Chapter 18
Cameron
Emotional Miscalculation
I’m wandering through Glenfield with no particular destination in mind, my hands shoved into my pockets as I try to bring some order to the absolute chaos my life has become.
It isn’t working.
My brain keeps replaying everything that happened at the market this morning.
Clementine’s hand in mine.
Hamish “accepting” us.
Mrs. MacLeish talking about bonded souls.
The thyme bundles.
The look on Clementine’s face when she realized we had completely lost control of our own plan.
“Cameron!”
I stop short and turn around.
Connor is crossing the street toward me.
My twin is wearing his usual black jeans and a leather jacket that has definitely seen better days.
“You’re wandering around alone like a lovesick ghost? That’s new.”
I shrug.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s a dangerous activity for you,” he replies with a mocking grin.
“Go to hell.”
I start walking again.
He laughs and falls into step beside me.
“So, how was the market this morning?”
I shoot him a dark look.
“How do you—”
“Old Angus posted a picture in the village WhatsApp group. The two of you are very photogenic, by the way. Hamish too. He looked deeply committed to his role as mystical guardian.”
I close my eyes for a second.
“Old Angus couldn’t resist posting a picture... why am I not surprised?”
“Several, actually. My favorite is the one where Clementine is receiving the thyme bundles with that expression that’s half panic, half resignation. She looks like she’s realizing in real time that she’s completely lost control of her life.”
“Connor...”
“What? It’s cute. Tragic, but cute.”
We walk in silence for a few moments.
I’m not entirely sure where I’m going.
Apparently Connor isn’t either, but that doesn’t seem to bother him.
“By the way,” I say, mostly to change the subject, “what are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be gone for several more weeks?”
He shrugs casually.
“Change of plans.”
“What kind of change?”
“The kind that’s none of your business.”
I glance sideways at him.
“Connor.”
“What?”
“I know when you’re dodging.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“And I know when you’re trying to redirect the conversation away from your own problems by focusing on mine. So drop it. Want to go to the pub?”
Something happened.
I can feel it.
But Connor won’t talk until he’s ready.
“Fine. Let’s go to the pub.”
We arrive at the Grumpy Sheep.
Connor pushes through the door first and walks in with the confidence of a man who feels at home absolutely everywhere.
I follow him inside.
The pub is moderately busy.
Old Angus is at the bar.
Mrs. MacLeish is sitting at her usual table.
A few patrons glance up when we enter.
Connor takes a seat at the bar.
I sit beside him.
Ewan is drying a glass.
“Well, look who it is. The twins. It’s been a while since you came in together.”
“Hey, Ewan,” my brother says. “A beer, please.”
Ewan sets a beer in front of Connor.
Then he places another one in front of me without me even ordering it.
Connor gives me a sidelong look.
“He served you without asking. Bad sign.”
“Thanks for that incredibly useful observation. And no, I don’t want your opinion.”
Ewan watches us for a moment, then leans slightly toward me.
“Connor, can you give us a minute?”
My brother raises both hands.
“Message received.”
He picks up his beer and heads over toward Old Angus.
Silence settles between Ewan and me.
I take a sip.
“Moira MacTavish called me an hour ago.”
I close my eyes.
“She told me all about my cousin and you at the market. While I was there. See where I’m going with this?”
I keep my eyes closed a second too long.
“Apparently everyone has already decided you two are perfect for each other.”
“That’s a huge exaggeration.”
Ewan sets down his towel.
He stares at me.
“Really?”
He turns his phone around.
On the screen: Clementine and me, hand in hand in the middle of the crowd.
Hamish at our feet like some mystical guardian straight out of an Arthurian legend.
We look happy.
Connected.
Like a real couple.
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
I take a long drink.
“It wasn’t intentional. We weren’t trying to fuel the rumors.”
Actually, we were.
At least at first.
But everything got away from us...
“Do you realize you’re giving me a marketing pitch right now?”
I freeze.
He’s right.
I’m framing it.
Rationalizing it.
Turning chaos into a sellable concept.
Except Clementine isn’t real estate.
I set down my glass.
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then explain it to me. What exactly is it? And how is this supposed to work when my cousin goes back to Paris in two weeks?”
I don’t answer.
“Why keep going if you know it can’t lead anywhere?”
“I don’t know.”
And that’s the truth.
At the beginning, everything was clear.
We had a concept.
A strategy.
Use the legend instead of fighting it.
Then something changed.
Maybe because she cooked for me.
Maybe because she laughed at my stupid jokes.
Maybe because her hand in mine this morning felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“Where do you see her in six months?” Ewan asks.
I think about it.
Paris.
Or the manor.
Two completely opposite futures.
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
“If you don’t know, stop before you hurt her.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Then stop playing.”
“It’s not a game.”
“From the outside, it looks like one.”
Ewan doesn’t add anything else.
He walks away to serve other customers.
Connor returns.
“Did Ewan give you a lecture?”
“Something like that.”
“He’s right, you know.”
I look at him and immediately realize he heard everything.
“Since when do you eavesdrop?”
“Since always.”
He takes a drink.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re already screwed. Might as well accept it.”
I don’t answer.
“The village has already decided the two of you belong together.”
And the worst part is that I’m starting to believe it.
Not the ghosts.
Not the mystical sheep.
But us.
We leave the pub.
The evening light is perfect.
“Are you going to see her?” Connor asks.
“Not tonight. I need to think.”
“About what?”
“About what I want. About what she wants. About how we get out of this mess without one of us getting hurt.”
Connor nods.
“You think too much. You’re treating this like a business project.”
I stop walking.
“Since when did you become wise?”
He smiles.
“Since I made the same mistakes you’re making.”
There’s pain in his voice.
We continue walking in silence.
What do you really want?
I want her to stay.
I can see her at the manor.
With me.
And that’s the problem.
I’m falling in love with a French woman who’ll be heading back to Paris soon.
I should put an end to all of this.
But I don’t want to.
I think about her smile.
Her recipe notebook.
The way she always tries to organize chaos.
And then I realize, with brutal clarity, that I’m done for.
Completely.
Irrevocably.
And the worst part?
I have absolutely no desire to save myself from it.