CHAPTER FOURTEEN ~ GRAEME ~ NOW
After what happened at Brodie and Drew’s wedding, I told myself I’d never beg Abby for anything again. I’d presented my heart to her on a silver platter and she’d pulverized it...albeit kindly, and with her own heart clearly shattering at the same time.
And yet, here I am, four years later, unable to keep the note of beseeching from my voice as I ask her to stay. After letting it slip that I still love her, what difference does a wee bit more vulnerability make?
I pour us each a glass of whisky from the bar cart tucked between the bookcase and the window.
A little liquid courage couldn’t hurt either of us right now.
Having her here—in my flat, where I can hear her humming softly early in the morning and imagine her getting ready for bed at night, all while catching lingering whiffs of her familiar floral perfume—is both agony and ecstasy.
Keeping a secret from her, especially one that involves our closest friends, makes it infinitely more difficult.
Despite genuinely wanting to bring Abby back to the place she loved so much, Brodie and Drew had other motives for this trip: they’re thinking seriously about moving to Scotland.
They’ve been considering it since they got married, and they think they’re almost ready to take the leap.
They’d like to have children soon, and they want to raise them here, where they’ll have the kind of close-knit, loving family Drew never had growing up.
While I should be thrilled by this development and I am, I’m also riddled with guilt over the fact I’m privy to this huge, life-altering plan of theirs, and Abby isn’t.
They keep saying nothing has been decided and they’ll tell Abby soon, but it still twists me up inside.
The irony isn’t lost on me that Abby and I have hidden our own secret from them for all these years, and now they’re trusting me to keep their secret until they’ve made a decision.
“Work is keeping you busy?” Abby asks, jerking her chin in the direction of my desk, which is covered in stacks of papers, folders full of glossy real estate photos and flyers, and empty coffee mugs.
“Aye, I’ve been working nearly non-stop since I moved back to the city,” I tell her. “I’m still trying to adjust to the pace of it after living in Skye for the last few years.”
“Do you like it? The work and being back in the city, I mean?”
“Yes to both. The city itself never really changes, but real estate is ever evolving. There’s an element of frustration to it that wasn’t as much of a factor when I first started working in the family business.
So many people from outside of Scotland are buying up real estate, and a good chunk of them are turning the places into high-end rental properties.
It’s driving up the cost of homes and making it hard for regular people to buy.
“It used to be that nearly everyone I worked with was looking for a family home of some sort—couples just starting out, families looking to expand, older couples wanting to downsize. It feels rarer these days, but those are the clients that keep me going when I get discouraged. Helping people find their dream home in a city I love is the best part of my job.”
Abby is watching me with a small smile. Her glass is raised halfway to her lips, as if she started to lift it to take a drink and then got caught up in what I was saying.
“Listen to me blethering on,” I say, chuckling and rubbing my tired eyes. “That was more than you bargained for, eh?”
“No, it’s fine, I want to hear about it. When I was here before, you hadn’t started working yet, so this is all new to me.”
I take a sip of my drink to stop myself from telling her how many times I’ve wanted to send her listings I was certain would appeal to her, or pictures from homes I was showing.
“I was sorry to hear about your job, and...everything else,” I say instead.
Does it make me a selfish prick to admit I wasn’t exactly disappointed to hear about her breakup?
I would never want her to be hurt, and I’d had a years-long relationship too, but that long-buried alpha-male side of me—the one that wanted Abby all for myself and would do anything for her—had sat up and been strangely glad to know we were both single again at the same time.
She groans, dropping her forehead into her palm.
“Sore subject?” I ask.
“That, and Drew was talking earlier about how far we’ve come in life, and all we’ve accomplished.” She straightens and meets my eyes once more. “I thought I was happy living in Toronto. I had a great job, I was in a relationship with a great guy, our condo was...”
“Great?” I guess when she trails off.
She gives a wry laugh. “Yeah. It was all great, at least on the surface. When it came crumbling down, I realized none of it was what I really wanted. Or, well, I don’t know if that’s fair exactly, but I’d gotten so used to things being a certain way, I didn’t question it, didn’t strive for more.
