“You shouldn’t,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Shouldn’t what?”
“See me. Watch me. Any of it.” She turned to face me, and even in the darkness I could see the turmoil in her expression—the fear and longing and something that looked almost like grief. “You should have moved on years ago, Graham. Found someone who could give you what you want. What you deserve.”
My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe she was finally addressing this only to toss it away so quickly.
“Andwhat’s that?”
“A life. A family. Someone who—” She broke off, pressing her lips together.
“Someone who what? Loves me?” I stepped closer, close enough to see the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. “Because here’s the thing, Agnes. I’ve tried that. I’ve dated half the eligible women in the Highlands, trying to find someone who could make me forget you. And you know what I learned?”
She shook her head, the movement small and tight.
“That none of them are you.”
Agnes closed her eyes, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed.
“Graham...”
“I know you ended things. I know you said you didn’t love me, and I’ve spent years trying to accept that. I have done my damnedest to respect your choice.” I was standing too close now, close enough to smell her perfume—something lightly citrus that made me want to bury my nose in her hair. “But I don’t believe it, Agnes. I never have. Because the woman who once kissed me like the world was ending doesn’t kiss someone like that if she doesn’t love him.”
It was maddening. It was exhausting.
It was killing me.
“Agnes, look at me.”
She opened her eyes, and I saw unshed tears glistening there.Och, lass.
“Whatever this is,” I said, gentling my voice, “whatever you’re so afraid of, you can tell me. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been here foryears, waiting, and I’ll keep waiting if that’s what you need.”
For a moment, I thought she might tell me. I saw it in her face—the words gathering, the truth pressing against her lips like water against a dam.
Then something shifted. That familiar wall slid back into place, and she stepped away from me, putting distance between us that felt like miles.
“I can’t,” she said, and her voice was steady now, controlled. “I’m sorry, Graham. I know that’s not fair. I know you deserve better. But I can’t”—she gestured vaguely between us—“I can’t do this. Maybe not ever.”
I wanted to argue, to demand she stop running from whatever was chasing her.
But pushing Agnes only made her retreat faster.
“Okay,” I said, the word scraping my throat raw. “That’s just fine, darling. I’ll leave it. For tonight.”
Relief flew across her face, followed quickly by something that looked like disappointment. As if part of her had wanted me to push. Wanted me torefuseher refusal.
God, this woman was going to be the death of me.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, our footsteps echoing off the cobblestones. The village was quiet, most people already home and tucked up for the night. A cat darted across the street ahead of us, disappearing into an alley. Somewhere, a dog barked once and then fell silent.
When we reached Bonnie Books, Agnes paused at the door to the stairs that led up to her flat. The shop windows were dark, displays of books and pottery barely visible in the shadows. I’d imagined, once, what it might be like to live above that shop with her. To wake up beside her. To build a life in this village we both loved, together instead of apart.
Those imaginings had become less frequent over theyears, dulled by rejection and distance. But they’d never quite disappeared. They lived in me like embers, ready to flare back to life at the slightest encouragement.
“Thank you,” Agnes said, “for walking me home.”
“Anytime.”
