Chapter 33
FINN
Painting Lessons
(Or How a Grumpy Doctor Learns to Add Color Back Into His Life)
Like the rest of Glenfield this early in the morning, the medical clinic sits wrapped in silence.
My gaze drifts across the walls that are now almost completely stripped bare after Nate started the renovations. Only one section still needs work—the wall that looks disturbingly like a shrine dedicated to the eternal glory of McKinnon.
I set my coffee thermos on the platform of a construction ladder and walk toward the wall.
Then, without giving myself time to overthink it, I take down the first photo of McKinnon.
Then a second.
Then a third.
The frames pile into the cardboard box sitting in the middle of the waiting room. His smiling face slowly disappears from the walls along with his diplomas, certificates, and the photos from grateful patients who adored him.
Everything that reminded me I was only a temporary replacement needs to go.
Because I’m not a placeholder anymore.
It takes several minutes to clear the wall completely, and when I finish, I step back to study it.
I’ll leave the wallpaper removal to Nate.
A wave of satisfaction rolls through me.
Who would’ve guessed that tearing down old memories could feel this good?
I open the paint can.
Blue-gray.
The exact color Mary suggested weeks ago.
I pour paint into the tray and dip the roller into it. My hand trembles slightly.
Not from exhaustion.
From what it means.
Repainting this clinic means admitting I’m staying.
Admitting I’m putting down roots.
Admitting I’m done running and finally ready to claim my place here.
The first stroke of paint across the freshly prepped wall is ridiculously satisfying.
The blue-gray slowly erases the McKinnon years.
A second stroke.
A third.
It’s physical.
Almost cathartic.
Every movement wipes something away.
McKinnon.
Edinburgh.
The belief that I don’t deserve to be here.
I hear the clinic door open behind me.
I turn and find Nate standing in the doorway looking surprised to see me.
“I thought we were starting tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t wait.”
His eyes scan the renovation mess.
The stacked photos.
The open paint cans.
Me covered in blue-gray paint up to my elbows.
“Okay. Have you slept at all in the last few days?”
“No.”
“Finn…”
“I know.”
Nate shrugs off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.
“Fine. Hand me a roller.”
We work in silence for a while.
Him on the left wall.
Me on the right.
The rhythm is soothing.
Repetitive.
Almost meditative.
Then Nate asks casually without looking at me:
“Are you redoing this clinic for yourself or for Mary?”
I stop painting instantly.
The roller hovers inches from the wall.
“Both. But mostly for me. Because I want to stay. Even if she leaves.”
Nate nods slowly and keeps painting.
“She hasn’t accepted the Perthshire job yet, you know.”
I turn toward him sharply.
“What?”
“Lily told me she still hasn’t made a decision.”
My heart kicks violently against my ribs.
Is there still hope for us?
“She’s hesitating?”
“Apparently.”
Nate sets down his roller and finally looks at me directly.
“But she doesn’t know you’re staying.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Yes. And not in three days. Right now.”
I glance around at the half-painted clinic.
The construction mess.
Paint everywhere.
“I can’t leave now. This place is chaos.”
“Finn.”
His voice hardens.
“Go see her. I’ll finish the rest.”
“Nate, I can’t leave you to—”
“You can. And you will. Because repainting this clinic won’t mean a damn thing if you lose the only person who makes you want to stay here in the first place.”
He’s right.
I set down my roller and wipe my hands on an old rag, which only smears more paint everywhere.
“Thanks.”
“Go before I change my mind and force you to finish the baseboards.”
I run out of the clinic.
Literally.
There’s blue-gray paint all over my hands, my sweater, probably my hair too.
I don’t care.
I cross Glenfield on foot.
The few villagers awake this early stare at me in confusion as I pass.
Duncan Fraser steps out of the bakery carrying a paper bag.
“Dr. McLeod? Everything all right?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
I wave vaguely and keep going without stopping.
Everything will be all right once I talk to Mary and convince her to stay.
Right now, my entire life feels suspended in this strange blurry whirlwind. I’ve decided to stay in Glenfield. That part finally feels stable. But emotionally?
