Page 76 of The Clifftop Cottage

But of course, he’d been wrong.

The unease had been there from the start. And sure enough, she’d ended things before he ever had the guts to admit what wasn’t working.

And now? Didn’t he feel a different pull?

Sorcha was watching him now, her glass tilted near her lips. “Are you alright?”

He blinked. “Me? I’m good. I guess it’s just this time of year. Makes you take stock, doesn’t it? Think about things.”

“And?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “Of course things could always be better, but … I’m happy.”

“Are you, Gabriel?” she said gently. “Because I do worry about you sometimes.”

He tilted his head, a wry smile forming. “What for?”

“I’m your sister,” she said simply. “I’m allowed to worry. You don’t have a … wifey waiting at home. And I know you like to pretend that doesn’t bother you, but⁠—”

“Ah, here we go,” he groaned. “Don’t get all deep on me tonight. You’ve had too much whisky and you’re getting sentimental.”

“Maybe I am. But I still mean it. We’re your family. And I’ll always be here for you, you know that?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Jeez, Sorc. Honestly, I’m fine. Really. I love my job, I’ve got my home, Dad’s cottage, and the sheep too. I’ve friends …”

She did something with her eyes – subtle, but he caught it.

“Your friend,” she said, almost too casually. “The new friend in the cottage. How’s she doing?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I mean … I think she’s good.”

Sorcha let out an exaggerated laugh. “You think she’s good? Gabriel McTavish, you’re a devil. I’ve heard you’ve been seen up that hill plenty. Folk in town say you two are inseparable.”

“We’re not inseparable. And she has a name. Erica,” he muttered, more firmly than he'd meant.

“Oh Erica. Very fancy!” she teased, clearly enjoying herself.

He sighed. “Look, we’re just … enjoying each other’s company. She’s my tenant. I’ve been helping with bits around the cottage, it still needs work. And turns out, she’s trying to do something good for the area.”

“Oh aye? Like what?” Sorcha snorted. “Fix the disaster of a playground? You know the one where the slide’s older than you and half the swings are rusted to death? Meanwhile the golf courses are so pristine, looks like the king’s due any minute!”

Gabriel smirked. “You really need to mind those anger issues.”

She nudged him under the table. “So what’s this big town-saving mission, that this Erica is doing?”

“She’s researching the accused witches.”

Sorcha choked on her sip of whisky. “I’m sorry – what?”

“I’m being serious,” Gabriel said, sitting up straighter. “She’s digging into the history. The women who were accused, the stories no one talks about anymore.”

“Witches?” Sorcha blinked. “Like broomsticks and black cats?”

“No,” he said, wearily. “Like real women. The ones no one bothered to remember. It’s not some silly hobby, she’s trying to give them names again. Restore a bit of dignity.”

Sorcha eyed him, the teasing gone now, replaced by something quieter. “You really believe in what she’s doing.”

He stood, gathering his empty glass and hers. “I’m too knackered for all this,” he said, heading to the sink. “I need a shower and about ten hours of sleep.”