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“Sort of. My aunt Eilidh lives outside Stromness, and I’m staying in her cottage.”
“Eilidh Campbell?” Laurel nodded. “How lovely. I know her well.”
“It seems as if everyone knows everyone around here.”
“Yes, well, we’re a close-knit community.” The woman smiled comfortably. “My name’s Emma, by the way.”
“Laurel.”
“You’re here with your son?” She cast an eye around the room and then nodded towards Zac, who was still with the others, throwing cocktail sausages into each other’s mouths.
“My nephew, actually. My sister’s son.” Laurel left it at that, not wanting to explain, and Emma let it go.
“And you know Archie? I saw the two of you chatting…” There was a gleam in Emma’s eye that made everything in Laurel tense. This was a close-knit community indeed.
“I know him a little. He takes care of Eilidh’s cottage, and Zac, my nephew, has been helping out on the farm while we’re here.” She spoke repressively, not even meaning to, but Helen clocked her tone and nodded.
“I see.”
And Laurel thought she probably saw too much, although she didn’t even know what there was to see, all things considered.
“Archie’s lovely,” Emma continued. “I’ve always thought it a shame that he never settled down.”
Hoo boy. Laurel could see where this was going. And even though she knew she shouldn’t, Laurel couldn’t help asking, “Why do you think that was?”
Emma’s eyes gleamed brighter, now that Laurel had taken the bait. “I don’t rightly know. He’s tied to the farm, of course, and the island. And his father… you know about his father?”
Laurel nodded, which of course only added to Helen’s speculation. “He has a lot of commitments, I suppose. And the farming life is a hard one, nonstop.”
“Yes, but surely there are women who are willing to sign up for that.” Not that she was one of them, although part of her wondered suddenly why she was so certain she wasn’t.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” Emma agreed with a shrug. “He’s had a few dates over the years, but no one special, as far as I know. Perhaps that will change.” She raised her eyebrows hopefully, and Laurel glugged the rest of her wine.
“I hope so, for his sake,” she said in as non-committal a tone as she could manage. “I need to get Zac home.” Even if it wasn’t yet ten o’clock. For Laurel, the party had definitely ended.
She was silent as they walked back to Bayview Cottage, her mind still in turmoil. For Zac’s sake, she decided to try to make conversation, and asked about the friends he’d made.
“They’re okay,” Zac said with a shrug. Laurel deemed that high praise; Zac was never one to gush. He turned to her, his gaze narrowed. “Are you all right, Aunt Laurel?”
Laurel nearly stumbled in her surprise. Zac had never asked her a question like that before. “Of course I am,” she said automatically. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. You just seem, like, well stressed.”
Well stressed? Laurel got the gist if not the grammar. “I’m not,” she protested, and Zac gave her a look.
“Whatever you say,” he said, sounding utterly unconvinced.
Back at the cottage, Laurel made a cup of hot cocoa and took it to bed, huddling under the duvet and still feeling miserable. She thought about ringing Soha, but she couldn’t without Wi-Fi or phone signal, and in any case she knew what Soha would say. If you regret brushing him off, then just go for it the next time you see him. What have you got to lose?
And really, what did she have to lose? Except maybe her dignity if Archie rejected her…
And yet she was incredibly reluctant to take such a risk. There couldn’t be any future for them. Her life was in York. Archie was rooted in Orkney. And, really, this was Archie. Did she—could she—feel that way about him? She didn’t even know, and yet the thought of losing his friendship…
Laurel let out a groan as she pulled the duvet over her head, as if
she could block out the world. The trouble was, she didn’t know what she wanted. The dream that might never happen, or the reality that felt too scary and uncertain and well, real?
The questions were still pinging around her brain like balls in a pinball machine when she fell into a restless doze, only to wake as sunlight filtered through the crack in the curtains, which meant it already had to be after nine o’clock. A tapping on her door had her sitting up, blinking sleep out of her eyes, her hair sticking up more than Archie’s and her voice a croak.
