CHAPTER SEVEN
Jamie – Now
Why would she agree to this?
That question runs rampant in my mind—while I check guests in, while I make small talk with old Mrs. Baird and her pompous son when they come in for an early dinner, while I continue to ignore calls and texts from my agent back home. Brent’s a problem for another day.
Because today’s problem arrived in the form of a woman I never thought I’d see again.
God, she’s even more beautiful now than when we were teenagers—back when I thought she was “hot,” because using words like beautiful, gorgeous, and fucking sexy never crossed my mind as a seventeen-year-old kid.
But they’re crossing my mind now and, god dammit, I can’t deny that she’s all of those things.
But why is she here?
A pointless question, because I know the answer. It’s the same reason I’m here. Because Grandad asked her to be. And because he offered her the restaurant.
I still remember how she’d watch him in the kitchen, a hunger for knowledge in her eyes. She didn’t fall far from the tree in that respect—as far as I know, her parents still own the Green Gables Pub in Glasgow. This is what she always said she wanted.
So why didn’t she just stay to take over for her mum when she eventually retires? The Gables is her family business, why does she want mine?
Not that it’s mine; I don’t have a stake in the inn… but it’s the principle of the matter. This family is mine, even if I abandoned it once. I’m here now, shouldn’t that be enough?
Grandad hiring her presents me with the reminder of what I don’t have, what I lost, and what I’ve been running from for ten years. A future I once saw for myself. A future I’ve avoided even thinking of since.
“Earth to Jameson.” Gran’s voice drags me from my reverie.
I blink rapidly until her emerald-green eyes come into focus before me. The ones she gave me, to go with Dad’s fair skin and freckles and Mum’s fiery red hair from her Irish side.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, still dazed from where my thoughts had drifted.
“Dinner?” She tilts her head and assesses me.
I’m sure my hair is wrecked from running my hands through it repeatedly over the past few hours. I do it again now, with the purpose of settling it into some semblance of style.
“Right, dinner. Is Grandad joining us?” I ask, pulling off my glasses and polishing them against my shirt.
She nods. “And Avonlea, of course.”
“Of course,” I murmur as I slide the frames back up the bridge of my nose, grateful for the excuse to avoid her gaze. They’d never let Avi—Avonlea eat alone on her first night in town.
“Come on.” Gran extends her elbow, waiting for me to escort her to the dining room.
I almost protest, tell her there’s no one to cover the front desk, but at that very moment, Bonnie walks in, her pressed white shirt tucked immaculately into her blue slacks. She’s the inn’s night manager and a godsend for Gran… just not for me right now.
“Evenin’, Aileen, Jamie. Going in for dinner?” she asks, her accent wrapping around each word.
After only two weeks of being immersed in Scottish brogues, my own accent is already much more pronounced, but it has nothing on Bonnie’s.
“Aye. Thank you.” Gran nods toward the desk and I have no choice but to step out and take her arm.
“Come get me if you need anything,” I add over my shoulder. Maybe she’ll give me an excuse to leave dinner early. Based on the appraising look I catch—the same one she’s scanned me with every day since I arrived—I’m sure she’d be more than willing.
Gran smacks my arm. “She’ll be just fine, Jameson.” The look she shoots Bonnie says she’s not to interrupt us, and any hope I had of a rescue goes up in flames. “She’s been here far longer than you have.”
The sting on my arm is nothing to the sting left behind by her words. I know she only meant that Bonnie has been working here for years. But those years are lost time I’ll never get back, and no one knows it more than me.
The dining room is lit by iron chandeliers, but the wood and rock that make up the walls absorb most of the light, creating an intimate atmosphere.
The wooden tables and hand-carved chairs are rustic and casual, but the candles that are set out for dinner service give off just the right amount of romantic flair.
No matter the season, the Thistle & Tartan has always attracted a mix of tourists, locals out for dinner with friends or family, and couples looking to evade prying eyes—which is to say: town gossip.
We find Grandad and Avi sitting at the corner booth reserved for family, and there’s a twist in my heart. Gran slides in, sandwiching her between them, and I go for the seat on the outside, leaving as much space as possible.
“Here, Jameson,” Grandad says. “I want to sit next to my bride.” His eyes are brimming with love for my grandmother as he pushes to his feet.
My personal life may not reflect it, but I’m a hopeless romantic at heart—it’s rather impossible not to be when you move around in the publishing world—and yet, I’ve never found a love that inspires me the way my grandparents’ has.
The fact that he still calls her his bride after all these years is something truly beautiful.
Unfortunately for me though, this means I’ll be sitting beside Avi.
An awkward silence falls over the table as we settle and I attempt to put as much space between her body and mine. I’ve just reached for my water when Gran speaks up.
“I hope Angus didn’t put you to work this afternoon.” She shoots him a knowing look.
“Aye well, that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Avi laughs, and I’m struck dumb by the sound.
God, I’ve missed it. I never thought I’d hear it again, and it’s both a symphony to my ears and an assault to my senses. I have subconsciously compared the laugh of every woman I’ve been with to hers, and they never measure up. Never.
“Yes, but Hamish had everything under control for tonight,” Gran continues. “I hope you at least had time to call and check in with Lennox and your parents.”
Lennox? The name swims around my brain along with the vague image of the man from the pub.
“I did,” Avi says, shifting in her seat.
When her leg brushes mine, I pull away so fast I bang my knee under the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “Sorry,” I mumble, dabbing at where my water sloshed over.
“It sounds like Mum and Dad are already spoiling him rotten. Only grandparents can get away with ice cream before dinner.”
Everyone chuckles. Except me. I shake my head in confusion.
“Lennox is…?” I ask the table at large.
Avi’s throat bobs on a swallow, color slowly leeching from her face as her wide eyes bounce between my grandparents and then to me. “My… He’s my son.”
I obviously knew she had a child, but hearing her say it—my son—only reignites the hurt I rarely let myself tap into anymore.
Letting my curiosity get the better of me, even when I should leave well enough alone, my next words rush out before I can fully form them. “Ah, and he’s staying with your parents? Why not with your husband?” I drop my gaze to her left hand… her bare left hand. No ring.
My head snaps up. The familiarity of her deep brown eyes, with their flecks of gold mixed in, has me swallowing hard this time.
“I’m not married. It’s just me and Lennox,” she says, her voice a little shaky, and there’s confusion across her brow and in her eyes, like she can’t imagine why I’d ask such a thing.
Even Gran and Grandad appear confused. But none of them know I’ve seen her with Lennox’s father before, so maybe the question does seem overly invasive.
She doesn’t clarify further. Of course she wouldn’t.
She’s not about to spill her entire relationship history at the dinner table with her new employers and her ex–best friend, or whatever it is we ended off as.
I didn’t imagine it though—her with that guy in the pub.
But I can’t exactly ask her where he is now, can I? It’s not my business, and I don’t care.
I don’t.
“Oh,” I say.
Really, Jamie? That’s the best you can muster?
“Well, I for one am excited to see him again,” Grandad says, breaking the tension. “And your parents too. It’s been too long,”
“You’ve met him? When?” I ask, my tone sharp with surprise. Will the hits of today ever end? Maybe I just need to go up to bed and this whole nightmare of a day will turn out to be just that. A nightmare.
“Last year, when Avonlea came up to settle her grandparents’ estate. She and Lennox stopped in for lunch. He’s a good lad.” Grandad’s eyes sparkle with mischief in a way only his can.
“Thank you,” Avi says. “I think so too.”
I want to ask more about him, but it will only take me back to that last summer—the summer I came back to Skye for her, and she wasn’t here.