Chapter 22 Skye
SKYE
“Are you mad?” Finn laughs.
I’d like to say I feel nothing for him at all.
That seeing him sitting there smiling, laughing, his square jaw covered in stubble, his sandy blond hair, a little longer than I remember, falling into his dark-blue eyes, does absolutely nothing to me.
But the truth is, my heart stirs. My stupid heart fucking stirs like it’s about to make a nice warm batch of biscuits.
He’s wearing the leather coat he had on the last time I saw him. The coat he wore all the time when we were together, and apparently still wears like nothing has changed, the shoulders starting to crack; the only clue any time has passed.
But as soon as the tiny trickle of tenderness seeps in, it’s quickly replaced by shame and anger. I shouldn’t still have any warmth for him. It’s been a long time. It’s true I was in love with him for years, but since we broke up, it has been radio silence. He didn’t even call when my mother died.
And what about Miles? But it isn’t serious with Miles, right? Casual. Physical. A fling. Sooner than I can fathom, he’ll be back on a plane to America. Bile fills my mouth at this thought. I swallow it back uncomfortably.
Now Finn is sitting here in my town, like nothing happened, like no time has passed, accusing me of being mad. Well, I am now.
“What are you doing here, Finn?”
Kate laughs, but quickly turns it into a cough and covers her mouth. “Pardon. Still getting over this nasty cold.”
“That’s some welcome.” Finn stands and pulls me into a hug.
My body goes stiff. Any remaining feelings my brain may have had for this man, my body does not share. He even smells different than before. It’s minty with a hint of clove. Not a good combination. I pull away.
“You haven’t said what ye are doing in town after all these years, Finn,” Kate says, still clacking away at her knitting.
“Visiting my ma. Christmas is right around the corner, isn’t it? Thought I’d stay for the holidays at the very least.”
I do some mental math. It is only the twenty-ninth of November, so Finn is going to be in town for probably a month, maybe more.
I shouldn’t be that surprised, but in all this time, he hasn’t been back.
His parents always visit him since his sister is also in America, somewhere in Vermont, last I heard.
Finn scoots one of the other armchairs close to his and pats the cushion, sending small dust particles flying. “Sit. Tell me all about your life. Let me buy you a pint.”
I look at my watch. “It’s barely ten in the morning.”
“Ahh, since when has that bothered us?”
Margie joins us, giving me a weary look.
“Can I have some coffee, Margie?”
“I’ll have some too, with a wee bit of the Irish,” Finn says with a wink.
Margie asks Kate. “Anything for you, dear?”
Kate is winding her project around her needles. “No, I have to head out. That yarn won’t sell itself.”
“Aye, but it could, right? If you got one of those fancy self-checkouts. They’re all over America,” Finn is saying as Kate gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving,” I whisper.
“I have to work. Call me later.”
Margie brings over our drinks.
“Thanks, love,” Finn says.
“It’s good to see you’re well, Finn,” Margie says before heading back to the bar, icier than I’ve heard from her in a long time.
We sip our drinks and stare into the fire. Margie, bless her, put actual coffee in mine this time. I’m in no mood for making chit chat with this man who’s seen me naked, a man I thought I was going to marry.
“What’s new?”
I shrug. “Same old, same old.”
“How’s your da?”
“Fine.” Since when did he ever care about my dad? They never got along, not in any of the years we were together.
“I saw your Instagram. Hanging out with big movie stars, huh?”
And now it makes sense. This is why he’s here—the movie.
He keeps chattering on. “Miles Casey. Wow. How’d you two meet?”
I sigh. “He’s part of the movie shooting at the castle. You must’ve heard about it.”
He flashes me a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Ma told me all about it. Is Natalie Rodriguez really directing? Did you meet her? I heard Ava Garreth is here, too.” Finn whistles. “Wow.”
I nod and set my coffee down on the table, feeling foolish. For a moment, just a nanosecond really, I thought Finn might actually want to catch up with me. Apologize, make amends. But he just wants to hear about all these fancy schmancy people. I’m about to leave when Miles walks in the door.
