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?”
“Would you be able to stay here if Isla wasn’t talking to you?”
“I would at least try to talk to her before I left. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“And say what?” I toss my cleaning rag into the laundry basket we keep under the counter.
“That you’re sorry?”
“I’ve tried to do that. You should have seen the look on his face at the Mill Market. There was nothing there other than the desire to retreat as quickly as possible.” I work my way around the counter and start lifting the chairs off the floor and onto the tables. “I can’t stay here.”
“So you’re going to go back home . . . to your parents?” Dakota follows closely behind me but doesn’t help.
“Yup, can’t wait to hear them tell me ‘I told you so’ multiple times, every day, until they die.”
“Bonnie, there has to be something we can do. Maybe you can find another town out here.”
“And what? Work? Pretty sure I need some kind of work visa for that, and I don’t think they’re going to provide one to someone who just came from working at a coffee shop. Face it, Dakota, I’m bound for California, and there is nothing you can do.”
I’ve finished up with the chairs and have started to move toward the counter when Dakota stops me.
“I’ll come with you, and we can figure something out.”
“We’ve been over this. You are not coming with me, not when you have Isla here.”
“You can’t go back to your parents—you’ll be miserable.”
“Not as miserable as I would be staying here and seeing Rowan all the time, working for his mom.”
Dakota looks off to the side. “But you love working here.”
I walk back over to the counter, where I hoist myself up and scan the space one more time. Regret fills me. I don’t want to leave this, not even a little, not when I feel like I’ve found my purpose, what I’m good at. “Yeah, I know. Today was so amazing with all the tour buses pouring in. I can’t believe we sold out by noon. Just the kind of send-off I needed.”
Dakota is silent for a second, and then she turns to me, a serious expression on her face. “What am I going to do without you, Bonnie? I can barely keep it together around Isla. I need you here.”
“You don’t need me. You’re so much stronger than you think you are, and when you do feel weak, Isla is there to build you up. I don’t think I could have picked someone better for you. She’s perfect, and when you two get married one day—because I know it’s going to happen—and you’re standing hand in hand, both of you wearing beautiful white dresses that blow in the breeze, I’ll remember the day you showed me the ad for two coffee shop employees and know it was the best decision we ever made.”
“But you’re leaving—how was it the best decision for you?”
I smile. “Because I’m leaving here with confidence, something I haven’t had in a very long time. I’m leaving here knowing I made a change, knowing I helped you, I helped Finella and Stuart, and maybe even helped this town. I’m also leaving here knowing exactly what it feels like to love someone. I’m a changed woman, Dakota. You were right: I needed to find myself, and Scotland might have been the place to do that.” I smile to myself, tears welling in my eyes. “I found myself, and that right there will help me get through the heartache of losing Rowan.” At least, I’m hoping it does, because it’s going to take a long time to get rid of this burning, aching hole in my chest.
“I’m not saying I like that you’re leaving, but I am proud of you. You’ve created such a brilliantly cozy space for the town and for tourists. Very proud of you, Bonnie.”
“Thank you.”
“And frankly, I know you’re hurting now, but I believe you’re strong enough to get over Rowan. You know . . . if you want to stay and give it a try.”
I quietly chuckle and shake my head. “I appreciate your encouragement, but I think it would be too much. And hey, Finella gave me her email address and said to use her as a reference. For all future jobs. Not sure what I’ll do, but at least I’ll have that to help me out.”
“Yeah.” Dakota wraps her arm around me. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, but it’s for the best. Honestly, I couldn’t stay here even if I wanted to. I now truly know what a broken heart feels like.” I blow out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. How about we just enjoy some cake one last time?”
“Is there any left?”
I playfully nudge her. “I snagged one of the cherry cakes. You’ll be short one tomorrow.”
“Great, it only took everything in me to make those.”
We laugh as I hop off the counter and take the cake out of my hiding spot in the bakery chest.
I pop open the top of the to-go box. “In my head, we each take a half, but I’m thinking we work our way to the halfway mark?”
Dakota reaches for the plates. “Let’s just call it like it is. Split it and plop a half on each plate.”
“And that is why I love you.”
After cutting the cake right down the middle, I give each of us a half, and we lean against the counter. We clang our forks together and dig in—just as the door to the shop opens.
Both of our heads whip to the entrance as Rowan steps inside, closing the door behind him. Hair styled, button-up shirt hugging his torso, jeans clinging to his thighs with the cuffs rolled, making room for his classic boots. My breath catches in my chest at the mere sight of him, and I realize something: not only do I love him, but I really don’t know if I’m ever going to get over him.
