian and carer for her mum—and the woman the whole town thinks of as quiet and sensible. Not that she was quiet this weekend. At least, not in our hotel room.
I pull up outside Ellie’s cottage and cut the engine.
“Well,” Ellie says. “Thanks for the weekend.” She glances at me a little awkwardly, like she wants to kiss me but doesn’t know what the rules are now we’re back in Ardmara, where the windows have eyes and the walls have ears.
I don’t know what the rules are either, but when she reaches for the door handle without kissing me, I catch her hand. “Wait.”
She turns back.
“I . . .” How to say this? “I know this weekend was technically only our second date. And I know my life is complicated. But . . . I want to make this work, Ellie. You and me.”
Those grey-blue eyes hold mine. “I do too, Douglas.” Then she glances up and down the street before leaning across the centre console and kissing me. It’s brief, warm, a press of her lips against mine that’s over much too soon.
She opens the door and gets out. I pop the boot and she takes her bag, slings it over her shoulder, then walks up the path to her house. She gives me a wave—casual, easy—and disappears inside.
I pull away from the kerb and drive the short distance home, already thinking about when I might see her again. Tomorrow evening, maybe, after the twins are asleep. Would it be too risky for her to come over for a bit then?
I park outside the house, grab my bag, and head for the door. Pushing it open, I drop my keys on the hall table and call out, “Hello! I’m back!”
I’m expecting the usual chaos—Logan launching himself at me, Rosie chatting to me at a hundred miles an hour, Mum filling me in on whatever disaster unfolded in my absence. Instead, when I step into the living room, the atmosphere is strangely subdued.
Mum and Da are on the sofa. Mum gives me a tight smile, Da a stiff nod, but that’s it.
Logan is on the floor near Da’s feet, knees drawn up, clutching an action figure but not really playing with it. Rosie is tucked against Mum’s side, uncharacteristically quiet. Neither of them jumps up. Neither of them shouts, “Da!”
I slip my bag off my shoulder and drop it to the floor. “Everything okay?”
Before any of them can answer, a sound reaches me from the kitchen. The sharp click of heels.
Oh God. Please no.
Leah appears in the doorway. Her long dark hair is perfectly styled, her make-up flawless, and she’s in an outfit that probably cost more than I’ve spent on clothes in years. She leans against the doorframe, arms folded, her expression cool.
“And where, Douglas, have you been?”