The last thing I want to do is sit here with my ex-boyfriend and my…
well, whatever Miles is to me. He’s wearing a wool peacoat and a thick scarf, but even with those, he looks absolutely frozen.
But when his eyes land on me, his whole face warms, a wide smile slowly spreading across his handsome mug.
He walks over. A shadow crosses his features when he sees I’m not alone, but it’s gone as fast as a feather on a windy day.
“Miles!” Margie yells out. “I’ll get ye some coffee.”
“And some breakfast if you don’t mind.”
Margie waves at him. “No trouble at all.”
Finn stands and extends a hand. “I’m Finn McDougall. It’s nice to meet you.”
The shadow is back. Miles glances my way, so quick I don’t know what my face was doing. Miles takes his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m…”
“Miles Casey,” Finn supplies, as if the man had forgotten his own name.
I sink further into my chair. Could the cushions just swallow me up?
“Pull up a chair,” Finn says, motioning to Kate’s vacated chair.
Miles sits and smiles, but it’s not the beaming grin from when he first spotted me.
“How are you this morning, Skye?”
I nod. Uncomfortable. Wishing we were back on the island. “Okay.”
We all make idle chit-chat. Talking about the weather, of all things. I swear, is there a more boring topic of conversation than the weather? Miles tucks into his breakfast that Margie brings over, and we listen to the soft music over the speakers. The Beatles' Abbey Road this morning.
Then the music shifts, and my stomach drops like I’m on an untrustworthy elevator. Finn’s voice carries over the speakers, accompanied by an acoustic guitar.
He’s smiling into his coffee, tapping his foot along to the song.
I’m surprised by this new, softer direction his music has taken.
Before, he was all electric, very influenced by bands like the Sex Pistols and the Buzzcocks.
This sounds more like Elliott Smith. What I’m not surprised about is this shameless bit of self-promotion.
“What do you think?” Finn asks me.
I shrug. “It’s different from your usual style.” I actually really like it, but I don’t want to tell him that.
Finn smiles. “Just recorded it right before I left.” He turns to Miles. “You like music?”
Miles nods his cheeks full of a large bite of Scotch egg.
“I’ve been playing nearly my whole life. Still haven’t signed with a label. Weighing my options, you know.”
Miles swallows his bite. “Ah, yeah. I’ve heard it’s a hard business to break into.”
Finn shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. What about acting? How’d you get into that?”
Miles shakes his head. “Damned if I know. Just kind of fell in my lap, really, when I was a kid. My brother started acting, and one day they just put me in the movie too.”
“Were you at a shoot this morning?” Finn asks, sitting forward in his chair.
Miles nods. “At the loch—well, technically in the loch. We were shooting just a little ways up from that spot that you took me, Skye, with the willow tree.”
Finn sits back in his chair like Miles slapped him in the face. He looks at me, and the hurt in his eyes is so intense you would think we were still a couple. “You took him to our spot?”
Now who’s mad? Our spot? I let out a quick breath. “I’ve been going to that spot since I was a kid. I found it. It’s my spot, and I’ll take whomever I please there.”
Finn shakes his head, and I realize I don’t have to sit here and endure this little chat. I shrug on my coat.
Finn reaches a hand out. “Ah, come on. Don’t be like that. I didn’t mean anything.”
“I have an appointment.” I give Miles a smile. “I’ll see you later.”
Finn throws his head back. “I can see your temper is as fiery as ever.”
I take my mug to the counter and stride out the door without a look back. I had been hoping to see Miles this morning. We haven’t been properly alone in nearly two weeks. But I didn’t want to see him like this. Flustered once again by Finn.
I get on my bike and push down the pedals like they personally wronged me. Like they told me that they didn’t like my book, or like they tried to claim my secret spot as their own. I ride straight home.
Once upstairs, I soak in the tub, hoping my feelings will drain away with the bathwater, but my bitterness remains well after the water has gone.
I stomp to my laptop. I can use this frustration. Mickey and Sorcha need some tension, and here it is in a neatly packed, sandy-haired, leather coat–wearing package. Enter the ex-boyfriend, Flynn.
My fingers jab at the keys as the plot twist starts to form. Flynn wants Sorcha back. He’s realized that he can’t live without her. Well, too bad, Flynny boy, because Sorcha’s heart belongs to Mickey now.