“Rowan,” I say, sounding like a breathless fool. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
“Uh, Dakota and I are having a girls’ night.”
“This won’t take long.” He walks across the shop, that stubborn, grumpy attitude I fell in love with on full display as he leans against the customer side of the counter.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re having a girls’ night.”
“And I told you this won’t take long, but if you keep making me repeat myself, it might take longer.”
“Did you come here to be a dick, because if that’s the case . . .” I slow-clap. “You’re doing a good job.”
“Still sarcastic, I see.”
“You don’t lose sarcasm in a week. Takes time to drive that out of someone. You might have broken my heart, but you didn’t break my spirit.”
His eyes soften as Dakota whispers, “Ooh, good one.”
“Thank you,” I whisper behind my hand. “Felt like an excellent comeback.”
“It was aces,” Dakota says, hopping up on the counter, where she sits and enjoys the show.
Rowan scratches the side of his jaw, looking between us. “Will the audience be staying for this entire conversation?”
I turn to Dakota. “He wants to know if you’re staying.”
“I don’t feel like leaving, that’s for sure. I like that he’s uncomfortable.”
“Not uncomfortable,” he says, shrugging. “Just preparing myself for more obnoxious commentary.”
“Tell him he’s a dick.”
“She already called me that.” He sounds cockier than ever. I have no idea what his angle is right now, but it’s not making me sad . . . it’s making me mad.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Dakota hisses at him. She nods at Rowan while speaking to me. “Go ahead, tell him.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Dakota and I would like you to be aware of our ill feelings toward you. We spoke, and we agree—you’re a microboaby.”
“Aye, good to know.” He’s unfazed. “When you’re done acting like a child, I would like to have an adult conversation.”
“Acting like a child?” I just about scream. “You’re the one who threw a temper tantrum when I opened your man shed. News flash: I was just trying to get one more look at your power washer, not invade your privacy. Sheesh, you would have thought I’d found your collection of twisted-off nipples or something.”
“From what I heard, the reaction was uncalled for,” Dakota says.
“It was,” he agrees. “It wasn’t fair. I took my built-up anger out on Bonnie when I should have leaned on her for support.”
Support?
For what?
“Did something happen?” I ask.
He moves from the counter and goes to the door, opening it a crack and lifting up a paper bag, which he apparently left outside. Confused, I watch him close the distance and hold it up to me. “I made this for you before I selfishly lost my temper. Thought you could take it with you.”
Oh . . . a parting gift.
Huh.
Why did I think, and maybe even hope, that he was going to beg me to stay?
I take the gift. “Well, thank you. I’ll be sure to send a thank-you card.” I motion to the door. “If you’ll excuse us, we have some cake to tend to.”
“Open the gift, Bonnie.”
“I think I’d rather save it for a surprise later.”
“Open. It.”
“I think he wants you to open it,” Dakota whispers.
“I know what he wants,” I hiss. “Fine, I’ll open it.” I tear the tissue paper out of the way and let it float to the floor as I reach into the bag and grip a round object. I pull it out, and my breath seizes in my lungs as I take in the beautiful hand-thrown mug. Covered in white glaze with pink dripping upward at the bottom, it’s speckled and beautiful, with . . . oh God, is that a hairy coo stamped into the side?
“I wanted to give you something that reminded you of all that you’ve accomplished. All that you’ve done for this town . . . for my family,” he adds quietly, and the confident alpha who barged in here quickly morphs into a shy human being.
“It’s . . . it’s beautiful, Rowan.”
“Thank you.” Growing serious, he takes a step forward and lifts my chin so I’m forced to show him the tears welling in my eyes. “That morning, the phone call I took, it was my parents.” He clears his throat. “Contrary to what they told me, they weren’t on holibags. They were in London, meeting with a specialist. My da has bone cancer.”
“Oh God,” Dakota and I say at the same time.
Dakota hops off the counter, clearly sensing the shift in mood. “I’m just going to give you two some space.” With that, she hurries into the shop’s kitchen, leaving me alone with Rowan.
“Could we sit?” he asks, and I nod, leading the way to one of the tables. We lower the chairs and both take a seat.
“Is your dad going to be okay?” I ask, clutching the mug.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, eyes cast down, hands folded. “I wish I could say that he is, but he only has a few weeks left. We have a hospice nurse staying at my parents’ house, helping us through the process. We went to the pub the other night, and she walked me through everything to expect in the coming weeks.”
“Oh my God, Rowan, I’m so sorry. How are you dealing with all of it?”
