29. Isla
ISLA
“Listen, you lot!” Jo called, her voice rising sharply above the din in the meeting hall.
As usual, today’s town council meeting was quickly devolving to a delightful blend of chaos, eye rolling, and hilarity.
“Get your snow gritting priorities submitted to the council inbox by the end of the week.”
“Can we talk about Hogmanay?” Tam asked, raising his hand. “What’s the ruling on fireworks?”
I perked up, eager to hear what the council said. I loved celebrating New Year’s Eve in Scotland—it was so elaborate.
“As in previous years, the firework display will be held out on the green,” Patrick said. “There will be no individual displays permitted by townsfolk.”
“Thank God,” Agnes muttered from the row behind me, tittering with her knitting circle. “The last thing we need is another incident.”
I’d been hearing about this incident for three years now, and I still didn’t know who was responsible. All I knew was it involved some poorly secured fireworks, a broken shop window, and melted cheese.
“Smelled incredible,” one of Agnes’s friends said. “Absolute nightmare to clean.”
“Are we doing a ceilidh this year?” Tam asked.
“If certain folks can abstain from putting in a noise complaint,” Jo muttered, her narrowed eyes flicking in Mrs. McBane’s direction.
There was a huff. “It sounded like the crowd in the pub was going to come crashing through my front door!”
“You live two blocks from the pub.”
“Exactly!”
Cat smirked next to me. Half the reason she came to these meetings was to enjoy the petty drama.
Her face pinched suddenly, and I realized why as a frigid blast of early December air whipped through the hall.
I burrowed into my giant, fuzzy sweater, hands wrapped around my stomach protectively.
I knew my baby boy couldn’t feel the chill like that, but I grumbled anyway, throwing a glare over my shoulder like so many others.
“It’s Baltic out there,” Cat muttered.
“Cormick, if you open that door one more bloody time,” Jo growled, “I’m going to come down there and throttle you.”
“Bloody hell, woman! It wasn’t me,” Cormick cried, clearly offended.
“That’s my bad, Jo!” Weston called from the back of the room. “Sorry about that. Carry on.”
Jo harrumphed, ruffling her papers in front of her. “No one else leaves until the meeting is adjourned. We’re not paying to heat the outdoors!”
“My scones are going to be ice cubes,” Agnes whispered.
I pouted. I’d been looking forward to one of her scones all day.
Honestly, it was half the reason I’d toddled over here.
Yes, the drama was fun, but I could always switch on the telly instead.
Today, my feet had been aching, and what I really wanted to do was loaf in bed—but the lure of crumbly, delicious scones had made me drag my arse all the way here in the bitter cold.
If Weston had ruined my scone dreams, he was gonna get an earful.
Patrick got to his feet, clearing his throat and pulling my attention.
“I know everyone’s eager to finish up, so I’ll just jump to the last of today’s announcements.
The council is proposing that we host a winter festival after the new year.
We will officially be opening the floor to a vote next week to gauge interest. Tell your friends, talk to your neighbors, spread the word. ”
Excited murmurs swept through the crowd, the roar inside the meeting hall intensifying again.
I caught Cat’s eye. She looked intrigued, and I had to admit I was too.
Winter here was long and cold. A festival would give everyone something to look forward to, especially after the holidays had come and gone.
My thoughts drifted back to the summer festival, to Locke sprinting up to me, apologetic for missing it all.
At that moment, some ridiculous part of me had thought we’d have the chance to do it over—do it better—next year.
But there would be no next time for us. Not anymore.
And every time I remembered that, it hurt all over again.
I tried stuffing the ache down along with all the frustration and longing I’d been battling since the breakup.
At least I wouldn’t foolishly be waiting around for Locke to turn up this time. I knew better.
“This’ll be so fun,” Cat whispered to me.
I nodded in agreement, forcing a smile. “I’ll be waddling up and down the high street like a penguin by then. Probably about ready to pop.”
“Maybe we’ll just hitch Ranger to a sled and have him pull you around. You could take your camera and snap pictures of the festival as he runs back and forth,” Cat said as I chuckled.
“Is there any other business to be discussed?” Jo asked, looking over the crowd. “Or are we set for today’s meeting?”
There was a rustle of movement from the back of the room. “I have something to say!”
