CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROWAN
Days since I realized I’m falling for Bonnie: One.
Hours spent thinking about Bonnie: Every single goddamn hour.
I’m toast.
Roasted.
Charred and served.
Bonnie has planted herself in my headspace, and nothing can remove her.
Nothing.
“You’re gorgeous,” I say as Bonnie sinks down on my length until she bottoms out.
The minute she got to my place, she stripped down, pushed me into my bedroom, and relieved me of my clothes. She then spent a good ten minutes worshipping my body until I couldn’t take it anymore. She sheathed me with a condom and is now slowly rocking up and down my shaft.
“I missed you,” she says, looking down at me, her hair like a golden curtain pushed to the side. “Is it desperate that I missed you?”
I chuckle and grip her hips, trying to entice her to pick up the pace, but instead she draws it out some more. “Nay, lass. I missed you too.”
“Missed me, or missed sex?”
“Missed you more, but I did miss this with you.”
She smirks. “Good answer.” Her hands fall to my torso and drag up to my pecs, where she grips and shifts her body, giving us a different angle. It must really work for her, because her mouth falls open and a low moan erupts from her.
“Just like that,” I say, pushing my pelvis up into her. “Fuck, you feel perfect.”
She grips my cheek and presses her mouth to mine, begging for entrance with her tongue. I don’t give it at first—instead, I let her live off closed but powerful kisses. She does everything she can to pry open my mouth, even bite my bottom lip, but I hold still as my hands travel down her back and grip her ass. I spread her cheeks and push up into her hard and fast. Her mouth pops off mine, and she cries out in pleasure.
“Yes, Rowan. Yes, please don’t stop.” She lifts up, one hand planted against my chest, the other pushing her hair back as her tits bounce right in front of me . . .
Hell.
“Bonnie,” I choke out. “Lass, you there?”
Her eyes squeeze shut, her hips move faster, and I feel her start to clench around my cock instantaneously. “Oh . . . fuck,” she whispers as her teeth pull on her bottom lip and she comes.
The feel of her tight warmth, wrapped around me, does me in. My balls tighten, pleasure rips through every limb, and my cock swells inside of her as I come harder than I can ever remember.
Together, we pulse out every last ounce of pleasure until we are completely spent.
After I clean us both up, I lean against the headboard and pull her close. She sighs against me, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking happy in my entire life.
“I’m hungry,” she says as I play with her hair.
“Want some cake?”
She lifts up and looks me in the eyes. “You have cake?”
“I made some earlier today. Since you were coming over.”
“If I didn’t just have sex with you, I would be jumping on that Scottish sausage of yours.”
“Eloquent.” I reach over the bed and toss my shirt at her. “Put that on so I don’t have to stare at your gorgeous body all night.”
“What a travesty.”
I throw on a pair of athletic shorts and then head to the kitchen, where I take down two of my hand-thrown plates that I fired up in the kiln the other day. They came out just the way I wanted, the glaze a beautiful mixture of blues and greens to represent the green of the Highlands and the blue of the lochs. My goal is to handmake all my plates and serving ware, but with how little free time I have, it’s been taking me longer than I’ve wanted.
Not to mention, I was in a creative drought before Bonnie showed up. Now, it’s as if the potter’s wheel is in my head, constantly turning with new ideas, techniques I want to try. Just need to find more time.
From the fridge, I take out the chocolate cake with chocolate frosting I made earlier and cut two large slices. I know my girl, and she’s not shy about her portions of cake. Might as well give her the amount she’s actually going to eat so she doesn’t have to ask for another helping.
When I turn around, I find her curled up on the sofa, hair piled on top of her head, looking fresh, with a little bit of beard burn on her cheeks.
I walk over to her and drag my finger over her reddened cheek. “Does this hurt?”
She shakes her head. “No, I like knowing you’ve claimed me.”
Smiling, I lean down and lift her to a sitting position. “Good, because you’re mine.” I press a quick kiss to her lips and then head to the kitchen, where I grab our plates.
“Why are you so amazing?” she asks when I hand her the plate. “Did you make this from scratch?”
“How else do you make a cake?”
She takes a bite and moans. “God, that’s so good. So much better than when I make a cake from a box.”
“Me da would have a coronary if you ever gave him a boxed cake.”
“Scottish snobs,” she scoffs with a grin. “So, I was thinking about putting the menus up this Friday, after making a few more batches of the butteries and scones. See how the Friday and Saturday tour buses react, then assess and make adjustments for Monday. What do you think?”
“Do you feel comfortable with the espresso machine?”
She nods, her mouth full of cake. When she swallows, she says, “I spent a year using this exact machine when I worked with Lisa. She preferred a certain coffee bean combination, freshly ground, and then made on the spot. I got exceptionally good at some pretty fancy drinks. Caramel macchiatos, americanos, and cappuccinos were my go-tos. I was nervous to come to this job because I didn’t know the kind of experience needed, but when I saw the extent of drink choices in the shop, I knew my skills were more than adequate. I’m comfortable making what we have on the menu, and I can nail those drinks.”