Nothing is certain.
The castle appears at the end of the road.
Massive.
Imposing.
Strangely familiar now.
The second I step into the entrance hall, Jamison materializes in front of me.
“Good morning, Doctor. What brings you here so early?”
His gaze flicks over my paint-covered clothes, but in true Jamison fashion, he doesn’t comment.
“Morning, Jamison. I need to see Mary.”
I expect resistance.
Maybe immediate expulsion from the castle grounds.
Instead, to my complete shock, he smiles.
Actually smiles.
I blink several times.
If there’s one person in Glenfield—possibly in all northern Scotland—who smiles even less than I do, it’s the old butler.
“Miss Mary is in the gardens,” he informs me. “Near the old oak tree.”
“Thanks, Jamison.”
And without another word, I bolt outside.
I cross the castle grounds without thinking.
My heart pounds too hard.
My thoughts spin endlessly.
What exactly am I going to say?
How do I convince her to stay?
How do I convince her to give me a chance?
I finally find her exactly where Jamison said she’d be.
She’s sitting with her back to me beneath the massive oak tree, staring out across the Highlands stretching endlessly into the distance. The morning sun is only beginning to spill gold across the moorland.
Hamish is lying on her left.
Ragnar on her right.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen them together without trying to murder each other.
Apparently even the sheep understand this moment matters.
I walk closer.
“Morning, Mary.”
She turns around.
Her eyes widen the second she sees me standing there breathless and covered in paint.
“Finn? What… why are you covered in paint?”
I stop in front of her trying to catch my breath.
“I’m redoing the clinic.”
Mary blinks.
“What?”
“I’m repainting it,” I clarify. “Blue-gray. The color you suggested. I took down all the McKinnon photos. I’m replacing the furniture. I’m making it mine.”
She stares at me like I’ve completely lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
“Why now?”
Her voice is soft.
Uncertain.
I take one step toward her.
Then stop.
Like some cowardly part of me still wants to run.
No.
Not anymore.
“Because I’m staying. For real this time. I’m choosing Glenfield. This is where I want to live.”
The words come easier now.
Like they’ve been waiting for weeks to finally exist.
Mary rises slowly from the bench.
Ragnar lets out a faint protest but doesn’t move.
She studies me carefully like she’s trying to read every hidden thing inside me.
“You’re staying?” she repeats quietly.
I nod.
“And I know you have a choice to make. You can take the Perthshire job or stay here. And I’m not going to manipulate you or beg you to stay.”
I inhale deeply.
“But before you decide, you deserve to know that I’m staying. And… that I love you.”
Silence crashes over us.
The birds stop singing.
The wind dies.
Even Hamish and Ragnar seem to hold their breath.
Or maybe that’s just my imagination.
Mary stares at me.
Her green eyes shine strangely.
“I want a chance with you, Mary,” I continue softly.
I take another step closer and have to physically stop myself from pulling her into my arms.
“And I know I ruined everything. I panicked during the Games. I told you it was fake. I hurt you.”
I’m close enough now that I could reach up and tuck the loose strand of hair back behind her ear.
“But I can’t let you leave without finally telling you the truth. I love you. For real.”
Tears fill her eyes.
Then she smiles.
“You have paint on your nose.”
I blink.
“That’s what you took from all of this?”
She laughs—a shaky sound halfway between laughter and tears.
“Yes. No. I…”
She shakes her head.
“Finn, what exactly are you doing right now?”
“I’m fighting for you.”
The words are simple.
Direct.
No defenses left.
No hiding.
“I’m willing to fight for us even if I don’t completely know how yet. I spent a year running from Edinburgh, from my guilt, from any chance at happiness. But I’m done punishing myself.”
I lift my hand.
Hesitate.
Then gently cup her cheek.
“I don’t want to run anymore. I want to stay. I want to rebuild that clinic and make it mine. I want to take care of Glenfield’s patients. I want Ragnar to keep mysteriously loving me for reasons I’ll never understand.”
She laughs again.
This time it’s real.
“And I want you, Mary.”
My voice cracks slightly on the last word.
