Chapter 27
Clementine
Heartbreak Doesn't Diminish the Need for Caffeine
If I listened to myself, I’d stay at the manor.
It’s the smart option. The rational one. The one that would let me hole up like a wounded animal until the pain fades. The one that would spare me from facing the looks and whispers, because I have absolutely no doubt that news of my breakup with Cameron has already spread.
The problem is that I’m out of coffee.
And my emergency cookie supply mysteriously vanished overnight while I lay awake staring at the ceiling, mentally replaying every moment when I should have realized Cameron McGregor was making a fool out of me.
So here I am.
Forced to go into the village and restock.
Because apparently not even heartbreak can dull my need for caffeine.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror.
My hair is a disaster.
My eyes are red.
My complexion looks vaguely waxy, though that’s probably more the fault of the yellowed lightbulb than anything else.
I look exactly like what I am:
A woman who got played.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
After the world’s most minimal attempt at making myself presentable, I grab my purse and keys and leave the manor before I can change my mind and crawl back into bed.
Hamish is stationed outside the front door, as usual.
He lifts his head and fixes me with that expression of perpetual judgment that only he can manage.
“Oh, I know. No need to pile on,” I tell him.
He bleats.
“Honestly, I preferred it when you just stared at me like a disapproving judge.”
He bleats again.
Louder this time.
“You really are the worst confidant in the world, you know that?”
He gets to his feet and follows me as far as the gate.
Then he stops.
As though he understands that whatever awaits me in the village is beyond even his jurisdiction.
Or maybe he’s just too lazy to walk farther.
The road into Glenfield feels simultaneously too short and endless.
Every step brings me closer to a moment I’m dreading, and yet I keep walking because the alternative—staying trapped inside the manor with my thoughts—is worse.
I don’t know exactly what’s waiting for me.
Has the entire village seen Cameron’s posts?
Do they know we broke up?
Do they think I’m pathetic?
Probably.
Because that’s exactly what I think of myself right now.
Eventually, the Grumpy Sheep comes into view.
My stomach knots.
I could go straight to Moira MacTavish’s grocery store, buy what I need, and leave without speaking to anyone.
But no.
Because apparently my brain has decided that what I really need is a coffee at Ewan’s pub.
In public.
I push open the door.
Silence immediately falls across the room.
Every head turns toward me.
It’s exactly like my first day in Glenfield, except back then I was a curiosity.
An exotic Parisian woman with a yellow jacket and red hair.
Now I’m... what, exactly?
The woman Cameron McGregor fooled?
The na?ve outsider who believed in a Highland love story?
I square my shoulders and walk toward the bar, determined not to show how badly I want the floor to swallow me whole.
Ewan is behind the counter.
The moment he sees me, his expression changes.
Not pity.
Something closer to solidarity.
He sets down the towel he was using and walks over.
“Hey, Clementine.”
Then he wraps me in a hug.
“Hey.”
My voice comes out a little too high.
I clear my throat.
He releases me.
“Coffee, please. Or maybe two.”
He nods and heads toward the espresso machine.
But before reaching for a cup, he glances over my shoulder toward the rest of the pub with an expression I’ve never seen on him before.
A glare.
Directed at everyone.
Then he starts making my coffee without a word, but with enough intensity to make one thing perfectly clear:
Anyone who dares make a comment will regret it.
Without speaking, he sets the mug in front of me.
I wrap both hands around it.
Warm.
Comforting.
“Thanks.”
Ewan simply nods.
Behind me, conversations resume.
Tentatively at first.
Then more confidently.
I climb onto a stool with my back to the room and stare into my coffee as though it contains all the answers in the universe.
Then I hear a voice.
“That boy is an idiot.”
I glance over my shoulder.
Old Angus sits by the window wearing his usual expression of a wise old man who’s seen far too much.
He looks directly at me.
“Young people and their phones,” he mutters. “Back in my day, you courted a woman in person. Not on the internet.”
I blink.
“I... thank you?”
He shrugs and returns to his drink.
Then another voice speaks up.
“Hang in there, lass.”
It’s Duncan Fraser.
He’s sitting at another table.
Since I arrived in Glenfield, he’s never spoken more than three words to me at a time.
Now he’s just used two more than usual.
I don’t know what to say.
Moira MacTavish, seated near the bar with what appears to be tea—but is probably something stronger—nods sympathetically.
“Men,” she says simply.
As if those two words alone explain every problem in the world.
Maybe they do.
I sit frozen on my stool, completely thrown.
I expected pity.
Whispers.
The kind of embarrassed curiosity reserved for public heartbreaks.
Instead, what the people of Glenfield are offering is solidarity.
Ewan leans against the counter across from me.
“Want me to tell you something?”
“What?”
“Cameron might be my friend, but he screwed up. And everyone here knows it.”
I swallow hard.
“I thought the village would... I mean, he’s from here, and I’m just...”
“A French woman in a yellow jacket?”
I can’t stop the faint smile.
“Something like that.”
Ewan shakes his head.
“You’re Clementine Fraser. You belong to Glenfield whether you want to or not. And we look after our own.”
My chest tightens.
I lower my eyes to my coffee before he notices I’m dangerously close to tears.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He taps the counter twice, then walks away to serve another customer.
I sit there with my coffee and realize something.
I’m not alone.