“And baking, how do you feel about taking on that part of the job?”
“Good. I want to stock up a little this week on the butteries and store them like you told me. I’ll save the fresh ones for the locals—”
“Smart.”
“Want to keep them on my good side. I don’t think the cake will go as fast as the other two, but we’ll see. I’ll have a few of those ready to cut into slices. I ordered recyclable takeout containers. Even though the Styrofoam was cheaper, I couldn’t save the extra penny knowing the kind of waste they are.”
“Maw would be happy with that choice, especially since we always find discarded takeaway containers whenever we go on Highland walks. Probably thrown there by tourists.”
“I don’t understand how someone can do that. Just toss trash into the wild as if it’s their own personal dumpster.”
“Me neither, but you can’t fix everyone. We can only do our best, and making conscious decisions like that helps.”
“Why, McGrumpyshire, are you an earth lover?”
“When you live in a place like Corsekelly, how could you not be?”
“True.” She sinks her fork into the cake and picks up another bite. “So, you think Friday, a tiny grand opening?”
“Aye. I think that’s a great idea.”
“Great. I’ll also email the tour bus companies about our changes.”
“Well, I’ll be first in line when you open up.”
“Yeah?” She leans over and presses a chocolatey kiss to my lips. “You’ll really show up?”
“Aye.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. You’re my girl, aren’t you?” I ask.
“You tell me . . . am I?” she asks coyly.
I lean over this time and cup her chin. “You know you are.”
“Soo, does girl mean ‘girlfriend’ in Scottish? Are you going to introduce me like this . . .” She clears her throat and impersonates a terrible Scottish accent. “Aye, ye bawbag, ’tis here me lass. She owns me boaby.”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I just stare at her, and she wilts under my gaze, fidgeting, trying to smile, trying everything to avoid eye contact.
Finally she asks, “Can you not stare at me like that? It makes me horny.”
“What?” I ask, laughing.
“Aha! Broke the silence.” She snaps her fingers in victory. “Knew that was going to work.”
Shaking my head, I lean back in my chair and stare at her some more. Fucking crazy, unpredictable woman, but even in all her unpredictability, she excites me.
“Question,” she says, mouth full. “When your parents get back, do you think you’re going to have a conversation with them?”
I feel my brows draw together. “Talk to them about what?”
“The whole ‘not doing what you want to do with your life’ thing. It just seemed like you had fun in the kitchen with me. Wasn’t sure if you would cross that bridge with your parents again.”
“No.” I keep my answer short and concise, hoping she’ll move on from the topic.
“Rowan, you can’t possibly walk around here unhappy for the rest of your life.”
“I’m not unhappy.”
“Could have fooled me,” she mumbles, avoiding eye contact.
“How the hell am I not happy? You make me happy, Bonnie.”
That grants me a smile, but when she reaches over to take my hand in hers, I know it’s not enough. “I know a lost soul when I see one. We recognize ourselves in others. You’re lost, Rowan.”
“Where the hell is this all coming from?” Talk about the night making a fucking one-eighty.
Sex.
Cake.
Now a serious conversation about how I’m not living my life?
Color me fucking confused.
“I don’t know—you seemed so happy baking with me.”
“Because I was with you,” I say.
“Then, what is it that will make you happy?”
I slide my empty plate to the side. “Ending this conversation.”
“Why won’t you tell me what it is you want to do in life?”
“Why does it matter? It’s never going to fucking happen, so there’s no use talking about it.” I push out of my chair and grab my plate, setting it in the sink before striding back to my bedroom. Then, sinking down on the edge of the bed, I push my hands through my hair. Annoyed, frustrated, wishing she’d never brought this topic up to begin with.
It doesn’t take her much time to follow me, and when she enters the room, she climbs up on the bed, drops the shirt she was wearing on the floor, and presses her body against my back. Her hands float to my front, and she kisses my shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
Hell, I shouldn’t have snapped at her. There’s no excuse. I’m just not ready to share that part of my life, not when she’s striving to succeed at something. I don’t want her to see my failure and think what she’s doing isn’t possible.
“Just drop it, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, smoothing her hands down to my stomach. She slips a hand under the waistband of my shorts and grips me tightly.
Fuck.
From that one touch, I’m hard.
She scoots away from my back and lays me down on the bed. “Push your shorts down for me.”
Desperate to forget those last few minutes, I do just that and free myself, letting my erection spring forward.
And then she straddles me, sitting on my chest and leaning forward to take me into her mouth. Her bottom half is in perfect reach, and I bring her to my mouth, where I quickly find her clit and start kissing her, licking her, letting her know that even when I snap at her, I want her just the same.
