Page 74 of The Highland Fling

The other thing that’s eating me up is whether Viola might have been right when she said “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”. Another equally damning phrase is “like father, like son”. I understand it’d be stupid to pay too much attention to such sayings, but then again, don’t they exist because there’s some truth in them?

Da really hurt Maw, and if there’s a chance I’d ever do that to Grace, it’d be better to let her go now. But would I do that? Da’s sneaking around, the double life . . . that’s not my style at all. Aye, until Grace, I’d never committed myself to a woman, but I’d also never messed one around or pulled the wool over her eyes.

Betraying Grace is something I just can’t imagine doing. My instinct is to protect her from harm, and more than anything, I want her to be happy.

Shit, what to do?

I’m so wrapped up in my head it’s a while before I realise I’m close to the house I was considering buying and which I disastrously showed to Grace. From here, it’s off the path and through the trees. I didn’t set off with a particular goal in mind, but since it’s so near, I decide to take one last look.

I reach the edge of the clearing, approaching the property at an angle that grants me a view of the back, side, and some of the driveway. The house stands as lonely and isolated as ever—wait, no, scrap that. Why is there a motorcycle parked out front?

I round the house. When I brought Grace here, we left my car at the main road, but someone has cleared a narrow path along the drive, just wide enough for a motorcycle. I only have to study the bike for a moment to recognise it. What the hell?

I rap on the front door. Footsteps sound, then the door swings open. Robbie MacDonald—older brother of Johnny—stands on the other side. I’m a tall guy, and it’s not often I find myself looking up at someone, but Robbie has a few inches even on me. He has dark hair, almost black, with icy-blue eyes and a piercing in his left brow. Clad in his signature leather jacket, he takes me in then smirks.

“Well, if it isn’t Aidan Stewart. I heard you’re going to be a da. Rather you than me, mate.”

His tone is antagonistic, as always, but I don’t rise to the bait. Robbie’s father is the general manager of the Glen Garve Resort, and since Ally and I started working with them, we’ve run into Robbie here and there. I’ve learnt to keep it civil despite his best efforts to push my buttons. Even Ally’s been doing an okay job of checking his temper, and it’s him and Robbie who were really at each other’s throats when we were lads.

In a level voice, I say, “Aye, well, I’m excited about meeting my wee lass.”

Robbie shakes his head. “Don’t give me that! Everyone knows you like to sleep around. You’re not cut out for settling down.”

His words sting because he’s hit on the exact issue I’ve been mulling over myself, with my worries I may be more similar to my da than I care to admit. Robbie is managing to get a rise out of me, but I take a breath and stay calm.

“People change.”

“Pfft.” He crosses his arms, unconvinced.

There’s no point arguing the matter, so I say, “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“I’m planning to buy this place.”

Well, that’s a kick in the teeth. I try my best to keep my expression neutral.

“I’m just taking one last walk around to decide what I should offer. Why are you here?” His cold eyes narrow. “Wait, you’re not interested in this house too, are you?”

On Boxing Day, Finlay said there’d been some recent interest from another party. I’d never have guessed it was Robbie. Finlay probably lent him the keys for an hour or so, just like he did for me.

Given I had more than my fair share of scraps with Robbie when we were boys and teenagers, I should really be annoyed he intends to buy the property I’d dreamed about living in. But, strangely, as the idea sinks in, I realise I’m okay with it.

Grace is right: this isn’t where we should raise our baby. When I was young, my best mate lived just across the road from me. So long as I didn’t have to wait for traffic to pass, I could run from my bedroom to Ally’s in nineteen seconds flat—I timed it. Whether our lass grows up in London or here, I’d like her to have friends nearby, as I did.

“Nah,” I say, “I was passing and saw your bike and wondered what you were up to. It’s a nice property—I hope you’re happy in it. Oh, and Robbie? Happy New Year!”

With a smile, I hold out my hand. Robbie glances down at it in surprise. As lads, after a playground scuffle, our teachers would force us to shake and make up. This is different—I’m suggesting we do it voluntarily.

He hesitates for a moment then grasps my hand. “Cheers, and the same to you.”

With a nod, I turn and set off. That felt . . . good. It was an opportunity to let go, not only of the house but also of old grievances. I’ll soon be a father, and I don’t want to bring negativity into my lass’s life. It’s time to put the past behind me and focus on the future.

On that note, there’s another person I owe a Happy New Year to.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

AIDAN

I approach the door of my da’s semidetached house in Inverness then pause. Is this a mistake? There’s still time to back out, but no, I’ve driven all this way.