Chapter 21
FINN
The List
(Or How Renovating a Medical Practice Turns Into a Declaration of Intent)
I didn’t sleep all night.
Not because of a medical emergency. Not because Ragnar decided to smash through my door. Not even because Hamish stole something important.
No, I didn’t sleep because I spent the entire night making a list of everything I want to change about the medical practice.
I’m staring at it now, spread across the desk in my room at the cottage.
Three handwritten pages.
Detailed. Precise.
Completely exposing the state of my brain after kissing Mary.
Page 1: Paint
· Office walls: blue-gray (something Mary would like, not too cold, calming)
· Waiting room: off-white (she’s right, the yellow is depressing)
· Office: keep the wood paneling, but strip the varnish (she thinks the oak is beautiful underneath)
Page 2: Flooring
· Replace the linoleum in every room
· Keep the light oak hardwood if possible
· Otherwise neutral tile, but modern
Page 3: Furniture and Decor
· New sign outside: “Dr. Finn McLeod, General Practitioner” (WITHOUT “temporary”)
· Take down McKinnon’s photos (put them somewhere else, don’t throw them away, don’t be a monster)
· Replace the orange waiting room chairs
· Buy green plants (Mary said they help calm patients during one of her visits)
· Fix the leaking sink (should’ve done it three months ago)
· New curtains (Mary’s suggestion: “something that doesn’t look like it came from a haunted manor house”)
I reread the list.
Then I reread it again.
Mary’s name is everywhere.
I rub my eyes.
What the hell am I doing?
Last night, I kissed her on the castle terrace. I admitted I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. She said she couldn’t either.
And now I’m sitting here planning renovations based on her opinions about interior design.
It’s pathetic.
No, worse.
It’s revealing.
I want her to see that I’m serious. That I’m done running. That Glenfield isn’t just a temporary stop between Edinburgh and… wherever else.
I fold the pages and shove them into my jacket pocket before heading downstairs.
The cottage kitchen is quiet. Mary isn’t awake yet.
Or she’s avoiding me.
Both options feel equally possible after last night.
I make coffee.
Black. Strong.
The kind of coffee that wakes the dead and scares off the living.
My phone vibrates.
NATE
Swinging by the clinic with scones in 30 mins.
Maybe texting him in the middle of the night on impulse and demanding he come to the clinic as soon as possible to discuss renovations wasn’t my brightest moment.
FINN
No need for scones.
NATE
Too late. Already on my way.
I sigh and finish my coffee.
Might as well head to the clinic now. I can’t stay here listening for Mary’s footsteps upstairs while wondering if she regrets everything.
The medical practice looks exactly the way I left it yesterday:
Depressing. Outdated. Haunted by the ghost of McKinnon.
I switch on the lights. The fluorescent bulb in the waiting room flickers angrily.
I sit behind my desk and pull the list from my pocket, smoothing the pages across the scarred surface.
These three sheets of paper look dangerously close to commitment.
A few minutes later, the clinic door bursts open and Nate walks in carrying a paper bag that smells incredible and two coffees.
“You look like hell,” he comments, setting everything on my desk.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Lily thinks you’re having an existential crisis. Jane thinks you’re going to propose to Mary by the end of the week. Emma bet you’d flee town within forty-eight hours. Maggie hasn’t said anything.”
I stare at him.
“You all talk about me like I’m a zoo animal.”
“You’re dating a McGregor,” he replies as though that explains everything.
He drops into the patient chair and pushes a scone toward me. I take it automatically.
“So?” he asks. “You finally decided to stay for good? How’s commitment treating you?”
I bite into the pastry to buy myself time.
It’s ridiculously good. Mrs. Campbell makes the best pastries in the Highlands.
“It’s…” I start.
“Terrifying?” Nate suggests. “Revealing? Life-altering? The kind of thing that makes you question every decision you’ve ever made?”
“All three.”
He grins and grabs his own scone.
“Welcome to real life, cousin.”
I grunt, because grunting is what I do. It’s basically my personality at this point.
Nate notices the list on my desk and snatches it before I can stop him.
“What’s this?”
“Nothing.”
“Blue-gray, something Mary would like,” he reads aloud. “Mary, Mary, Mary…”
He looks up at me, one eyebrow raised.
“You spent the night making renovation plans based on Mary’s opinions?”
“No.”
“Finn.”
“Maybe.”
He bursts out laughing.
A loud, genuine, deeply annoying laugh.
“Oh my God. You are absolutely screwed, man.”
“Thank you for that incredibly helpful observation,” I mutter.
“No, seriously,” he says, flipping through the pages. “This is actually kind of sweet. In a mildly obsessive way, but still sweet.”
“I’m not obsessive.”
“Sure,” he says in a tone that clearly means he doesn’t believe me.
I yank the papers out of his hands.
“It’s logical. She comes here a lot with patients. She’s got a good eye for this stuff. And the place needs renovating. You said yourself it looks like a mausoleum.”
Nate gives me that look.
The one that says he knows me too well and sees right through my bullshit.
“So you’re really serious about all this?”
“About what?”
“Redoing the clinic. Making it yours. Actually settling down.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it needs it. The linoleum’s dangerous, the sink leaks, the curtains are hideous, and those orange chairs make me want to gouge my eyes out.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He leans back in the squeaking patient chair, arms crossed over his chest.
“Yesterday you were talking about leaving. Today you want calming blue-gray paint and houseplants. So I’ll ask again: why?”
Silence settles between us.
Outside, Glenfield is slowly waking up. I can see Mrs. MacTavish opening the grocery store. Old Angus walking his dog. Duncan Fraser stumbling out of the pub.
