She turns toward the coffee shop and then looks back at me. I gulp, wondering if she likes the changes or if she wishes she’d never brought Dakota and me into the mix.

  “Shona told me you’ve been working hard, Bonnie, but I never expected to come back to this.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “This is more than working hard—this is a complete transformation.”

  “Do you . . . do you like it?” I ask, my heart hammering for so many reasons at this point.

  “I love it.”

  Relief washes over me as she steps closer and pulls me into a hug.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  It’s my undoing. I wrap my arms around her and sob onto her shoulder.

  Rowan.

  Home.

  His complete and total silence.

  Feeling like I no longer belong.

  Experiencing success, but having it overshadowed by my own faults.

  It all crashes together. She holds me tightly, and her embrace feels like a long-lost hug from my mom, something I haven’t received in too many years.

  “Shh,” she says, stroking my hair. “’Tis okay, lass.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to gain control of my emotions but failing miserably. Pulling away, I wipe my face and take a deep breath. “Okay, sorry about that.”

  Head tilted, she studies me. “About Rowan—”

  I hold up my hand. “Please, Finella, I really don’t want to talk about it. How about I just show you around the coffee shop, get you familiar with everything? We’ve made quite a few changes.”

  “All right, dear,” she says, resigned.

  For the next half hour, I show Finella around the coffee shop, listening to her appreciation of the hairy coo pictures. She fawns over the new tables and enjoys every bite of the buttery I serve her. She’s grateful for everything I show her, even the small things, like the power-washed floors. And even though her excitement should be contagious, it’s not. All I feel is a sense of finality.

  My job here is done.

  Dakota is happy.

  Finella is thrilled.

  There’s nothing really keeping me here, especially if Rowan has moved on as well. There’s only one thing left for me to do, and that’s . . . call my parents.

  It’s time to go home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ROWAN

  Hanging on by a thread: Three; there are three threads left.

  Times cried since found out about Da: Five. And I can remember every single one of them so vividly, as if I’m experiencing them now.

  Conversations with Da since I’ve found out about his cancer: More than I can count.

  And that right there is worth every hardship I’ve suffered along the way.

  “Want to sit there?” I ask Sorcha, my dad’s new nurse, completely dreading this conversation.

  “That looks great.” We both take a seat in a booth in the back of the pub.

  “There aren’t many food options here, but I would recommend the fish and chips.”

  “That works perfect for me.” She smiles kindly and tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear.

  “Do you want a drink?” I ask.

  “Water is fine.”

  I nod. “Do you mind if I order a beer? I’m going to need it to get through this conversation.”

  “By all means.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I quickly go to the bar and put in two small orders of fish and chips and a lager for myself, which Hamish fills up quickly, along with a glass of water for Sorcha. When I make it back to the booth, I hand Sorcha her water and take a seat, bringing the pint to my lips and taking a large gulp.

  When I set the beer down, Sorcha looks me in the eyes. “How are you doing, Rowan?”

  “My father is dying. I could be better.”

  “Have you come to terms with it?” she asks softly.

  “No.” I shake my head. “He has, though.”

  “He has.” Sorcha nods.

  I take another swig of my lager. “So, what should we expect?”

  “You want to jump right into it?”

  I nod. “Might as well.”

  “Okay.” Sorcha reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope from the hospice provider we chose to help us make Da’s last days as easy and painless as possible.

  Da’s doctor was instrumental in pairing us with a caregiver who will stay with Maw and Da through his last days. I can already tell she’s a kind and gentle soul, someone who will be there for us every step of the way.

  I know we’re going to need it.

  “Good morning,” I say, walking through the door of my parents’ house. Sorcha is already here, taking care of Da and making sure he’s comfortable in the hospice bed we set up in the living room. The room’s large windows look out onto the loch, letting in light and a cool breeze, which was what Da wanted.

  “Aye, good morning,” Da says, sitting up in the bed and moving to the edge. His mobility is okay. He can move around the main level of the house with a walker, but if we go farther afield, he uses a wheelchair.

  Maw comes into the living room, fully dressed and ready for the day. “Rowan, are you here for the grocery list?”

  I nod. “Aye. I was going to run to the Mill Market quickly and then come back to help out Sorcha, like you said.”

  “Thank you,” Maw says. “I’m running to Kyle to fill these prescriptions and pick up a few other things. Do you need anything, Sorcha?”

  She shakes her head. “I have everything I need right here.”

  Maw hands me a list and quietly says, “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.” List in hand, I go to Da’s bed, give him a quick kiss on the top of the head, and then set out.

  Normally, I would walk, but given the circumstances, I hop in my pickup and drive the short distance into town, parking in front of the Mill Market. When I make my way inside, I grab a trolley and head straight to the produce section while glancing at the list.

  Apples.

  I need apples and—

  Crash.

  The trolley handle bumps into my stomach, and I look up to see a wide-eyed Bonnie looking straight at me, our trollies perpendicular to one another.

  Hell.

  When was the last time I saw her? Thought about her? Returned a call or text?

