13. Isla
ISLA
“Are you ready for this?” I asked as Locke and I walked up to the meeting hall, hand in hand.
It was a squat stone building in the middle of the high street.
The doors were already open, a mix of voices spilling out, and I couldn’t deny that a flutter of nerves whispered through me. “Did you go over your speech?”
He paused on the sidewalk, tugging me close. It felt so easy now, standing by his side like this, smiling up at him without a second thought. “I’ve been mulling over a couple things I want to say,” he said. “Mostly, I’m planning to read the room.”
“Get a sense of the vibe before you say anything specific?” I said.
He nodded, smoothing his hand down his jacket. He’d worn a navy suit, sans tie. He looked polished and serious without seeming unapproachable. “I don’t want to come off as some robot, spouting facts at the town council.”
Jo would definitely tell him to stop blathering if he did that.
Today’s meeting included the vote between the competing distillery proposals.
Both Locke and the industrialist had been invited to make their cases.
Now was the chance to see if all that time we’d invested into chatting up council members, sweet-talking Dad, and parading our relationship up and down the high street was finally going to pay off.
Had we done enough to sell Locke’s proposal?
A lump wedged in my throat. We were about to find out.
“You look beautiful. Did I tell you that?” Locke said, guiding me up the concrete steps.
I grinned down at myself. I’d worn a pale blue summer dress with tiny flowers. It matched his dress shirt in a subtle show of support. “Figured I should get the most out of my closet before I no longer fit into my clothes.”
“You’d be beautiful in anything,” he insisted.
Heat swept through my veins. “Remember that when my belly pops and I’m waddling through the inn, unable to fit into anything but a housecoat and Crocs.”
Locke waggled his eyebrows as we stepped through the doors. “The definition of sexy.”
I snorted, turning away before a blush could leak into my cheeks.
It had been days since that kiss in his Bentley, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About the butterflies that erupted in my gut whenever he caught my eye.
About how right his lips felt pressed against mine.
This relationship was supposed to be a means to an end as far as the property was concerned.
But there were real feelings now. I swallowed down the flash of desire and confusion that pulsed through me, unsure of where things would stand between us after the vote had come and gone.
He squeezed my hand. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispered.
“I’m not.”
“Then why is your hand shaking?” He pulled it close and kissed my knuckles.
The truth was, I was nervous. If the council voted against Locke, Dad would side with the industrialist, and I could kiss my childhood home and those gorgeous trails goodbye.
I’d never get the chance to show our baby where I grew up or the space that had inspired their grandmother.
It was still the place I felt closest to her in Braeburn.
More than that, a no from the council would mean the end of me and Locke. Right? I glanced over at him and his reassuring smile, forcing one of my own even as my heart thumped unevenly. If we lost the property, there’d be no more need to pretend. It would be time to stage that breakup.
But were we really even pretending anymore?
I deliberately reached out, smoothing the hair from his forehead as a few community members rushed past us to take their seats.
“We’ve got this,” I said, trying to project confidence.
Whatever happened today, whatever became of us after, as long as this baby was loved and cared for, that’s all that mattered.
We stepped into the main part of the meeting hall, past the bulletin boards with various posters promoting local events. At the back of the room was a refreshment table, and my stomach grumbled as I spotted a tray of Agnes’s scones.
Locke chuckled. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry?”
“It’s not me, it’s the baby,” I insisted. “It’s demanding fluffy cheddar biscuits.”
“Hey,” Weston said, walking over. He clapped Locke on the shoulder.
“Is Lena here?” I asked, looking around for her.
He shook his head. “Only one of us could sneak away from work. She thought I might have more sway as the CEO of Kincaid Energy.”
She was probably right. He was a prominent member of the community and had already brought a lot of opportunity to the area by building the wind farm along the coast.
I spotted my dad near the front of the room and slipped my hand from Locke’s. “I’m going to go say hi.”
He nodded. “I’ll go snag you a scone and meet you over there, huh?”
“I’ve never heard you say anything sexier,” I teased before cutting through the crowd to reach Dad.
“Hiya, sweetheart,” he said, pulling me close.
I sank into his hug, inhaling the familiar scent of oak and whiskey that had always clung to his blazers. We chatted for a few minutes before Locke joined us.
“Don’t try to sweet talk me,” Dad told him as they shook hands. “It’s up to the town now. Whatever they say goes.”
“I understand, sir,” Locke said. “I’m just happy to have the opportunity.”
I gave my dad a look that said be nice. Regardless of how this went, Locke was still this baby’s father, and he was going to be around in our lives.
Not that Dad knew about the baby yet. I’d already dropped the fake engagement on him, and that was enough for now.
One major life-altering event at a time.
“Welcome, welcome, everyone!” Jo called, her voice carrying over the din of the crowd. “Can we get everyone to take their seats? We’re about to begin.”
Locke took my hand and led me to the front row of chairs. The council was up behind a table on the low-lying stage. Mel waved one of Lucy’s chubby little hands in our direction.
“I hope Mel’s vote counts for two,” he joked, leaning over to whisper to me.
“One point five, if we’re lucky.”
He grinned, his breath tickling the hairs at the side of my neck, sending an electric thrill through me. I swallowed hard, turning my attention to the white-haired man next to Jo.
“That’s Patrick Lyons,” I murmured to Locke. “Good mates with Dad. He’s been on the council for decades. Very involved with the community. Very proud of Braeburn. He’s bought a couple of my mom’s paintings over the years.”