I’m starting to wonder if the man actually lives there.
People I’m beginning to know.
People who wave at me now instead of avoiding me.
“Because I want to stay,” I say finally.
Nate says nothing.
He just waits.
“Not maybe. Not we’ll see. I actually want to stay. And for that to happen, this place needs to become mine. Not McKinnon’s.”
“Because of Mary?”
“Because of everything. Mary, yeah. But also Glenfield. The patients who are finally starting to trust me. Ragnar, who mysteriously adores me. You and Lily living fifteen minutes away. This insane McGregor family that somehow adopted me against my will.”
I stop abruptly, startled by my own speech.
“And yes,” I admit more quietly. “Mostly because of Mary.”
Nate smiles.
Not his usual teasing grin.
This one is softer. Reserved for important moments.
“Okay,” he says. “Then we’re renovating this place.”
“Really?”
“Really. When do we start?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Before or after the Highland Games?”
I look around the clinic.
The yellowed walls. The cracked linoleum. McKinnon’s framed photographs staring down at me.
“Before. I want it done as fast as possible.”
“That’s gonna be tight. Unless you help.”
“Fine by me. So you can do it?”
Nate picks up the list again, this time studying it professionally.
“Paint’s easy. Hardwood flooring’s gonna be rough, but manageable if we work nonstop. Furniture—I know suppliers. The sign, I can order today.”
He glances up.
“But you’ll need permission from the town council. It’s their building.”
My stomach tightens.
“Duncan Fraser.”
“Exactly. You’ll have to present your project officially.”
Of course.
Naturally.
I can’t just decide to renovate the clinic without warning. I have to announce it publicly. Risk rejection. Show all of Glenfield that I fully intend to stay.
“You scared?” Nate asks.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe a little,” I admit, remembering the disaster at the bed-and-breakfast.
He sets the list down and looks me straight in the eye.
“Listen to me. The council’s been waiting months for this request. They want the clinic modernized. They’re even willing to help fund part of it. They want you to stay. The village already accepted you, Finn. You’re the one refusing to accept that you finally found a place to belong.”
“That was incredibly inspirational. Did you rehearse that speech?”
“Lily made me practice it in the car.”
Despite myself, I smile.
Nate folds the list and pulls out his phone.
“I’m gonna take measurements and get estimates together. You sure about the blue-gray paint?”
“Yes.”
“Because Mary likes it?”
“Because I think it’s calming. The fact that Mary agrees is purely coincidental.”
“Coincidental. Sure.”
“Go to hell, Nate.”
He laughs and starts taking pictures of the walls, the floors, the windows.
I watch him work and, for the first time in weeks, I feel strangely calm.
I’m going to renovate this clinic.
I’m going to make it mine.
I’m going to stay in Glenfield.
And I’m going to fight for Mary.
“By the way,” Nate says while measuring the waiting room, “are you planning to talk to her?”
“To who?”
“To Mary, idiot. Are you going to tell her any of this? That you’re renovating the clinic? That you’re staying?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
He turns to face me with an intensity that reminds me why we’re friends in addition to being cousins.
“Because she needs to know you’re serious. Not just about her. About Glenfield. About your future. About… everything.”
He’s right.
“And what if she doesn’t want me?” I ask quietly.
Nate shakes his head like my stupidity physically pains him.
“Finn…”
“How do I even know what she really wants? We’ve never talked about the future…”
I stop abruptly as the realization detonates inside my skull hard enough to nearly knock me sideways even though I’m already sitting down.
What if Mary doesn’t plan on staying either?
“That woman knows exactly what she wants,” Nate says firmly. “And she chose you. So stop making excuses and fight for her.”
He sets down the measuring tape.
“Renovate the clinic. Stay in Glenfield. Tell her how you feel. And stop living like you’re still running from Edinburgh.”
I nod, my throat tight.
The clinic door suddenly swings open.
Both of us turn.
Mary stands in the doorway, cheeks pink from the cold, her hair pulled into a ponytail beneath her vet jacket.
She looks surprised to see us.
“Hey, Nate. I… didn’t realize you were here.”
“Morning, Mary,” Nate says with a smile. “I was just taking measurements. For… uh… something.”
I stare at the ceiling.
Subtle, cousin. Very subtle.
Nate gathers his things with suspicious speed.
“Well! I’ll leave you two alone. Finn, I’ll send estimates later today. Think about what we talked about. Have a good day, Mary.”
“Bye,” she says.
He leaves, shooting me one final look that very clearly says don’t screw this up.
Mary frowns slightly, glances around the clinic, then looks back at me.
“Can I talk to you? Just for a minute?”
“Of course.”
I stare at her while my heart starts pounding.
This is it.
This is where she tells me she made a mistake. That it was just the alcohol. That the fake relationship was easier.
“This place is really ugly,” she says.
I barely suppress a smile.
“I know.”
“You should redo all of it.”
“I’ve been thinking about it. But I assume you didn’t come here to discuss interior decorating?”
Her green eyes lock onto mine with that intensity that always steals the air from my lungs.
“I need you at the clinic. Right now.”
I blink.
“It’s Ragnar,” she explains. “He hasn’t eaten since yesterday. He’s barely moving. I think he swallowed something toxic, but he won’t even let me near him. You, on the other hand…”
She trails off.
“I’m coming,” I say, already standing.
I grab my jacket and follow Mary out of the clinic.
As I lock the door behind me, I think about my list.
Blue-gray.
Something Mary would like.
I’m going to renovate this clinic. I’m going to stay in Glenfield.
But first, I’m going to save that damn sheep.