  The answer to the last one: never.

  I’ve thought about her constantly, when my da hasn’t been on my mind.

  Last time I saw her . . . I pushed her away.

  I saw red that day, took it out on her, and ran her out of my life.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, trying to get out of the way. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Nah, I wasn’t. I’m . . . sorry.”

  “Guess we both were buried in something else,” she says, her voice wavering. “All right, well, I guess I’ll be going.”

  “Bonnie—”

  “See ya.” She waves quickly and hurries toward the checkout counter. With a quick word to Shona, she abandons her cart and strides out of the store.

  Fuck.

  I drag my hand over my face.

  What the hell have I done?

  And then it hits me.

  I quickly pull my phone from my pocket and glance at the date.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, pulling at my hair until pain radiates down my skull. “Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

  I missed it.

  I missed her fucking opening day.

  Not only have I fucked up what we had by displacing my anger, but I also broke a promise, one that meant the world to her.

  “Everything okay over here?” Shona asks, appearing by my side. “Swearing in the produce is cause for concern.”

  “Sorry.” I stick my phone back in my pocket. “Just realized I missed something.”

  “Aye, the reopening of the Hairy Coo Coffee Company.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Just an inkling.” She rocks back on her heels. “I was there, but not until the afternoon. None of us were able to show up till then.”

  “Why?”

  “Tour bus got stuck, so we all went to help them out. No one was at the opening. Heard from Isla that Bonnie was devastated.” My gut churns. “Don’t blame the girl for going back home—she’s had a rough go at it, what with getting in a fight with Dakota, losing you, the coffee shop . . . and now that your maw is back—”

  “Wait.” I hold up my hand. “What do you mean, going home? To the cottage?”

  “No,” Shona says, brow furrowed. “Going back to the States.” To the fucking States? “She leaves Tuesday. It’s nice she was able to patch things up with Dakota before she leaves. I guess Dakota wanted to go with her, but Bonnie told her to stay with Isla and help your maw at the shop. Finella tried to convince her to stay this morning, but I think she’s too heartbroken.” Shona looks me up and down. “Thanks to you.”

  Fuck.

  She’s going back home?

  I . . . I can’t . . . fuck, she can’t leave.

  “Maw talked to her this morning?” I ask, my throat growing tight.

  Shona nods. “Bonnie was up early baking, getting ready for the day, teaching Dakota everything she knows. Not sure how long she’ll last. Dakota doesn’t seem like the baking type, but she’s giving it her best effort.” She shakes her head. “Such a shame you two didn’t work out. Bonnie was perfect for you. Perfect for the town.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to comprehend everything Shona is telling me.

  “Anyhoo . . . need help with anything?” Shona asks, her gaze steely as she stares me down.

  I shake my head.

  “Well, if you do, you know where to find me.”

  Whistling, she casually walks back to her register as my mind whirls. I glance over at her, and a smile stretches across her weathered face. How convenient, I realize, that Maw sent me to the Mill Market just now.

  Maw has tried to talk to me about Bonnie, but I’ve brushed her off every time, unable to even think about the pain I caused her. Every text, every phone call—I ignored them all because I didn’t know what to say to her.

  I still don’t.

  I don’t even know if there is anything to say at this point.

  She’s going home.

  She clearly is done with me, and I don’t blame her. I haven’t given her anything to hold on to.

  “I think it’s going to rain,” I say as I help Da out of my pickup and into his wheelchair.

  “Let it rain.” He looks up at me. “Just means Callum is here with us, right?”

  I smile softly. “I guess so.” Moving behind him to push him to my cottage, I ask, “Why did you want to come here?”

  He holds his hand up to stop me. “I don’t want to go to your house. I want to go in there.” He points at my pottery shed.

  “Da—”

  “Don’t argue with me. Bring me to your shed.”

  With a heavy sigh, I wheel him to my shed, open the double doors wide, and push him inside. I watch, a bit nervous, as he slowly takes everything in, hands folded on his lap. His eyes travel to the shelves, first landing on my completed work, which is ready for a home but has nowhere to go. Then they travel to the back, where I dry out my projects. Those shelves are empty. And then he takes in my workstation. Messy, with clay splatter everywhere, it’s a place where someone creates. The only question is, Does Da see it that way?

  I watch him with bated breath. I try to gauge his reaction, try to understand what’s passing through his head. When his eyes return to my completed shelf, the corners of his mouth twitch upward toward the sky.

  “That mug.” He points to one on the edge of a shelf, glazed and fired already. “Bring it to me.”

  Of course he would pick that mug.

  Reaching over to the shelf, I grab the mug and hand it to him. With shaky hands, he examines it. His fingers glide over the handle, the emblem of the hairy coo, the perfectly shaped cup I made for Bonnie. He checks out the bottom. “You don’t sign your work?”

  I shrug. “It’s not like I do anything with it.”

  “Because of me,” he says softly.

