Page 27 of The Clifftop Cottage

Sorcha waved a hand dismissively. “Oh yes, and didn’t she practically beg you for it? I remember she wrote you a letter, approached you with a bottle of whisky. This girl, though, she didn’t need to do much at all, did she? What happened? She just walked past you, and you decided she was gorgeous enough to live in the cottage?”

She giggled, taking a sip of wine as the pot on the stove bubbled.

Gabriel scowled. “What nonsense are you going on about?”

“Admit it, you’ve gone soft.”

“I have not gone soft.” He crossed his arms. “I saw her on the cliff edge. I thought she needed help, and …” He trailed off, realising he had risen to the bait like a complete idiot. Sorcha’s eyes gleamed – hook, line, and sinker.

“What do you mean you found her on the cliff edge?” She straightened, her teasing suddenly edged with concern. “You make it sound like … wait, Gabe. You don’t mean …?” She lowered her voice. “Did she try to jump?”

“No.” He hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” Sorcha’s wine glass hit the counter with a thud. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I got to her before anything happened.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sorcha shrieked, then caught herself, lowering her voice to a sharp whisper. “She was going to throw herself off a cliff, and now she’s living on a cliff? What are you thinking, Gabe?”

“It’s not like that.” He ran a hand over his face. “She’s fine. I think she was just looking at the view and got caught up in things. She almost fell … accidentally, okay?”

Sorcha stared at him, her expression unreadable. “Oh, Gabe.”

“It’s fine. Everything is fine. Don’t worry about it.”

She scoffed. “I always worry, and for good reason. You—” She gestured at him. “You don’t just worry, you try to save everything.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, hush.”

“It’s true! If it’s not rescuing kittens from Farmer Jo’s river, it’s putting up stressed-out damsels in your cliffside cottage.”

“I’m not a little boy.”

Sorcha smirked. “No, but you always will be to me, wee brother.”

Before Gabriel could fire back, little Callum wailed for attention. Sorcha unbuckled him from the highchair and cradled him with practised ease, shushing him softly.

Gabriel watched her for a moment, a familiar warmth settling in his chest. Since their mother had died when he was nineteen, Sorcha had made it her business to mother him whenever possible. He couldn’t fault her for it, it was in her nature. Just like, apparently, it was in his to try and fix things.

“I’m not another child of yours, Sorcha. I’m a man.”

“Oh ho, don’t I know it.” She laughed, pressing a kiss to Callum’s chubby cheek. “Especially when I hear you’ve signed up another pretty girl in the cottage.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but she wasn’t done.

“And I have enough of my own to worry about.” Her tone softened slightly as she looked back up at him. “All I’m saying – maybe not as delicately as I should – is be careful, brother. That’s all. Be careful.”

He didn’t respond straight away. He watched Sorcha sway gently with Callum in her arms, her voice soft, her eyes still on him in that way that always made him feel about twelve years old.

“I know,” he said at last, more to himself than to her.

He reached for his coat, suddenly restless. He loved his sister – always had – but there were some things he didn’t yet have words for, and he wasn’t ready for her to name them first.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added, already halfway out the door.

Sorcha smiled after him. “Try not to rescue anyone else tonight, yeah?”

Gabriel snorted, shaking his head as he stepped into the cold. Then he pulled the door shut behind him, the warmth and noise of the house muffled instantly, and stood for a moment in the quiet, wondering when things had stopped being straightforward.