Page 31 of Of Heather and Thistle
But on the other hand… Glenoran was completely different—it wasn’t about letting go of the past. She was about to step into something she didn’t quite understand yet, still learning how to step into her future.
Glenoran had been waiting forher.
Chapter 8
The bell above the door jingled softly as Heather stepped into Evergreen Books, but to her dismay, it didn’t feel comforting. The warm scent of paper should have soothed her, and the creak of the wooden floors should have felt familiar—but instead, her nerves buzzed louder than ever.
She spotted Irene Alcott, her boss and owner of the shop, near the front counter, flipping through a hardcover with practiced ease. Irene looked exactly as a bookstore owner should—soft cardigans, wire-rimmed glasses perched at the tip of her nose, and a collection of cat hairs that clung to every surface of her clothing, no matter how often she brushed them off. Her silvery hair was always twisted into a loose bun, a few wisps escaping like they had better places to be.
She had the presence of a person who had spent her whole life surrounded by stories—patient, unhurried, as if time worked differently in her little world. And she was kind, the sort of kind that wasn’t loud or overbearing, but gentle andsteady, like a cat curling up beside you just because it knows you need the company.
By the window, Mark stacked new arrivals, his easy posture at odds with the way his gaze snapped to her the second she walked in. Heather inhaled sharply, gripping the strap of her bag. No turning back now. She walked toward Irene, her footsteps almost silent.
Irene glanced up, adjusting her glasses with one finger as she spotted Heather. “Well, look at you, bright and early.” Her voice was warm, laced with that ever-present knowing sort of quality, like she already sensed something was coming.
Heather swallowed past the lump in her throat.
“Morning.”
She could feel Mark’s eyes on her, sharp and unreadable.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
Irene’s smile faded just a touch, curiosity flickering behind her expression.
“Of course, dear.”
She set her book down with careful deliberation, smoothing one hand over the worn cover before motioning toward the tiny office tucked behind the shelves. “Come on, then. Let’s have a chat.”
Heather followed, her pulse pounding. Inside, the office looked the same as always. Stacks of invoices, old catalogs, a chipped ceramic mug that was filled with mismatched pens, and at least one stray cat hair. Cozy. Familiar.
Safe.
And yet, it already felt like something she was leaving behind.
Irene lowered herself into her chair with a soft sigh, folding her hands over the desk. “Sit,darling.”
Heather shook her head, fidgeting with her bag strap.
Just say it, she thought.
“Irene, I… I need to give my notice.”
The words tumbled out before she could overthink them.
Irene blinked, then tilted her head, her sharp eyes scanning Heather’s face with quiet questioning: “…your notice?”
Heather nodded quickly. “It’s just… something came up. Family stuff. I need to go to Scotland for a while, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
Irene hummed as she reached for her mug and took a slow sip, like she was weighing her words. “Scotland?” she said softly, then paused before continuing. “…that’s quite the journey.”
Heather hesitated. “It’s complicated.”
And that was the truth! Life really was complicated right now. She told herself she wasn’t running away—just leaving everything behind. But wasn’t that the same thing?
Irene studied her for a long moment, then let out a thoughtful sigh. “You’ve had that far-off look about you for a while now, you know.”
Heather’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