“Well, it’s forced me to have some tough conversations—conversations I never thought I’d have with my father. I’m grateful for them, though, for this last week I’ve spent by his side, talking to him about everything and nothing. It’s meant a lot to me. But it also made me forget about something important.” He reaches over and taps the mug in my hands. “I was supposed to give that to you on Friday, on reopening day, but I wasn’t there. I also forgot about—”
“Rowan, you clearly had more important things to deal with than a silly reopening.”
“It wasn’t silly. It was important to you, which made it important to me. And it was important to my family. I’m sorry I missed it, that you had to spend most of the day alone. Just thinking about you all by yourself, waiting for someone to come in, makes me feel ill.”
“I was fine,” I say. It’s not the truth, but I’m not about to pile on the guilt.
“I should have been there.” He pushes his hand through his hair. “Hell, I should have been a lot of things to you, Bonnie, but I royally fucked up.”
“Rowan—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Please let me get this off my chest.” His eyes plead with me, so I sit there . . . and listen. “Ever since Callum passed away, I’ve felt this dark cloud looming over my life. I lost touch with my da, and even simple conversation with my maw was strained. I had this town and my friends, but nothing ever felt the same with them. Everything just felt dark, and no matter what I did or didn’t do, I was stagnant. Every day was the same. Every thought was the same. Every interaction was mundane at best.” His eyes connect with mine. “And then you came into my life. A ball of energy and blonde hair ready to take the piss out of me any chance you got. You drove me crazy, and yes . . . you made me act like Kilty McGrumpyshire.” I snort, even as my heart threatens to pound out of my chest. “But hell, Bonnie, you made me feel fucking alive again.”
He takes my hand, and from the look of desperation in his eyes, I know I’m done.
“I love you, Bonnie. I don’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but I’m glad that it did. You’ve forced me to step outside of my stagnant little world and learn to breathe life back into my lungs.” He clears his throat. “The other day, when I screamed at you to leave . . . fuck, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was out of control, and I took it out on you. I was too embarrassed, too angry, too blind to fix it with you. I needed to get my head on straight, and honestly, I’m barely hanging on at this point. But my da said I can’t lose you, and he’s right. I can’t let a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love walk out of my life without putting up a fight. So please don’t leave, lass. Please don’t fucking go back to America. I need you here. I want you in my life, in my bed, by my side . . . forever.”
Misty eyed, I blink a few times, but it’s useless. Tears cascade down my cheeks.
He loves me. I’m not dreaming it. He actually loves me.
This man, who I once thought was the most irritating creature on the planet. The man who became an advocate for my success. The man who helped show me how special I really am.
He loves me.
I smile with shaky lips as he gently wipes my tears away with his thumbs, concern etching his face.
With a wobbly voice, I say, “I love you too, Rowan. I don’t know how or when it happened either, but just like you . . . I’m glad that it did.”
“Then you’ll stay, lass?”
“Of course she’s going to stay!” Dakota yells as she barrels out of the kitchen and throws her arms around me. I snort out a laugh, bubbles of grossness coming out of my nose. “She was leaving because of you, you big lug. But now she has no excuse to leave.” Dakota has me in a viselike grip, practically climbing into my lap.
“I love you, Dakota,” I say, laughing, “but do you think I can finish things up here?”
“Oh yeah, sorry,” she chuckles and then turns to Rowan. She punches him in the arm, but he doesn’t even flinch. “That’s for stressing me out and nearly driving my best friend away.” She points a stern finger at him. “You owe me one of those mugs.”
He laughs. “I’m sorry, Dakota. I’ll make you and Isla a matching set. Hers and hers.”
“Oh, I see how you work, really reaching for the brownie points. Uh-huh. I see you, Rowan MacGregor.” Dakota slowly backs away. “I see you.” This time she leaves the shop, and when the door clicks shut, Rowan moves in closer.
“So you’ll stay?”
“Depends.” I smile. “If I stay, will you come to bed wearing a kilt tonight?”
“I’ll do anything you want, lass, as long as I come home to you.”
I stand up and place the mug on the table—carefully—and walk around the table, where I settle onto his lap. His wide palms span my back as I cup his cheeks. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” I lower my forehead to his. “I love you, McGrumpyshire.”
“I love you, lass.”
I lower my mouth to his and kiss him.
Gripping him tightly, I kiss him with passion, with love, with everything in me, because I’m grateful for him.
I’m grateful for this town.
And even though I blamed Dakota for talking me into this adventure in the first place, I’m grateful we flew to Scotland on a whim. I never would have found Rowan otherwise. But, most importantly, I never would have found who I am and who I’m supposed to be.