“Stay for breakfast,” I say, tugging on Bonnie’s arm.
“You said I was breakfast,” she counters, brushing the wet tangles out of her hair. “Or were you lying just to get in the shower with me?”
“I was lying,” I admit, feeling hungry for her again.
“Can’t fault a guy for being honest, even after the fact. What’s for breakfast?”
“Yogurt parfaits.”
“Really?” she asks, eyebrows rising.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Just surprised, I guess. Are you going to layer the fruit?”
“That’s what a parfait is, isn’t it?” I stand from the bed and gently pat her on the arse on the way out to the kitchen.
“What kind of yogurt?”
“Vanilla,” I call out just as my phone rings in my jeans pocket. I pull it out and see my maw’s name flash across the screen. “Hello?”
“Rowan, good morning.”
“Good morning, Maw,” I say, already on edge from the weary tone in her voice. “Everything okay?”
Bonnie comes into the room, looking concerned.
“I have your da here with me. Say hello, Stuart.”
“Hello,” my da’s gruff voice sounds through the phone.
“Morning, Da.”
“Do you have a moment to chat?” Maw asks. “We need to talk to you about something important.”
“Er, something important,” I say, glancing at Bonnie. She motions to the door, and I shake my head. “Hold on, Maw.” I put the phone on mute and say, “Can you give me a few minutes? Don’t leave. This won’t take long.”
“Sure, I’ll go for a quick walk and be back. I’m going to need to see those yogurt parfait skills.”
I wink. “You got it.” She slips her sandals on and then lets herself out of the cottage. Taking the phone off mute, I say, “Okay, sorry about that. Is this about some of the expenses on the credit card for the shop?” I had a wee feeling they might question those. Maw encouraged Dakota and Bonnie to make some changes if they saw fit, but I can understand if they’re concerned.
“Nay,” Maw says. “It’s about your da.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I take a seat at my dining table. Silence falls on the other end of the line as well, and an uncertain feeling of impending bad news creeps into my stomach.
“Everything okay, Da?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“We hate to do this over the phone, but we won’t see you in person for a few more months, and we’ve been told you need to know.”
My hands start to shake, my lungs tighten, and that uncertain feeling turns into pure fear. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a pregnant pause, and the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat, pounding desperately for good news but knowing that’s not going to be the case.
“Your da’s sick, Rowan.”
Fuck.
I knew something was going on. I fucking knew it.
My hand goes to my hair, and I pull on the short strands. “How sick?”
“It started a few months ago, right before he retired from the coffee shop. He wasn’t feeling himself, and we assumed it was his arthritis kicking in, making daily tasks around the shop harder. We have plenty saved for retirement, so we figured it would be okay—that was, until we went to the doctor. We were devastated to find out he, er . . . he has bone cancer.”
“What?” I whisper, my heart pounding so hard I think for a moment that I misheard her. “Bone cancer?”
“Aye,” Maw confirms. “To be truthful, we aren’t really on holibags right now. We’re in London, talking with a specialist and going through treatments.”
What the fucking shite?
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Watch your tone,” Da says, and even though his voice is weakened, it still packs a heavy punch.
“We didn’t want to worry you,” Maw speaks up. “We weren’t quite sure about the severity of your da’s cancer. We thought that if we shielded you from the truth, maybe we wouldn’t have to worry you at all. We heard Dr. Irvine was very good at coming up with a treatment plan, but we knew he was expensive, since it’s a private treatment. That’s why I ran the advert for the coffee shop, hopefully to create some fun buzz, hire two strangers who might want to take on a project, bring it back to life so there’s something to support us when we get back to Corsekelly.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
“But things haven’t gone as we’d hoped here. Your da has quite a few tumors. Dr. Irvine took biopsies of all of them, and some are treatable, but there’s one on his hip that is quite large and has spread to other parts of his body. Dr. Irvine . . . he . . .” Maw’s voice breaks.
Her quiet weeping chokes me up as my mind whirls with confusion.
“I’m dying,” Da finishes for her as she lets out a sob.
Dying.
My heart shatters into a million pieces.
Bone cancer.
Tumors.
Dying.
I can’t seem to wrap my head around the actual facts; all I can focus on is why I’m just finding out about this now.
“You should have told me sooner,” I choke out.
“It wasn’t your right to know. We knew what we were doing,” Da says, and that sets the spark that lights the raging fire inside me.
“To hell it’s not!” I shout, standing now. “You’re my goddamn father, and it’s not only my right but my responsibility to know when you’re sick, when you need help . . . when you’re fucking dying!” I roar into the phone as every emotion I’ve ever had about my da bubbles up and pours out of me.
“Rowan,” Da snaps, but I don’t care—I keep pushing forward.
