Page 36

Jenn’s pulse thumped. Not because of Javi. Because Ruairidh had looked away then—slow, deliberate—and somehow that stung more. Javi had perfect timing. In the worst way. Every time he turned up, Ruairidh seemed to vanish a little further behind those shuttered eyes.

“So…” Jenn said, preparing the cake slices and edging a little out of Javi’s space. “How was the race?”

“Good,” Ruairidh said, voice low but composed. It was that look again—like he was trying to read her without asking the question out loud. “I decided to head off on my own to get away from those two bickering.” He nodded toward Lizzie and Ally, who were now deep in animated cake-fuelled debate, with David looking vaguely put out beside them.

“Ally kept trying to pace her,” he added with a faint smile. “Didn’t go down well. Think she wanted to prove she didn’t need him.”

Jenn huffed a laugh. “Yeah, Lizzie hates being told what to do.”

“You all do,” he said quietly, still looking at her. “Women like you don’t need pacing. Just space to run your own race.”

Her fingers fumbled slightly with the cake knife. Something about the way he said it—like he knew her—made her chest ache in the strangest way. As if he’d touched a place she didn’t realise was exposed. She managed to successfully put the cake slice on the plate without spilling it everywhere and handed it to him.

Ruairidh reached for the cake plate, his fingers brushing hers. A spark, quick and unwelcome, zipped up her arm.

“Thanks,” he said—and there it was. And just for a second, the mask slipped. That boyish glint again—the same one he’d worn by the door at the Fisherman’s Dance. “For risking your fingers for my cake.”

Then, softer: “You alright? You look a little… cake-stressed.”

Jenn let out a laugh, too loud. “That obvious?”

“A bit.” His gaze was level, but there was a warmth to it now. “You’ve been run off your feet all summer.”

She shrugged, suddenly awkward, and fussed with a napkin as if her hands needed a job. “It’s not so bad. Keeps me out of trouble.”

“Doubt that,” he said, voice low and amused. His eyes slid to Javi, who was grinning at some drama across the room, and then back to her.

“Thanks again,” he said, low and warm. He turned to leave—but not before casting one last glance between her and Javi, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d almost said something and thought better of it. Instead, he exhaled softly—and walked away.

Jenn swallowed. “Anytime.”

He was warm one moment, remote the next. Like he couldn’t quite decide whether to pull her in or push her away. Maybe it was the Javi thing. Maybe it was nothing. But something about the way he glanced back made it feel like unfinished business.

Javi leaned closer to her ear. “Is that the Lord one?” He looked towards Ally who was now walking over to join Ruairidh.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Clan Chief-in-waiting.”

“He looks at Lizzie like he wants to rewrite her history.”

Jenn choked on her own throat, a hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God, Javi.”

“What?” he said, grinning. “I have eyes.”

He kissed her cheek then, apparently unaware of the ripple his timing caused.

Jenn looked up and met Ruairidh’s eyes across the room. He was watching her. Not staring, exactly—but aware. Quiet. That guarded expression that felt far too controlled for comfort.

Javi took a long drink and slung an arm around her shoulders, not possessive but casual. Ruairidh’s gaze flicked to the gesture, then away again as he turned back to talk to Ally. Well, Jenn definitely needed some wine.

Ruairidh laughed at something Ally said, the sound low and rare—that quiet, private laugh she suddenly wanted to be the reason for. Something twisted unexpectedly in her chest. God help her.

Chapter 20

The café was ticking along in its usual low-key pre-flight rhythm—tourists nursing second coffees, a toddler melting down over pancakes, locals waiting for bacon rolls. Jenn moved behind the counter, sliding fresh slices of traybake into the displays while keeping half an eye on the time. The next flight was still on track, two planes already parked up on the sand outside, their noses pointed toward the sea like they might paddle away.

She glanced toward the far end of the café. Enrique, Ruairidh, and two other pilots were seated by the window, finishing their cakes and tea. Ruairidh’s jacket was draped over the chair, shirt sleeves rolled up as he tapped something into his phone. He looked… relaxed. Maybe even content. Jenn promptly turned back to the counter.

“Hola…” came a familiar drawl from the side.