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“They have rides and games, motorcycles—a beer garden,” Evie added quickly, like she was verbally polishing the rustic event into something exciting and enticing for Nick’s more sophisticated tastes. “Awesome food vans, too. Their waffles and candy floss are to die for.”

“Death by carbs and sugar? You know me well.” He nodded enthusiastically. “I’d love to go. Sounds great.”

“Great!” Evie gestured toward a modest two-story house at the end of the road, its grassy front enclosed by a thigh-high stone wall. “So, this is me.” All five of its front-facing windows stared back, quiet and dark.

Gravel crunched under their shoes as they walked up the driveway past a blue SUV. “This is nice,” said Nick politely, taking in the beige pebble-dash exterior and the welcoming pots of flowers flanking the front door. Most of the homes in Kirkwall were unremarkable design-wise, built more for warmth and functionality than a spread in Better Homes and Gardens.

“We moved here eight years ago,” said Evie. “It’s close to everything, which is awesome. Mum likes the garden. She puts a lot of love into it—not that you can tell. Sam must’ve forgotten to leave the front light on.”

“Your parents aren’t home?”

“No, they’re visiting my uncle in Norseman Village.”

“Don’t they mind you having guys over when they’re not here?” asked Nick.

“I don’t know.” Pushing the unlocked front door open, Evie smiled over her shoulder. “You’re the first.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, surrounded by an open box of marshmallow Snowballs, torn bags of locally baked biscuits, bottles of cola, and their discarded shoes, Nick and Evie lay on their backs, staring up at the stars from the polypropylene comfort of the Sutherlands’ trampoline.

“The sky’s so glittery here.” Nick tucked his arms behind his head. “I love astronomy, but I rarely see stars in London.”

“I come out most nights to decompress,” said Evie, finishing a Snowball, its coconut sprinkles speckling her top. “Sometimes I see the Merry Dancers, too.”

Nick had never been so lucky. The luminous greens and shimmery whites of the aurora borealis didn’t usually come out to play during summer when he was on the island. “So, it’s been busy, eh? Loads of tourists?”

“You mean cruise ship hell?” said Evie. “Everyone wants their genealogy researched, and for a place with few trees, there are a ton of the family variety here.”

A low growl erupted from Nick’s belly. Obviously, the cupcakes hadn’t done the trick. He eased onto his side and chose another biscuit over Evie’s coconut monstrosities, hoping a change in position would stifle further racket. “Rupert’s big into ours.” He bit the shortbread cookie. Buttery, crumbly, melt-in-your-mouth perfection, just how he liked them. “Our ancestors kept detailed records.”

“The lairds?” Licking sticky marshmallow off her fingers, Evie rolled sideways and shifted up on her elbow, facing him. “How’s it feel having your last name on everything here?”

“Ha! Says the girl who shares a name with the village down the way.” His gaze hopped along the string of clear lights stretching between her house and the garden shed, a twinkly smile in the crisp darkness.

“It’s hardly the same thing!” said Evie. “A village and parish don’t equal the cool factor of a castle in the family! Or a hospital.”

“I guess, but it’s not like I personally had anything to do with it. The Balfours of yesteryear were mavericks. Shame the current crop are such a bleedin’ disappointment.” He blinked at the shortbread in his hand, rustling up the courage to share something he hadn’t told anyone yet. “My parents are getting divorced.”

“Oh no.” Evie’s hand landed gently on his arm. “Oh Nick…”

“Nobody’s surprised. They’ve always bickered and fought.” He took in Evie’s pained expression, her non-judgmental concern a green light to keep going. “Mum even left us a few times.”

“Where’d she go?”

“Into the arms of sympathetic male friends,” said Nick.

Evie’s eyes seemed to grow twice their size.

“I’ve had loads of different ‘uncles’ over the years buying me toys and trainers, basically kissing ass to stay in her good books. When I was nine, one treated me to a ride on his helicopter.”

“Just you? Not your brothers?”

“Yeah.” Nick paused, knowing how much the next truth would unsettle Evie. “Mum plays favorites.”

Evie’s brows rose and disappeared behind her bangs. She opened her mouth and closed it twice.

“I’m not proud of it. I’ve definitely never encouraged it.” Nick’s throat tightened. “I love my brothers—” His voice cracked as he glanced down, hoping Evie didn’t notice the tears gathering in his eyes. Whoa. Where’s this emotion coming from? He swallowed thickly and tried again. “But I worry, you know? Has her favoritism made them hate me?”