“I want to wake up beside you every morning. I want to make coffee that’s way too strong. I want to hear you complain because I never shut the bathroom door properly. I want all of it. Even the chaos.”
Tears slide freely down her cheeks now.
“Idiot.”
That’s all she says.
But she says it with so much tenderness it simultaneously destroys me and puts me back together.
“That’s it?”
She shakes her head and cups my face in both hands.
“You’re an idiot, Finn McLeod. Because you could’ve told me this three days ago. Or a week ago. Or the second everything fell apart.”
“I know.”
“An idiot because I spent days trying to convince myself leaving was the right decision even though deep down I knew it wasn’t.”
My eyes widen.
“You don’t want to leave?”
She smiles through her tears.
“Of course I don’t. I want to stay here. In Glenfield. With my ridiculously invasive family. With Ragnar finally deciding to tolerate me.”
She steps closer until our foreheads almost touch.
“And with you. Mostly with you.”
I close my eyes.
She’s staying.
She’s choosing Glenfield.
She’s choosing me.
“Even though I’m grumpy?”
“Especially because you’re grumpy.”
“Even with my complicated past?”
“Everyone has a complicated past.”
“Even though I’m not perfect?”
She looks up at me steadily.
“Finn McLeod, nobody’s perfect. Least of all me. But I love you. Your flaws. Your past. The guilt you wear like armor.”
She loves me.
Mary draws in a shaky breath.
“I love you because you’re you. Not despite who you are. Exactly because of who you are.”
Something loosens inside my chest.
Something that’s been tight for so long I forgot what breathing freely even felt like.
I kiss her.
Soft.
Tender.
Her hands slide into my hair while my arms wrap around her waist.
The kiss tastes like coffee and hope.
When we finally pull apart, there’s paint smeared across her sweater.
“You got paint all over me,” she points out.
I grin.
“Sorry.”
Mary tilts her head.
“No, you’re not.”
“No. Not even a little.”
She laughs and rests her head against my chest.
“So what happens now?” I ask quietly.
“We stay. Together. For real this time.”
“No more fake relationship.”
“No more fake relationship,” she repeats softly.
Two loud bleats interrupt us.
Hamish and Ragnar are watching us with what looks suspiciously like satisfaction.
“I think the sheep approve,” Mary says.
I glance down at Ragnar, who’s gotten to his feet and is walking toward us.
Instinctively, I move slightly in front of Mary, but Ragnar simply sniffs my jeans, then hers.
And in a gesture that completely defies logic, he rests his head against Mary’s leg.
“It’s official,” I announce. “Ragnar accepts you now.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means you’re officially part of the McGregor sheep pack.”
Mary looks up at me suspiciously.
“Did you just make a joke?”
I fight a smile.
“Maybe I’ve been secretly funny this whole time.”
Her grin widens.
“I can’t wait to meet that version of you, Finn.”
I kiss her again beneath the old oak tree with two sheep as witnesses.
And probably several members of the McGregor family spying through castle windows.
It’s chaotic.
Messy.
Imperfect.
Exactly us.
Hamish lets out one long triumphant bleat.
I glance toward him.
“I think Hamish is pleased,” I say.
“Hamish is always happy when chaos is involved. Which means he’s going to love what comes next.”
I pull back slightly to study her face.
“What comes next?”
Her smile turns downright diabolical.
“You’re going to have to tell Maggie her plan worked.”
My expression collapses instantly.
“No.”
“Oh yes.”
“Mary, absolutely not. She’s going to be unbearable.”
“She was always going to be unbearable. We might as well give her the victory now.”
I groan—a deeply grumpy sound that makes her laugh harder.
“I hate when you’re right,” I mutter.
“You should get used to it. It happens often.”
I stare at her for a second before finally shaking my head with a resigned smile.
“Fine. We’ll go face Maggie together.”
“You need emotional support?” she teases.
“Possibly.”
We walk toward the castle hand in hand followed by two sheep who have finally decided to call a truce.
And somewhere along the way, I realize I made peace too.
With my past.
With myself.
I found my home.
My family.
I’m staying in Glenfield.
With Mary.