“Maybe we’ll just hitch Ranger to a sled and have him pull you around. You could take your camera and snap pictures of the festival as he runs back and forth,” Cat said as I chuckled.
“Is there any other business to be discussed?” Jo asked, looking over the crowd. “Or are we set for today’s meeting?”
There was a rustle of movement from the back of the room. “I have something to say!”
I whipped around so fast I made myself dizzy. I waited for my head to stop spinning and my eyes to focus just to make sure I hadn’t misheard. No, I wasn’t imagining it! There, standing at the back of the room next to Weston, was Locke. A gasp lodged in my throat. Cat reached over to squeeze my knee. Was this why Weston had opened the door—to sneak Locke into the meeting without me noticing?
“Come on up, Mr. Fraser,” Jo called, arching an eyebrow. Her eyes flickered to me briefly, as did the eyes of multiple people around the room, and for a second, I wanted to sink into the floor.
Locke hurried to the front, taking position on the stage like he had the day he’d pitched the hotel. He started his speech by updating everyone on the construction progress, outlining expected timelines.
“And as we launch next summer,” he continued, his gaze finally landing on me, making my heart flip-flop in my chest, “I wanted to let you all know that I intend to start an artist-in-residence program.”
“What’s that?” Tam called.
“An artist, selected by a committee, will be invited to live for free at the hotel for three months at a time. They can spend that time immersed in natural environments surrounding the hotel while working on their craft. Their room and board will be covered by Fraser Developments, and they’ll be provided a stipend for supplies.”
Cat glanced at me, eyes wide. “Did you know about this?” she whispered.
I shook my head, my gaze still on Locke. He stared back, the intensity of his gaze overwhelming. I’d had no idea he’d had any intention of starting an artist-in-residence program, but it was all I’d ever wanted to do with the land. When I’d been desperate to buy it from my dad, my dream had been to turn it into an artist’s retreat. To give unfettered access to artists who would be inspired by it just as my mother had been. To honor her legacy by bringing others into her love of that place. And now that would all be possible.
“That sounds like quite the idea, Mr. Fraser—ifyou manage to follow through,” Jo said, her tone icy enough to cut.
Locke dragged his gaze away from me, clearing his throat. “I’m fully committed to it. And I’d like the council to help me in spreading the word.”
“Will the council need to oversee the program?” Patrick asked.
Locke shook his head. “Not exactly. I’ll be overseeing the program personally. On site. But I will need to assemble the committee, and I was hoping there may be some interested town members.”
On site?My heart jumped up into my throat. Did that mean…no, don’t be ridiculous.
“Once the old MacRae house is refurbished,” he continued, “I’ll be staying there.”
“Does that mean you’ll be commuting back and forth between Edinburgh on a daily basis?” Cat called.
Locke shook his head. “I’ll be working remotely. There may be occasions where I have to go to the city for a meeting, but I don’t anticipate that happening more than once or twice a month. I don’t want to be away.” He locked eyes with me again. “Not when my family is here.”
There was a stilted round of applause. People might’ve liked what he was saying, but from the way they all kept sneaking glances at me, they didn’t quite know what to do about the fact Locke had broken my heart. Was this enough for me to forgive him?
Good question. I wished I knew the answer too.
As the meeting ended, all I could hear was my pulse crashing in my ears. Chairs scraped and laughter sounded. People retrieved their post-meeting brew and baked goods, lingering close enough to see how this would end. I blinked at the front of the room where Locke was still talking to Patrick, who had some more questions. I was frozen in my seat, trying to understand what had just happened. Even the lure of scones couldn’t move me—not when I felt so very rattled.
Locke finished his conversation, turned, and strode straight toward me.
“Hi,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his half smile a little sheepish.
“Hey,” I said, shaking off the emotion his smile stirred in me. I couldn’t afford to be anything other than level headed right now. “Did you really mean what you said about working remotely?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I went about it all wrong before, with the truck and buying out the registry. I was trying to show you how committed I am to taking care of you and our son. But morestuffwasn’t what you wanted from me—you wanted a partner. I realize now that my priorities were still misaligned. So this is me trying to fix that, trying to put what really matters first. I want this to be my home, Isla. I want the two ofyouto be my home.”
Hearing those words, I thought I might be sick. I bit down on my cheek, hiding my shock. But I wasn’t fully convinced yet. “What exactly does that mean?” I asked. “What is home?”
Locke’s face fell briefly. “I…It’s you and the baby. As long as I have that, I have all I need.” He took a step closer, arms reaching for me, his eyes glassy. “Can you forgive me?”
Just like that?I thought. I ran my hand over my face. I felt like I was in some sort of fever dream. My pulse thumped and my skin itched, and why was I sweating so damn much?
Why was there no air in this room? I whirled away from him in panic.