Being back in Kingston has given me the time and distance to see things differently. ”
“How so?” I ask.
She scrunches her nose as if she doesn’t like the question. I’ve missed her expressive face, missed talking to her like this, and having her open up to me. When she drains her whisky and lets out a low hiss, I ask, “Another?”
“I shouldn’t,” she says, although that doesn’t stop her from handing over her glass.
When I return to my seat a moment later, she picks up as if we hadn’t paused at all.
“I loved my job until the merger, and then I felt stuck. I didn’t like how work consumed so much of my life.
How I let it consume so much of my life.
Working in publishing was what I always imagined myself doing, what I worked so hard for all throughout university. ”
She wriggles back in her seat and tucks her legs up under her.
“Do you remember me saying that when I got my own place and wasn’t so focused on school, I planned to pursue all kinds of creative endeavours?
Get back into the things my grandma got me interested in, and maybe take some classes to learn new things? ”
“Aye, I remember. Pretty sure you had a list at some point.”
“I always have a list.” She laughs, but sobers quickly.
“I took a couple of painting classes when I first moved to Toronto, but stopped when I got busy with work. The photo walks I used to take didn’t last long either.
” Despite having just gotten settled, she rises and crosses the room, stopping in front of the collection of photos she took.
“I thought life would look a lot different at this point,” she continues.
“I thought I’d have an amazing career and interesting hobbies.
I thought I would have done more travelling.
I want to be one of those people who has cool facts to share at parties or when you’re forced into uncomfortable small talk.
Instead, I feel like life is passing me by, and I have no fucking clue what to do about it. ”
I set my glass aside and join her on the other side of the room.
From the way her shoulders bunch, I’m guessing she’s aware I’m hovering behind her.
I place my hands on her shoulders, and she relaxes instantly, melting into my touch with a barely audible sigh.
We stand like that for a moment until she inches back a step.
My body moves on instinct, arms wrapping around her and pulling her tight against my chest. My chin rests on her shoulder, bringing me closer to the floral scent that’s haunted both my dreams and my waking hours for years.
She lets out a mirthless laugh and shakes her head.
“What?” I ask.
“I was thinking about the fact I got so set on the idea of how things should be, which led me to thinking I didn’t realize I was so set in my ways. And that made me realize what a hypocrite I am.”
I don’t have to question what she means this time. It’s something I’ve pondered on more than one occasion but never said aloud. It’s part of the reason I could never hate Abby, despite everything. I might not like some of the decisions she’s made, but I understand them. Understand her.
After spending so many years where nothing was within her control—not where she lived or with whom, nor where she went to school when a new foster home meant living in a different school district—she tended to have a need for control as an adult.
It didn’t apply to every area of her life, but when we were younger, she had a very set idea of where she should live, what career she should have, and how her life should look.
“What does Drew say about all this?” I ask. Knowing my sister-in-law, she’s continued to be Abby’s biggest supporter and cheerleader, and I’m certain she’s had wise counsel for her best friend in the months since she’s been back in Kingston.
Abby’s arms have been hanging at her sides, but now she moves them to rest on top of mine where they wrap around her stomach. “Drew is basically a walking motivational poster. She keeps telling me I can be and do and have anything I want. That it’s never too late to start over.”
“And do you believe her?”
Her shoulders slump with the force of her sigh.
“I want to believe her. I’ve watched it happen for Drew, so I know it’s possible.
She’s been so amazing at helping me pick up the pieces of my life, and I keep hoping something will rub off on me, you know?
She and Brodie are a reminder that happiness and true love exist.” Her voice wavers, and I don’t need to see her face to know she’s holding back tears.
I turn her around, placing my hands firmly on her shoulders. Her pajama top has slipped slightly off her right shoulder, revealing the constellation of freckles along her left collarbone that always used to captivate me. Tears shimmer in her brown eyes, making my gut clench.