I finish the drink slowly, savoring every sip as though it’s a shield against the outside world.
Around me, conversations continue.
Nobody stares.
Nobody whispers.
It feels almost...
Normal.
Then the pub door opens.
The room falls silent again.
Curious, I turn.
It’s Maggie McGregor.
Cameron’s grandmother.
My stomach twists.
She spots me immediately and heads straight toward me.
I stiffen.
I have no idea what she’s about to say.
Maybe she’ll defend her grandson.
Maybe she’ll tell me I misunderstood.
Maybe she’ll tell me Cameron did nothing wrong and I’m being oversensitive.
She stops in front of me.
I look up at her, heart pounding.
Then she does something I never could have anticipated.
She pulls me into a hug.
Not a polite little hug.
A real one.
Strong.
Warm.
Almost crushing.
And completely unexpected.
“That boy is an idiot,” she whispers in my ear.
I freeze.
Arms hanging uselessly at my sides.
Utterly stunned.
Maggie releases me and looks directly into my eyes.
“I love him with all my heart. But he was foolish. And I told him so.”
I blink.
“You... talked to him?”
“Of course I did. Do you think I’m going to let my grandson treat a woman that way? Absolutely not.”
She pats my cheek gently, the tenderness at odds with the firmness of her words.
“You deserve better than that.”
I have no idea what to say.
Maggie turns toward the rest of the pub.
“And if anyone here disagrees, they can come discuss it with me.”
Not a single person speaks.
Satisfied, Maggie nods.
Then she turns back to me.
“You’re welcome at McGregor Castle anytime you like.”
She gives me one final kind look and leaves the pub as quickly as she arrived.
The silence lingers for several seconds after she’s gone.
Then Moira MacTavish bursts out laughing.
“Cameron’s never going to hear the end of this.”
Old Angus chuckles into his beer.
“Poor lad. He’ll never recover.”
Duncan Fraser shakes his head with a crooked smile.
“He brought it on himself.”
I remain sitting there, completely overwhelmed by everything that just happened.
Ewan returns.
“So,” he says. “Do you see it now?”
“See what?”
“That you really are one of us.”
He’s right.
I don’t know how it happened.
I don’t know exactly when Glenfield stopped being a small Scottish village where I came to settle an inheritance issue.
But it happened.
And now I’m here.
Sitting in a pub I didn’t even particularly like at first.
Surrounded by people I barely knew a few weeks ago.
And they chose my side.
Not Cameron’s.
I stay at the Grumpy Sheep for another hour.
Not because I have anything specific to do.
But because I feel good there.
At one point, Mrs. MacLeish sits beside me and launches into an incomprehensible story about a sheep that stole socks from every household in the village ten years ago.
Old Angus interrupts repeatedly to correct details, which sparks a heated debate over the exact color of the socks in question.
Duncan Fraser offers to help repair one of the manor’s windows “when I’m ready.”
And Ewan refills my coffee without being asked.
It’s strange.
Comforting.
Exactly what I needed.
When I finally leave, storm clouds are gathering overhead.
The thunderstorm isn’t far away.
I walk slowly toward Moira MacTavish’s grocery store to buy my coffee and cookies, even though I probably don’t need them anymore.
Still, I figure I’ll be glad to have supplies tomorrow morning.
Moira is behind the counter reorganizing canned goods with terrifying efficiency.
She looks up when I walk in and smiles.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
“Coffee. And cookies.”
She nods and heads toward a shelf.
“The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
She returns carrying a box and sets it on the counter.
Then she adds a second one.
“On the house.”
I frown.
“Moira...”
“Don’t argue. You need them.”
So I don’t argue.
She rings up the coffee, refuses payment for the cookies, and smiles.
“Come back anytime, all right?”
“All right.”
I leave the store carrying my supplies and a strange feeling tightening in my chest.
Something dangerously close to gratitude.
On the walk back, I run into Mrs. MacLeish, who tells me her door is always open if I need anything.
Then I pass Mary McGregor, who quietly tells me to hang in there before continuing on her way.
And just before I reach the manor, I run into Keira McGregor.
She stops in front of me.
“Clementine.”
“Keira.”
We stare at each other for a moment.
Then she says simply:
“My cousin’s an idiot.”
I blink.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on his side?”
She shakes her head.
“I’m on the side of justice. And he screwed up.”
She pats my shoulder with almost aggressive firmness.
“If you decide to drown your sorrows in whiskey, you know where to find me.”
Then she walks away before I can answer.
I stand there in the middle of the road holding my coffee and cookies, completely stunned.
When I finally make it back to the manor, Hamish is still sitting outside the front door.
He lifts his head and lets out a soft bleat.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I know.”
I sit beside him on the steps, set down my groceries, and stare at the increasingly threatening sky.
Today I discovered something important.
Glenfield is a family.
And apparently I’m part of it now.
Even if I still don’t know exactly what that means.
Even if I still have no idea what comes next.
Hamish lowers his head onto my thigh.
“Don’t get too attached,” I tell him. “I could leave at any moment.”
And it’s true.
The urge to run has been with me ever since last night.
Part of me believes going back to France would make it easier to forget Cameron.
Hamish shifts slightly against my leg.
I don’t push him away.
Because right now, this is exactly what I need:
A sheep.
A village firmly on my side.
And coffee.