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“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered, flinching through the stingy attack of burgeoning blisters as the cold, prickly rain pecked his face. You won’t find AirPods here.
Slowing to a walk, Nick glanced back the way he’d come, spotting his sacrificed umbrella poking out from a garbage bin. He had a choice: sprint back to the car and create an even greater bloodbath inside his socks or find somewhere dry and hospitable to wait out the worst of the downpour. It had to be somewhere he could loiter without being conspicuous or hassled to buy something, which ruled out the women’s clothing store, the appliance place, and the community center on the stretch of Broad Street ahead.
St. Magnus Cathedral, a port in many a storm for generations, towered to his left, but the hearse and line of cars hugging its curb eliminated it as an option.
That leaves Marwick’s. Unease bubbled in his hungry belly as he approached the reopened shop, the repaired façade painted its usual dark green. If you’re lucky, Evie and her mum won’t be in. Sweeping his drenched hair from his forehead, Nick pulled open the door and locked eyes with Fiona.
“Nick?” She handed a Twatt pillow to a happy customer, her gaze flying over her shoulder toward the heart of the shop. “Uh”—licking her lips, she turned back—“Evie’s working the kitchen. I’m not sure if—”
“Fi, it’s fine. I’m only here for a quick brew and a place to wait out the rain.”
“Gotcha.” Fiona pointed at the single row of tables along the left wall behind the sales desk. All five were occupied spare one. “Grab a pew and I’ll send Jamie over to take your order.”
“Thanks.” Leaving his sister-in-law, Nick meandered around the merchandise tables, recognizing Evie’s handwriting on every price tag and sign. He passed two wagging golden retrievers keeping their soup-slurping owners company and claimed the last and only seat available, a traditional Orkney chair handmade from coiled oat straw and driftwood. A design dating back hundreds of years, the chair’s short legs and floppy cushion played second fiddle to its high back and rounded hood, which jutted out over Nick’s head as he sat down. Before the days of central heating, the hood would’ve protected the chair’s occupant from chilly drafts. For Nick, however, the chair offered an unexpected perk. With its tall back facing the kitchen, he could sit with Evie being none the wiser.
Jamie loped around the edge of the big chair. Cap pulled low, he looked up from his pad of notepaper, his eyes widening. “Oh. It’s you.”
“It’s me.”
“Erm”—he spun sideways, staring off into space—“I don’t think we have raisins in our stuff, but I can check—”
“No!” Nick leaned forward. “I’ll have a café latte, please.”
“Nothing else?” If that was Jamie’s upselling technique, it needed plenty of work.
Nick’s stomach answered for him with a low and lengthy how-could-you-skip-breakfast snarl. He tugged the laminated menu free from beneath a pair of salt and pepper shakers and eyeballed the list of offerings. “Ham and cheese on brown?”
“Comes with salad.” Jamie scratched the order on his pad and turned on his heel without further word.
Smoothing his wet hair, Nick craned his neck, checking out the store. The damage from the week before had been all but erased, the only tell-tale sign being a fresh lick of paint. Everything else was exactly as he remembered from the last time he’d been here with Evie thirteen years ago.
It’s mad to think I’ve only seen Evie twice since we split.
Poppy’s baptism and Fiona and Rupert’s marriage ceremony—two occasions peppered with unshakeable regret and guilt, the wedding especially. Fiona had been four months pregnant with Ava and was a vision in white silk and lace walking up the aisle with her proud father and Sunita and Evie in tow. So absorbed in her shared maid-of-honor duties, Evie hadn’t noticed Nick in the second pew with his girlfriend of two months, Olympia ‘Pia’ Castellanos, a glamorous art gallery owner he’d met in Berlin. He had debated whether to bring her along, but when Tarquin informed him that Evie had started seeing someone, he booked two last-minute plane tickets instead of one and flew north hoping they would clear the air and be friends again.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Evie was single, dating no one, and apparently hoping for an honest conversation and a possible reconciliation. Upon spotting Pia clutching his hand outside the cathedral, she dissolved into tears and vanished with Sam. Nick didn’t see either of them for the rest of the day.
Glancing around her family’s café, his once raging appetite curdled with remorse. “This was a mistake,” he murmured, pushing the chair back and rising to his feet.
“One ham and cheese on br—” Peering up from the plate, Evie met his eyes. “Oh?! You’re leaving?” Her voice dropped along with her expression.
The slightly parted rosebud lips, the contemplative brown eyes, the gentle curves teasing beneath her off-the-shoulder gray sweater and black drawstring pants—Nick still fancied Evie like it was yesterday. Even the matronly apron, ugly hairnet, and her long-held (and fully justified) hostility couldn’t stifle his longing. Winding back the clock will be impossible, though. He rubbed his chin, his two-day stubble coarse like sandpaper against his fingers. What I did was stupid and unforgivable. I don’t deserve her.
Evie lifted the sandwich. “Gimme a sec. I’ll wrap this for you.”
But Nick couldn’t leave now, not when she seemed disheartened for some reason. “No, it’s fine. I was just getting comfortable.” He sat down again. “Wet jeans…”
Her gaze flitted down his jacket, the leather still sporting flecks of rain. “Ugh, the worst.” She set down his plate, her demeanor softening. “This is on the house, a thank you for being so understanding about the raisin mishap.”
But she already thanked me two days ago. Nick grinned. “Cheers, Evie. That’s really sweet of you.”
“Enjoy.” Dipping her chin, Evie walked away, but Nick had more to say.
“Wait…”
She peeled back. “Oh right! Your café latte—”