  “Because I was afraid of doing anything that would cause the family more pain.” I lean against the wall. “I have so many regrets, Da, but setting aside pottery, in the grand scheme of things, is not one of them. For a while, I thought it was. I thought I was supposed to make something of myself through my hobby.” I shake my head. “I now realize how obtuse that is. I should have focused on you. On Maw. On mending our relationship.”

  “We both should have. You are not to blame for the rift. I didn’t make it easy on you. And I pushed you away when I should have been holding on tighter.”

  “Seems like I get that from you,” I say softly, looking out toward the leafy trees that surround my cottage.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bonnie,” I say with a sigh. “We were seeing each other before I came to London. The day you and Maw rang and told me about . . . about your cancer, I found her right here, in my shed, checking everything out that I’ve always kept hidden. I honestly can’t remember what I said to her. I think I’ve blocked it out. All I remember is telling her to leave and the horrified look on her face. I haven’t talked to her since, and I’ve been ignoring her attempts to connect with me.”

  He slowly nods and looks back down at the mug. “Do you love her?”

  I don’t even have to think about it. The answer is clear as day in my head, even through the fog of my da’s illness. “I do. She’s the first lass I’ve ever loved.”

  “Do you want her to be the last?”

  I reach up and grip the top of the doorframe. “Yeah, I would, but I don’t think that’s an option. She’s going back to America on Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday?” I nod. “Then that means you still have today.” He smiles.

  “Da, I can’t—”

  “What is your biggest regret, besides me?”

  I glance away. “My fight with Bonnie.”

  “So what’s stopping you? Your stubborn pride? Don’t let a personality trait you inherited from me keep you from getting what you want. You love her, yes?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then be the man I know I raised. Apologize, and beg her to stay. If there was one thing I noticed when we’d speak to you on the phone, it was the passion you had for that girl. The same passion I have for your maw. It’s one-of-a-kind love, Rowan. Don’t be an eejit and lose it.”

  “But, Da, I should be focusing on you.”

  His eyes narrow. “You and I are right where we’re supposed to be. Do you understand? The best thing you can do for me, in these last days of my life, is make sure I leave this earth knowing that you’re taking care of your maw, that you’re a man of this town, and that you’re happy. And I mean deep-rooted, to your marrow, happy. Can Bonnie bring you that kind of happiness?”

  “She’s the only thing that’s ever washed away the pain and brought me joy.”

  “Then what the fuck are you doing here, talking to me, you bawbag? Go get her.”

  “Just like that? Go up to her and ask for her forgiveness?”

  “Aye. Helps if you have a peace offering as well.”

  I glance at the mug in his hands. “I actually made that for her.”

  He holds up the mug and smiles. “Then it’s very fitting.” He holds it out, and I take it from him. I move to the back of his wheelchair, but he stops me with a hand to my forearm. “Rowan, come here.”

  I squat in front of him, and he places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a feeble squeeze. I know it’s all he can muster, but it’s enough for me, and I put my hand on top of his.

  “I need to tell you something I should have told you many years ago.” His voice chokes up and he coughs a few times before he steadies himself and makes eye contact with me. “Your talent . . . it’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen. This”—he points to the shed—“this is what you should be doing, and I never should have made you think differently. I’m sorry, Rowan.”

  “Da, please don’t apologize.”

  “I need to. I need you to know I’m ashamed of my behavior, and I would be honored . . .” His voice cracks, and my throat tightens. “I would be honored if you would make my urn.”

  “Da . . .” Tears fill my eyes. “I can’t—”

  “Do this for me, Rowan. Please. Make my urn. It would mean so much to me.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Please.”

  Wiping a tear from my eye, I nod. “It would be my honor, Da.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  BONNIE

  Cake slices consumed: One full Dundee cake, courtesy of Isla.

  Tattie scones consumed: Two; one was burnt, courtesy of Dakota.

  Cake batter consumed: At least one cup, courtesy of my fingers, which couldn’t stop scooping up gobs. Don’t worry, I used the batter for my own cake. Which brings me to . . .

  Box cake consumed: A measly half of one, thanks to my dippy fingers.

  All of the above is because I’m headed home without my best friend and with something new: a broken heart.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Dakota asks as I wipe down the coffee shop counter, my flight back home tomorrow looming over me.

  “No, but I think it’s what I have to do. I can’t stay here. Not now that Rowan’s back. It’s too painful.”

  “But, Bonnie, don’t you see what you’ve done?” Dakota motions to the now-empty coffee shop that was bustling all day. “You made something of this place. You created an environment, not only for tourists but for the locals too. You saw Hamish and Alasdair—they were here for an hour, just talking and enjoying some tattie scones. You brought this place back to life.” Dakota shakes my shoulders. “You, Bonnie. You did that. No one else.”

  “I had help,” I say, flushing as I allow myself a moment to feel proud of what I’ve created. I glance around the shop, my heart completely invested in these four walls.

  Find yourself in Scotland.

  I found myself . . . and so much more.

  “You had help, but we just executed your vision. The success of the coffee shop rests in your hands. You’re just going to leave that?”