I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keys. Is that true? In the book, absolutely, but in life, does my heart belong to Miles? Before I have time to fling myself with wild abandon down that rabbit hole, there is a small knock at the door.
Miles is standing in the alcove with a purple flower. I recognize it immediately as one of the violas from Thistle House.
“Pilfering foliage now, are you?”
Miles smiles, and my knees are jelly. “Well, you know—”
I don’t let him finish. I’m across the room as fast as my wobbly knees will take me. I shut the door behind him and put my mouth to his. He runs his hands through my hair, and I let out a moan that I don’t even recognize.
“Is it safe? Does the door lock?” Miles asks in a husky voice that sends shivers down my spine.
“No” is all I can manage before my mouth is on his again.
He keeps kissing me and walks me backwards to the couch, but we aren’t paying attention and run into the piano. We both laugh.
“No, it isn’t safe? Or no, it doesn’t lock?”
“Either…or both.” I bury my head in his neck, kissing the tender spot under his jaw. He maneuvers me around the piano and closer to the couch. “We could be quick.”
Miles throws me on the couch and joins me. “Nothing about what I want to do to you involves being quick, but I’ll do my best.”
After we are both blissfully satisfied and back in our clothes, we lie on the couch, Miles the big spoon and me the little one tucked into his body tight so we’ll both fit. His fingers traipse on my thigh.
“I was hoping to sneak away to that secret room at Thistle House. That’s really why I went there, to find you.”
“Ah. Sorry I left so suddenly.”
“You don’t need to apologize. Was that the Finn?”
I nod. “It was indeed.”
“Does he come back to visit a lot?”
“No.” I don’t expand on it. What more is there to say? In all these years, he hasn’t been back, and now that he is, it’s not to see me, or even his ma, as he said it is, but much more likely because he heard a bunch of famous Hollywood people are hanging about.
“I’m glad I found you,” Miles says, maybe sensing that I don’t want to talk anymore about Finn. “The shoot is going to another location for about a week, maybe more.”
My back prickles, and suddenly the couch feels too small for us both. I get up to put another log on the fire, the wood rough under my fingertips. “Oh. Where are you going?”
“Just around Glen Coe and the other side of the loch.” Miles sits up, and his face lights up like a kid at Christmas time. “You could come.”
I smile because his enthusiasm is adorable, but I shake my head and sit on the rug near the fire. “No, I can’t. How exactly would we keep”—I point to me and then to him—“this secret if I’m tagging along with you on shoots?”
“I could hire you.”
“Um, no.”
Miles laughs. “Not like that. As my dialect coach. They have an extra room booked because Jake was supposed to be here.”
“Wouldn’t that look suspicious?”
Miles shrugs. “Probably. But who cares?”
Miles joins me on the rug and takes my hand in his. His hands are so large, his fingers long. He intertwines them with mine. “I don’t want to not see you for a whole week.”
My stomach clenches like I’m preparing to be hit square in the stomach.
Because I am. How much longer does the shoot have altogether?
I think Miles told me once they were supposed to wrap before Christmas.
It’s almost December. And we can’t even go a week without seeing each other?
How’s it going to feel when he skips back off to America, back to his LA life with clear blue swimming pools, fancy cocktail parties, and beautiful women literally everywhere he goes?
I take my hand back. “I can’t. I have a life here, you know. I can’t drop everything just to go watch you work. I need to finish my book, and I have responsibilities.” I stand up and go over to my desk to open my laptop.
“I didn’t mean…” Miles sighs. “I just thought it might be fun. I know you have a life.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I move so that it falls off.
“I’m going to miss you. We leave in the morning. I’ll try to find you before then.”
I make a noncommittal mmm-hmm.
“Skye, I lo—”
My heart catches in my throat. Is he going to say that he loves me? I will him not to continue. I’ll never be able to keep my nerve if he says the L word.
“I’ll miss you.” He kisses my shoulder and leaves without another word.
This will be good for us. It’ll be like a stepping stone to when he actually leaves. Like sipping a light beer after a month-long whiskey bender.