She turned to face me, key already in her hand, and for a moment we just looked at each other. The streetlamp behind me cast her face in pale gold and she looked soft and tired and oh so damn beautiful.
I wanted to kiss her so badly I could taste it.
“Goodnight, Graham,” she said, and her voice broke on my name.
Then she was gone, disappearing through the door and up the stairs, leaving me alone on the street with nothing but the cold air and the echo of everything I wanted to say.
I stood there longer than I should have, staring up at her windows. After a moment, a light flickered on—her living room. I imagined her up there, taking off her coat, making tea, going through whatever nightly rituals she’d developed in the years she’d spent alone.
Alone because she chose to be.
Alone because of me, somehow. Because of something I’d done or hadn’t done or would never understand.
It doesn’t matter.
It can’t.
What did that even mean? It can’t matter? Why the hell not?
I scrubbed a hand over my face, exhaustion and disappointment warring inside me. This was what frustrated me. Every conversation left me with more questions thananswers. Every moment of connection was followed by a door slamming shut.
Round and round we went, year after year, and I was no closer to understanding her than I’d been the day she’d ended things.
“I’m sorry, Graham, but … we can’t do this. I’m ending this.” Agnes’s eyes were huge on her face.
“What the fuck, Agnes?” What the hell was she talking about? We were made for each other. Always had been. This summer break had only confirmed it. “We love each other. We’ve talked about a?—”
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry. I’m not…I can’t. It’s all too much. With losing Gran. Trying to figure out my next steps. I just need space.” Her words were rushed. She looked devastated. But why?
“Agnes, love, we can try long?—”
“No. We’re done. I’m sorry, Graham.”
She rushed away, taking my very broken heart with her.
And she was still walking away from me. All these years later.
I turned and walked back toward The Tipsy Thistle, my mind churning uselessly. The loch stretched out to my left, dark and still, and I couldn’t help but glance at it—at the place where the Beithir had risen, where the Kelpies had nearly taken Zara, where magick and monsters had made themselves undeniable.
Something was happening in Loren Brae. Things were shifting in ways that I didn’t understand, and Agnes knew more than she was saying—I was certain of that much.
But what was I supposed to do about it? Demand she tell me? She’d only retreat further. Wait for her to come tome? I’d been waiting for years, and it had gotten me nowhere.
The pub was dark when I reached it, closed early as was my way on Monday nights. I let myself in the back door, climbed the stairs to my flat, and poured myself two fingers of whisky without bothering to turn on the lights.
The window in my living room looked out over the village, and beyond it, the loch. I stood in the darkness, glass in hand, watching the water and feeling the familiar ache settle back into my bones.
At one time in my life, running The Tipsy Thistle had been my sole purpose, and the very thing that had lit me up inside. I’d loved nothing more than building the pub into a center of community in a village that was the only home I’d ever known. It had meant something to me, being able to contribute to the wee town, to run a place that was a haven for so many.
And then Agnes had come back, and while I couldn’t say that she was like sunshine on a stormy day, because even on my most difficult days I loved running my wee pub, she’d been like icing on the cake. Like a wee dram by a cozy fire after a long day’s work. Hell, like Scotland finally getting into the World Cup after decades of missing our chance. Aye, Agnes was all the things.
And, unbeknownst to me, my heart had been waiting for her.
She’d been the missing piece, and for a brief moment in time, I’d been happier than I’d ever been in my life.
Until she’d closed the doors.
It had taken a tremendous amount of love, patience, and a few long talks with Lachlan to get to a point where Icould carelessly flirt with and tease Agnes across the bar, day after day, all while pretending my heart wasn’t slowly shriveling and dying inside at being so close to her but not being able to be with her.