Patrick cleared his throat. “First thing on our agenda,” he announced. “Update on the pothole repairs on Lark Street. They will be filled by the end of the week, Mrs. McBane, so you can stop spamming the council inbox.”
“Aye, about time!” a woman called from the crowd. “It was so deep, the frogs moved in after a rain!”
A chorus of chuckles sounded.
“Next on the agenda,” Patrick continued. “After last week’s discussion, the council has agreed to turn the fountain back on in the green. But please remind your teens that it’s not to be used for TikTok stunts.”
“If I see one more person twerking on that fountain—” a man began to say.
“Yes, Cormick,” Jo huffed. “You’ll burst a blood vessel. We know. Can we please iron out the preliminary summer festival details?”
“When is the first planning meeting?” someone called.
“Officially next Wednesday evening,” Patrick announced.
A buzz of excitement whipped through the crowd.
“So far, our committee consists of Aiden, who’s in charge of the setup and tear down. We have Tam on event planning.”
“Justice for the MacDonalds!” a man shouted.
Jo hushed him. “You lost the caber toss, Eric. Get over it.”
I laughed.
“Isla is on photography for the day,” Patrick continued.
Locke glanced over at me, thoughtful.
“We’ll need to gather the usual volunteer judges for the food competitions.
We’re still waiting to hear if the Kincaids will be judging again this year, and yes, I know, no more haggis for Lena.
” That generated a few chuckles from those who were present when Lena lost her battle holding it down last year.
“If anyone wants to throw their hat in the ring early—”
Locke raised his hand. “Go on and put me down for one of those categories.”
Jo added his name to a clipboard while I blinked at him in surprise.
If Locke was committing to the festival, did that mean he planned to stick around?
If he won the vote, it wouldn’t take Dad more than a few days to commit to the sale—and the festival was weeks away.
I caught my lip between my teeth, my thoughts returning to that kiss.
A giddy rush surged through me, and I ran my thumb along the back of Locke’s hand.
“Okay, we’ll sort out the rest of the festival chat next Wednesday. Time to move on to our next agenda point,” Patrick said. “This is the one most of you are probably here for. Dougal, would you like to get up and say a few words?”
Dad rose to his feet, clearing his throat and giving the room a wave.
“Thanks, Pat. For anyone that doesn’t know me, I own MacRae Whiskey.
I’m ready to part with the land just outside of town that used to house our distillery.
Braeburn, as a town and as a community, means a lot to me.
And I don’t want to make decisions for this town.
I want Braeburn to decide what serves them best. So I’ve invited both buyers here today to give you their proposals.
Whichever one the town votes on, that’s the one I’ll choose. ”
There was a polite round of applause as Dad sat down.
“Excellent,” Patrick said. “Can we please have our first potential buyer take the stage? Lachlan Fraser.”
Locke squeezed my knee then stood, adjusting his jacket.
He stepped onto the stage, and the moment he did, it was clear how comfortable he was in the spotlight.
The public-facing version of him wasn’t all that different from the one I knew in private, but he somehow managed to harness his usual confidence and dial it up to eleven.
I sucked in a settling breath and sat back in my chair, fingers crossed, as he explained his plans for the hotel, talking about the boom to tourism and local businesses but also the importance of preserving the land.
“What a privilege it is to live beside such a beautiful space,” Locke said, his genuine appreciation for the land resonating in his voice.
“But that beauty won’t live on for future generations unless we all make a concerted effort to make sure that land is preserved.
” He took a sobering moment to regard the crowd.
“A factory puts that land at risk, and I, for one, am not ready to let that happen.”
I glanced around, watching all the people who were nodding along.
“Some of you might be familiar with Aileen MacRae, the local artist who was born and raised right here in Braeburn,” Locke continued.
“It’s her beautiful painting that hangs in the lobby of the Deerhound—the inn that has been in her family for years.
Aileen’s gift was preserving the beauty of that property in a painting, but it’s our responsibility to preserve that beauty in real life for ourselves and the generations to come. ”
His speech was stirring, and a bout of emotion clogged my throat. I blinked away the sudden weight of tears. If she were here today, Mom would have been the first one on her feet, clapping for him.
“Bulldozing that land would not just be a huge aesthetic loss for the locals and tourists,” Locke continued, “but for Braeburn’s cultural identity.
My proposal turns a derelict property into a prosperous business.
But it also ensures a thriving natural wonder is left unpolluted and intact, where community members can continue to enjoy the outdoor space, and maybe,” he gestured to little Lucy, “inspire future artists.”
The audience burst into applause, and my chest clenched at the sight.
I tried to gauge what Dad thought as Locke thanked everyone for listening. His hand brushed through his mustache, but his face was otherwise unreadable. He did clap, which was something, I supposed.
“Thank you, Mr. Fraser,” Patrick said. “Please take your seat. And now, I’d like to invite the representative from Sargentis Industries up to speak. Is he here?”
“He snuck in a little late,” Jo said, gesturing to the back of the room.
I turned around as Locke slid into place next to me, trying to catch a glimpse of the next speaker. But the moment I laid eyes on him, my heart plummeted into my stomach. I clapped my hand over my mouth.
“Isla,” Locke whispered, laying his hand on my knee. “What is it?” He lowered his voice, leaning in so that his words didn’t carry. “Morning sickness?”
I shook my head, trying to swallow down the queasy feeling as my ex and his smarmy smile took center stage.