“You’ve known you’ve had cancer for the past few months and didn’t tell me. When I asked you if you were sick before you left, you lied to my face.”
“We didn’t want to worry you,” Maw repeats, always trying to play the peacemaker. Well, which is it? I didn’t deserve to know, or they didn’t want to worry me? It’s always like this with them—Maw trying to smooth things over while Da and I light up the room with our anger.
“Ever care to think that I could have helped you? That’s what family is for. And if you needed help with the coffee shop, Maw, I could have helped. I’ve already been helping—”
“You made it quite clear you wanted nothing to do with the shop,” Da says, the stubborn arsehole throwing that in my face once again.
“People change,” I say with a clenched jaw. “But you’re too stubborn to see that. You can’t possibly look past the history that clogs your wee brain and see that people change. People try to make their lives better, to make something of themselves.”
“How’s that going for you?” Da asks. “Haven’t seen that pottery for sale anywhere. Haven’t seen you live out the dream you wanted, that you threw your family away for.”
What?
Where the hell did that come from?
“I didn’t throw you away,” I say, knowing we shouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Da has cancer, a realization I’m sure he’s having a hard time accepting. And knowing him, he’s twisting and turning that confusion and fear into anger. He did the same thing when Callum passed—he directed all his anger at me. “I’m still here, taking care of the town’s business like you wanted me to. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not when you disrespect the MacGregor clan. We might be simple, but we’re good people.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“You don’t show it.”
Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t think I’ve been this angry in my entire life. It feels like my soul is physically being stolen from my body with every passing breath, replaced with a darkness that’s spreading through every limb, every muscle, every goddamn bone.
None of this matters—none of the history between my da and me matters right now, not when he’s dying. He might want to continue our age-old argument, but I don’t have time for that.
“Where are you?”
“Rowan, you don’t need—”
“I swear to God, if you don’t tell me, I’ll track you down. I can look at your credit card statements. I can figure it out, so make it easy on both of us and tell me where the fuck you are.”
Maw rattles off an address that I write down on a piece of paper. She tells me they still have another conversation with the doctor and not to worry, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing they say will matter at this point. My mind is made up.
“We don’t need you to come here,” Da barks into the phone.
“Seems like you’d rather die than admit it, but you need me more than you think.”
I hang up and toss my phone on the table. My knuckles turn white as I grip my dining table, and before I can even register what I’m doing, I pick it up and chuck it against the wall. Wood splinters from the crash as I roar, “Fuck!” and then dig my hands through my hair.
He’s dying.
My da is dying and—
My gaze strays to the window, and I narrow my eyes. The doors to my pottery shed are wide open, and I catch a lock of blonde hair floating out of the entrance.
What the actual fuck?
Fury blazes inside me. I can feel my face turn red as I rage through the cottage, fling the door open, and stomp to the open shed.
Sure enough, Bonnie is standing inside, holding up a recently fired mug.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
A frightened yelp escapes her lips as she jumps. The mug slips from her hands and shatters to the ground.
She turns toward me, and those crystal eyes widen, feigning innocence. “You see—”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Bonnie.” She goes quiet, her shoulders sagging. I could see it before she even started talking: the telltale sign of her coming up with some elaborate explanation for invading my privacy.
“Well . . . ?” I press, folding my arms over my chest.
“Honestly”—she fidgets—“I wanted to see if this was where you kept your power washer. I thought maybe I would steal it and clean some of the algae off the cottage. But, oh my God, Rowan, you’re a potter. How come you didn’t—?”
“You had no right coming in here!” I yell, pointing at the shed.
Her body shifts backward from the power of my voice, and her eyes grow wider, more frightened. “I didn’t . . .” She swallows hard. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I’m sorry, but Rowan, you’re really good. You could sell this—”
“Out.”
“Rowan, please, let me—”
“I said, fucking out!” I scream, my chest vibrating, my hands shaking, emotions surging through me. A breakdown is imminent.
Bonnie startles and hurries out of the shed. Once she’s outside, I slam the doors shut and then spin on her. “Don’t fucking go in there, do you hear me?”
She nods, tears brimming in her eyes.
“I . . . I’m sorry.”
When I see the tears roll down her cheek, a wee voice in the back of my head tells me I need to apologize, but it’s quickly drowned out by the uncontrollable rage that’s piercing through me.
Fuck.
Bonnie . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry.
The thoughts ring through my head, but my mouth can’t seem to form the words.
“Rowan, please say something,” she begs, her beautiful eyes pleading, but a wave of numbness falls over me. Bonnie’s distraught, and it’s my fault, but I can’t find it within me to care.
Turning away, I stride back to the cottage and flee to my room before slamming the door shut.
Sinking onto my bed, I bury my head in my hands and think about what the hell I’m going to do.
It takes about two seconds to decide.
London.
I’m going to London.