Page 39 of The Scottish Island Inn

‘Are you serious?’ She could feel herself blushing. Damn these ridiculous cheeks, she thought. ‘Dom. You’re just being dramatic.’

‘I am not. I saw what I saw,’ Dom replied, primly.

‘Okay, well, I reserve the right to think you’re being overly romantic about it.’ Sorrel chuckled. Dom was dramatic; you often had to take what he said with a pinch of salt. Had there been chemistry between her and Tam at the dinner? Yes, there had. But the physical connection had always been there between them. She wasn’t overly surprised that hadn’t disappeared. Love and a relationship were something else again.

That was much more trouble, and much more complicated. Sorrel didn’t want to go there. Not now.

‘Okay, okay. Tell me about this jewelled dagger, then, missus. And then, boat décor.’ He tapped the magazines in front of him. ‘I’m thinking, lots of white; trailing plants; minimalist cosy. Maybe some rattan.’

‘Okay. Sounds good,’ Sorrel said, looking around her. ‘I mean, Margaret is a retro palace, but…’

‘Oh, I know. She needs a total facelift. I am fully on board, as it were.’ Dom chuckled.

TWENTY

There was a line outside Muriel’s Coffee when Sorrel got there.

She hadn’t come because she’d suggested to Tam that he buy her a cup of coffee sometime – definitely not as a date. The fact that she might bump into Tam Blackwood was a pleasant diversion, but also a confusing one. She couldn’t help but admit that there was still chemistry there. There probably always would be. But as she’d said to Dom the day before, everything was complicated.

Sorrel had woken up to a barrage of texts and missed calls from Simon that, as well as the startling new information about her biological father, made her feel sick with anxiety. She’d had a day to start to process the news, but it was nowhere near enough. Talking to Dom had helped, but there was so much to sort out in her mind.

I don’t want to hear from Simon. I want to hear from Bluebell, she thought, as she joined the queue. Her sister still hadn’t replied to the email Sorrel had sent, the last time she was standing in line at Muriel’s.

Part of me wants to forget that I even know anything about my real father. I’d rather not know.

That wasn’t strictly true, but it was such big news that Sorrel didn’t know how to deal with it. What was she supposed to do with this information? What would she even say to him? Just turn up and say, I’m your daughter, hi? Can I have thirty-odd years’ worth of pocket money?

Hardly.

Despite everything that was on her mind, it was a lovely day, and the walk through the castle grounds, past the burn and onto the moorland was stunning. She would never get tired of the land here. Its wild roughness and tussocky ground, combined with its fairy-enchanted, crystal-clear waterfalls, were a part of her soul.

It was easier to think when she was walking, especially in the quiet of the landscape.

She thought about Tam. She thought about the way she had instinctively rested her forehead on his chest when she’d run into him in the Inn’s garden the other day. Tam had always felt like home. Tam was peace and safety.

Or, he had been, once.

Did she think of Simon as home? Was he the place she went to get comfort, perspective, healing and love? Would she be able to forgive what he’d done, or would it always be there, lurking in the shadows?

‘Sorrel Balhennie. I can’t believe it,’ a voice behind her made her jump. She turned around to see a bright-faced young woman with her auburn hair in braids standing behind her, grinning. She wore dark blue corduroy dungarees over a white vest and a mustard yellow cardigan over the top.

‘Briony!’ Sorrel cried out in surprise. ‘My goodness! How are you?’

‘I’m well, I’m well.’ The young woman stepped back, looking Sorrel over from head to toe. ‘You have not changed! I heard you were back. I was going to come up to the Inn and say hello.’

Briony Mathers had grown up with Sorrel and her sisters. When they were younger, they’d played hopscotch on the Inn’s long drive, collected wildflowers for the tables in the Inn’s restaurant, swum in the burn in the summer.

‘Saved you the trip,’ Sorrel grinned, despite her serious thoughts.

‘I can’t believe you’ve been gone ten years. Not a word.’

‘I know. It’s… complicated.’ She didn’t want to launch into why it was complicated in the queue at Muriel’s. But Briony had been a good friend.

‘How come you’re back? Just visiting?’

The queue was moving forward slowly; Sorrel was aware that everyone was probably listening to their conversation. She hadn’t missed that. In London, you could be anonymous. On Skye, everyone knew your business.

‘Kind of. Helping out with the Inn.’