Chapter 22
Angus and Caitlin dropped me off at the house.
I walked through the front door, expecting Max to be there, perhaps sitting on the deck and pouring over a script.
The cottage was silent except for the distant bleating of sheep and the soft ticking of the antique clock in the hallway. I checked my phone.
No messages.
Whelp. It wasn’t like we were actual roommates. And yet. The roads, the sheep, the long drive. So many things could go wrong.
I settled into the bed with its thick tartan quilt, listening to the wind whistling through the eaves until I fell into a restless sleep.
The next morning my phone was buzzing with messages. Mom posing in front of Inverness Castle. My cousin Jen’s kids making faces at Loch Ness. Caitlin’s full Scottish breakfast.
Excited, I showered, dried my hair, and dressed in my favorite pair of jeans and a light hoodie.
Max’s room was quiet. I told myself I was just checking that he’d made it back safely. I told myself that right up until I was standing in his doorway, looking at an unslept-in bed.
Whatever. What had I expected?
Angus and Caitlin’s car turned into the driveway. I flung the door open and hurried down the stone steps before their car could come to a stop.
Caitlin rolled down her window, her face practically glowing. “It’s happening! They’re here!”
“You sound like a commercial for an old 80s horror film,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Caitlin stuck out her tongue. “Leave it to you to pick up the Spielberg reference, Sis.”
I hopped into the car, and Caitlin handed me a cup of coffee and a small paper bag.
“Scottish breakfast pastries. Scones, oatcakes, and flapjacks,” she said, pointing to each one through the translucent grease stains on the bag.
I reached in and pulled out a dense, golden square. I took a bite of the flapjack, the taste of buttery oats and golden syrup filling my mouth. It was the perfect balance between chewy and crumbly. “Oh my God,” I mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.
I mainlined the coffee and began to feel human again.
The car hummed over the Skye Bridge, leaving the island behind as we merged onto the A87 toward Inverness.
Along the way, we created a playlist to share with friends and family as they made the drive from Inverness to Drumnadrochit, featuring a mix of old and new songs, all by Scottish artists.
That’s when I couldn’t resist. I went searching and found the band Angus had been in, then chose their most popular song.
“What do you think? This band is Scottish. Should we add them to the list?” I said it innocently, but Caitlin shot me a warning glance all the same.
I pushed play, and Angus froze for a moment but said nothing.
I gripped the back of Angus’s seat. “Caitlin said you were honest about everything regarding your former band. But she didn’t know you were in this band, did she? The one that sold out Wembley in seventeen minutes flat.”
“Aye,” Angus whispered.
He shot a panicked glance at Caitlin, whose face had gone stone-cold. “Christ, should I pull over?”
“I can drive,” I offered sweetly as Angus pulled over. They both whipped around, eyes blazing.
His hands dropped from the steering wheel into his lap. “Yes, that was me. And Caitlin, I swear to God I told you everything that mattered.”
I shifted in my seat. “Maybe I’ll go see if that’s heather or thistle by the roadside—might make a nice bouquet.”
“Stay. It’s fine,” Angus insisted, his eyes still on Caitlin. “We haven’t had the big conversations yet. I was going to tell you.”
“When?” Caitlin asked, her jaw clenched. “We’re getting married. We’ve literally spent days photographing ourselves in wedding attire. Friends and family are arriving. The cake’s ordered and the venue’s booked.”
Angus glanced at the road. “I’ve always hated talking about it, Caitlin.
Not just because… she died. But once people know you’re famous, they treat you differently.
That’s part of why I moved to the States.
Fame comes with assumptions of wealth—sometimes you have it, sometimes you don’t—but it’s never as much as they picture.
I had people asking me to finance houses, send their kids to college, throw retirement parties, build apartment complexes…
some just wanted straight handouts. It was awkward.
I did well—better than most—but it’s not infinite.
We stopped releasing albums and touring.
I tried to bury the band, but die-hard fans and old DJs never forget.
And back home, everyone was so proud they made it the first thing they mentioned.
I appreciate it, but it’s a lot to carry when you have to be on around strangers. ”
“You’re a really good person, Angus,” Caitlin said softly. “Remember? You followed us through a snowstorm to return Lindsay’s purse. You didn’t have to, but you did.”
He swallowed. “I do my best.”
Caitlin reached out and stroked his hand. “You do more than your best, Angus.”
“Drew handles everything. Created a whole shell company—Caledonia Investments—to keep my name off the radar. He’s got the only access codes.
I’d trust him with my life, and have done for twenty years.
” His voice dropped. “The widow whose daughter got into Saint Andrews? Drew transferred the tuition anonymously. The old man facing foreclosure? Drew handled it. And yes, maybe we helped out two tourists stranded in a blizzard around Hogmanay.”
She looked down at her lap, biting her lip. “Should we… I don’t know… draft a pre-nup? You might want to reconsider everything now that I—”
“Does it change how you feel?” His voice was tight. “Because I’ve staked my entire future on you loving me, not whatever’s left of my bank account.”
“Of course not!” Caitlin grabbed his arm so hard I saw him wince.
“You’re not the type to embezzle or gamble it away.
And frankly, Caitlin,” he said with a laugh, “we couldn’t touch it if we tried.
I asked Drew to set it up as an irrevocable trust. I’d have to go to court to get a penny out of it.
I live on the pub profits now. Thank Christ we finally broke even. ”
Caitlin exhaled like she’d been holding her breath underwater. “So we’re still just… us?”
He stared out the windshield. “Is that enough?”
“It’s everything,” she whispered.
They collided in an awkward half-hug over the console.
I couldn’t help myself. “Not exactly a billionaire romance novel hero, is he, Caitlin?”
She snorted. “Read enough of those. Bunch of controlling megalomaniacs with god complexes.”
“I’m not even close to a billionaire,” Angus muttered.
“Thank God,” Caitlin said fiercely, seizing his face and kissing him hard. “I fell for a bearded musician who smells like pine—not some sociopath building rocket ships to colonize the universe. I want you.”
Their kiss deepened until I had to look away, suddenly desperate to identify every wildflower on the Scottish roadside.