39. Edie
EDIE
It’s the most Monday-ish of Mondays you could imagine. The coffee machine is making a noise like a strangled robot, and steam is coming out of the wrong hole. I stand back as Morag threatens it with a spatula.
“If this bloody thing gives up on me now, I swear to God I’ll?—”
There’s a group of mothers sitting at the table in the in the corner with a gaggle of young children. It’s the school holidays and the place is heaving already. It’s going to be a long day, and a long day with no coffee at this rate, which isn’t ideal for a coffee shop.
“For Christ’s sake,” hisses Morag in frustration. She thwacks the top of the machine.
One of the mothers looks up and clears her throat pointedly. A blond child with piercing blue eyes stares in our direction, then tugs her sleeve and whispers something in her ear.
“Yes, I know, darling, that’s a bad word, but sometimes when grown-ups get cross, they say things they shouldn’t. ”
Morag shoots me a look, and I widen my eyes in silent response.
“You mean like when you said, ‘bloody fuck’ when the bricks fell down in the kitchen?” says the child, all innocence.
An elderly gentleman sitting by the door tries to disguise his snort of laughter with a cough, and the mother closes her eyes in horror as her friends start laughing.
“Yes, Leo, exactly like that.”
I leave Morag to it and start clearing tables, wiping them down and stacking cups and plates onto a tray.
There are old ladies in twinsets gossiping over pots of tea, and a group of tourists hovering at the door as if they can’t make their mind up whether to come in or not.
There’s nowhere else to eat in the village, so it shouldn’t be a life-or-death decision.
Despite the chaos, I’m loving working here. It’s busy, its noisy, there’s always something going on, and I don’t even mind the customers or the fact that I’m usually covered in leftover jam or spilt coffee, or sometimes both.
Today it’s flour from the delivery from the bakery in town. I try and dust down my apron in the kitchen, then turn as the bell over the door rings. The tourists must’ve made their mind up and I put on my welcoming smile, ready to?—
My stomach drops.
Rory’s windswept, in a casual sweater rather than his usual crisp shirt. He’s got the dogs at his heels and Bramble dashes forward, straining at her lead to get to me, her tail wagging furiously.
The whole café pauses. Even Morag stops swearing at the coffee machine and casts a glance over at me, one brow raised and an I-told-you-so expression on her face.
His eyes are on me, and me alone. I feel like the only person in the room. My heart stutters and I clutch the damp tea cloth I’m holding like a lifeline.
He walks towards me, clearing his throat, and then?—
“I came to apologise,” he says. His voice is slightly too loud for the room, and everyone is frozen on the spot.
A toddler drops a dinosaur and his mother stoops to pick it up in an automatic gesture, without taking her eyes off what’s happening. One of the old ladies nudges her friend.
“That’s the new duke, Ethel,” she says in a stage-whisper. “I told you it was worth coming over from Inverness for a visit. You don’t get that in Morrison’s café. He’s been in Tatler , you know.”
I open my mouth and close it again.
Rory walks directly to the counter, his eyes never leaving my face. There’s something different about him – the rigid control is gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded.
“I need to speak with you,” he says, his voice low.
“I’m working.” I gesture to my flour covered apron.
He takes a deep breath. “I came to apologise. Not just for what happened that day – although that was unforgivable – but for every moment since we met when I failed to trust you.”
Someone in the café gasps audibly. I’m acutely aware that everyone is watching, but Rory’s eyes haven’t moved from my face.
The spaniels are pulling at their leads, trying to hoover up crumbs from under the tables, but he carries on undeterred.
“You tried to help, and I pushed you away, Edie.” He pulls Tilly back to heel then clears his throat again and rakes a hand through the tangle of his hair.
“I’ve spent my entire life guarding secrets that weren’t worth keeping and in doing so I pushed away the one person who saw the truth of me – not the title, not the castle, but me. I’m sorry.”
The dogs whine, sensing something’s up. Rory bends to one knee to steady them and when he looks up at me there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.
“I believed the worst about you because it was easier than admitting how much you matter to me. I was afraid – of letting someone in, of being exposed.” His voice catches.
“Of feeling anything that might make me like my father. But in protecting myself I became exactly what I feared – someone who hurts the people who care for him.”
Morag exhales loudly behind the counter and mutters, “About bloody time too” under her breath.
I blink at him. My stomach is doing an unhelpful sort of swooping, and every rational part of me is screaming do not fall for this .
It’s got to be some sort of trap. But he looks…
wrecked. The stubble darkening his hollowed cheeks is a dark scruff, and there are shadows under his beautiful green eyes.
“I’ve never had to beg,” Rory adds, with a hint of his usual dry humour. “And it turns out I’m not very good at it.”
“I’d say you’re doing just fine,” calls Mrs Henderson from her table by the window, earning a ripple of laughter.
I fold my arms. “So, you decided to turn up with dogs and a public declaration? I assume you thought this was going to sweep me off my feet?”
He frowns. “No. I—” And then he glances around, as if he’s only just noticed how many people are watching. I’m pretty sure one of the old ladies is recording this with her phone.
“I didn’t come to make a scene,” he says .
I grip the edge of the counter and try to keep my expression neutral despite the riot of emotions inside me.
“So, what exactly are you asking for?”
“I just—I wanted to see you. And to ask—” He frowns again and pauses for a moment. “Will you come to the castle this weekend? On Saturday? There’s something I want to show you. Something I should have done months ago.”
The entire café seems to lean forward, awaiting my response.
I don’t answer immediately. I know I should say no. I should tell him it’s too late and that he doesn’t get to swan in here like this and just insert himself into the perfectly nice life I’m making for myself.
But my heart’s already given itself away. I look at him steadily for a long moment before I speak.
“I’ll think about it.”
His shoulders lower slightly, as if he’d been holding his breath since the moment he walked in.
He nods and then looks around the room. “Please excuse me. My apologies.”
And then he turns without saying another word, the dogs falling obediently into step at his heels. The door closes, and the little bell rings out into the still-silent room.
“Well,” says Morag, shaking out a clean linen glass cloth with a measured expression. “That was dramatic.”
One of the old ladies gives a sigh. “How romantic. It’s like Outlander in here today.”
And then the mood shifts and the clatter of spoons on china plates and the chatter of customers takes over again. With a sudden whoosh the coffee machine rights itself and Morag gives a little cheer and claps her hands together.
I scrub the counter as if my life depends on it, waiting for the scarlet in my cheeks to die down and for people to stop stealing glances over at me as they eat.
“Well, that was a bit of a gesture,” says Morag eventually. She slides a tray of fresh scones into the display case.
I nod and make a vague sort of noise of agreement.
“He’s taller in real life,” I hear one of the mums saying behind me, thoughtfully.
“And hotter,” says another, and they both giggle.
“And he gives good grovel. Reminded me of Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones .”
I roll my eyes and retreat behind the counter, pretending to reorganise the fridge so nobody can see that my hands are still shaking, not to mention my knees.
I am not remotely over him. I know that now. I feel it in the way my skin still tingles where he looked at me. My chest feels bruised from holding in everything I wanted to shout at him or say to him. Or God forbid… forgive him.
My phone buzzes in my apron pocket. It’s Jamie.
He’s been rehearsing that speech for three days, for the record.
I give a snort of laughter. A second later, Janey.
Will we be seeing you at the weekend? Gregor’s been working on some new recipes you’d love xx
And then one more.
So are we going dress shopping for the weekend? LMK because I need to go to Inverness tomorrow…
I stare at Kate’s message. Then I slide it back into my back pocket and go back to wiping the counter. I haven’t said yes but I haven’t said no, either. I think we both know I’ll be there.