I whipped around so fast I made myself dizzy.
I waited for my head to stop spinning and my eyes to focus just to make sure I hadn’t misheard.
No, I wasn’t imagining it! There, standing at the back of the room next to Weston, was Locke.
A gasp lodged in my throat. Cat reached over to squeeze my knee.
Was this why Weston had opened the door—to sneak Locke into the meeting without me noticing?
“Come on up, Mr. Fraser,” Jo called, arching an eyebrow. Her eyes flickered to me briefly, as did the eyes of multiple people around the room, and for a second, I wanted to sink into the floor.
Locke hurried to the front, taking position on the stage like he had the day he’d pitched the hotel. He started his speech by updating everyone on the construction progress, outlining expected timelines.
“And as we launch next summer,” he continued, his gaze finally landing on me, making my heart flip-flop in my chest, “I wanted to let you all know that I intend to start an artist-in-residence program.”
“What’s that?” Tam called.
“An artist, selected by a committee, will be invited to live for free at the hotel for three months at a time. They can spend that time immersed in natural environments surrounding the hotel while working on their craft. Their room and board will be covered by Fraser Developments, and they’ll be provided a stipend for supplies. ”
Cat glanced at me, eyes wide. “Did you know about this?” she whispered.
I shook my head, my gaze still on Locke.
He stared back, the intensity of his gaze overwhelming.
I’d had no idea he’d had any intention of starting an artist-in-residence program, but it was all I’d ever wanted to do with the land.
When I’d been desperate to buy it from my dad, my dream had been to turn it into an artist’s retreat.
To give unfettered access to artists who would be inspired by it just as my mother had been.
To honor her legacy by bringing others into her love of that place. And now that would all be possible.
“That sounds like quite the idea, Mr. Fraser—if you manage to follow through,” Jo said, her tone icy enough to cut.
Locke dragged his gaze away from me, clearing his throat. “I’m fully committed to it. And I’d like the council to help me in spreading the word.”
“Will the council need to oversee the program?” Patrick asked.
Locke shook his head. “Not exactly. I’ll be overseeing the program personally. On site. But I will need to assemble the committee, and I was hoping there may be some interested town members.”
On site? My heart jumped up into my throat. Did that mean…no, don’t be ridiculous.
“Once the old MacRae house is refurbished,” he continued, “I’ll be staying there.”
“Does that mean you’ll be commuting back and forth between Edinburgh on a daily basis?” Cat called.
Locke shook his head. “I’ll be working remotely. There may be occasions where I have to go to the city for a meeting, but I don’t anticipate that happening more than once or twice a month. I don’t want to be away.” He locked eyes with me again. “Not when my family is here.”
There was a stilted round of applause. People might’ve liked what he was saying, but from the way they all kept sneaking glances at me, they didn’t quite know what to do about the fact Locke had broken my heart. Was this enough for me to forgive him?
Good question. I wished I knew the answer too.
As the meeting ended, all I could hear was my pulse crashing in my ears.
Chairs scraped and laughter sounded. People retrieved their post-meeting brew and baked goods, lingering close enough to see how this would end.
I blinked at the front of the room where Locke was still talking to Patrick, who had some more questions.
I was frozen in my seat, trying to understand what had just happened.
Even the lure of scones couldn’t move me—not when I felt so very rattled.
Locke finished his conversation, turned, and strode straight toward me.
“Hi,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his half smile a little sheepish.
“Hey,” I said, shaking off the emotion his smile stirred in me. I couldn’t afford to be anything other than level headed right now. “Did you really mean what you said about working remotely?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I went about it all wrong before, with the truck and buying out the registry. I was trying to show you how committed I am to taking care of you and our son. But more stuff wasn’t what you wanted from me—you wanted a partner.
I realize now that my priorities were still misaligned.
So this is me trying to fix that, trying to put what really matters first. I want this to be my home, Isla. I want the two of you to be my home.”
Hearing those words, I thought I might be sick. I bit down on my cheek, hiding my shock. But I wasn’t fully convinced yet. “What exactly does that mean?” I asked. “What is home?”
Locke’s face fell briefly. “I…It’s you and the baby. As long as I have that, I have all I need.” He took a step closer, arms reaching for me, his eyes glassy. “Can you forgive me?”