Page 111 of Of Heather and Thistle
A reflection, never quite good enough.
And yet—Flynn wasn’t looking at a ghost of the past. He wasn’t comparing. He was looking ather.And he saw something worth wanting. Heat crept up her neck, but for once, she didn’t shrink away from it. She didn’t fold into herself or try to disappear. Neither did he. They undressed in silence—slow, unhurried. Letting the moment stretch. Letting the tension build. It was like stepping into something inevitable when Heather stepped under the water. The warmth cascaded over her skin, washing away the paint, the exhaustion, the weight of everything. And then Flynn stepped in behind her. His hands found her waist first—a simple touch, grounding, steady. His thumbs brushed her damp skin, trailing slow circles along her hips. Heather inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed closer, his body warm, solid, inescapable.
His lips brushed her shoulder, then traced a path to the hollow beneath her ear. She shivered, not from the water, but from him.
“Still with me?” Flynn murmured, his voice like smoke, his breath warm against her neck. Heather’s fingers curled over his hands, gripping him as if he were the only thing keeping her standing. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m with you.”
That was all it took.
Flynn turned her in his arms, capturing her mouth in a kiss that stole the air from her lungs. It was slow at first—a quiet unraveling, a deep pull, the kind of kiss that felt like aquestion and an answer all at once. Heather melted into him and let herself want. The water rushed over them, their skin slick and warm, and nothing else mattered. Not Glenoran. Not the past. Not the fear.
Only this.
Only him.
Only them.
* * *
Heather stirred beneath the sheets, her body warm, aching in the best way. She kept her eyes closed, just feeling —the softness of the linen, the steady rise and fall of breath beside her.
Flynn.
The realization hit her all at once. Last night hadn’t been some fleeting moment, some impulse driven by exhaustion or proximity. She had chosen this. Chosenhim.And now, morning had come. She turned her head slightly, her heart thudding in her chest. Flynn was still asleep, his face relaxed, his dark lashes stark against his tanned skin. He looked different this way—softer, peaceful.
She wanted to trace the faint scruff along his jaw. To memorize his shape. She’d never experienced a morning like this—the raw intimacy of it all. Instead, she swallowed hard and exhaled. She had spent so much of her life running—from places, people, andherself.But this morning, for thefirst time in a long time… She didn’t want to run.
She wanted to stay.
Heather shifted carefully, rolling onto her side, closing the distance between them. As if sensing her movement, Flynn stirred, his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her against him instinctively, even in sleep. A small smile tugged at Heather’s lips. Maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where she was meant to be.
Heather lay still, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of Flynn’s breathing. The weight of his arm draped over her waist, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, solid and grounding —it sent a quiet thrill through her. She wasn’t used to this—the comfort of waking up next to someone, the intimacy of shared warmth beneath the covers. It felt foreign and familiar all at once.
Flynn shifted slightly, his nose brushing against her shoulder as he exhaled a sleepy sigh. His grip around her tightened, like even in sleep, he wasn’t ready to let her go. She bit her lip, torn between letting him rest and the overwhelming urge to see his eyes—those deep, piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see straight through her. Before she could decide, Flynn murmured something under his breath, his voice rough with sleep. Then, his lips grazed her bare shoulder in a lazy, absentminded kiss.
Heather stilled, warmth blooming in her chest. His small, unconscious action sent a gentle ache through her—not heavy, not overwhelming, just something quiet and steady, settling deep in her bones. Flynn hummed softly, then blinked awake, his arm flexing around her. She felt it the moment he registered where he was, the slow awareness seeping into him as his fingers traced over the curve of herhip. His lips brushed against her skin again, deliberate this time.
“Morning, mo chridhe,” He murmured against her shoulder, his voice thick with sleep. Heather swallowed, her heart fluttering at the sound—the warmth of it, laced with something steady and sure. Something that made her feel safe, even as it left her breathless. She turned her head, meeting his gaze. His blue eyes were soft, still heavy with sleep, but there was something else there, too. Something that made her chest feel tight.
Flynn studied her, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, slowly, a lazy, knowing smirk curved his lips. “Didn’t bolt,” he mused, voice teasing but gentle.
Heather rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest spread. “Shut up.”
Flynn chuckled, his fingers brushing up her spine, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m serious,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “I half expected to wake up alone.” Heather hesitated, her throat tightening. “I thought about it,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Flynn’s smirk faltered, replaced by something softer. “And what made you stay?” Heather swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against his chest. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just… I didn’t want to leave.” Flynn searched her face, something unreadable flickering through his eyes. Then, instead of pushing for more, he exhaled, his forehead resting against hers. “Good,” he murmured.
Heather closed her eyes for a moment, letting the quiet settle between them, allowing herself just to be here, in this moment. She didn’t know what came next. Didn’t know what this meant or where they were heading. But for now,she knew one thing.
She wasn’t running.
Not this time.
Heather stretched beneath the covers, the warmth of Flynn’s body lingering against her skin. She felt light, almost weightless, starkly contrasting the heavy uncertainty she had carried for weeks. The quiet hum of the morning filled the room—the distant rustle of trees outside, the faint creaks of Glenoran settling, and the rhythmic sound of Flynn’s breathing beside her.
Just as she was about to close her eyes again, a familiar, indignant chirp broke the peace. Heather peeked over the edge of the covers just in time to see Byrdie perched on the nightstand, tail flicking impatiently, her green eyes fixed on Flynn with pure feline disapproval.
Heather smirked. “Uh oh. You’ve been caught.” Flynn cracked one eye open, his brows furrowing as he slowly registered the cat staring him down. He let out a low groan. “Bloody hell.”
