Page 32 of Of Heather and Thistle
Irene set her mug down, the ceramic clinking gently against the desk. “I’ll be sorry to lose you, dear. You’ve been a steady presence here.”
Steady.
She’d spent her whole life being steady. Predictable. Safe. …but not anymore.
Irene smiled then. It was the kind of smile that crinkled at the edges, soft and understanding. “The world’s been pulling at you, hasn’t it?”
Heather swallowed. “…maybe…?”
Irene nodded, like that answer was enough. She’d already known it before Heather did. “Well…” she said, tapping a finger against the desk, “…you’ll always have a place here when you find your way back.”
Heather’s throat tightened. “Thank you,” she murmured, “… for everything.”
Irene gave her a long, thoughtful look before nodding. “Go on, then. Take care of yourself.”
* * *
Heather barely made it two steps out of the office before Mark appeared in front of her with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression.
“So, you’re quitting.” It wasn’t a question.
Heather sighed, adjusting her bag. “I was going to tell you, I just—”
“—Relax,” he cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “I figured it out the second you started looking allwistfulnear the travel section.” His voice softened. “It’s okay, Heth.”
She blinked. “Wait. You’re… okay with this?”
Mark leaned against the counter, deceptively casual. “Would Ipreferthat you stay here forever and keep me entertained while Irene passive-aggressively critiques my shelving? Obviously.” He exhaled. “But if anyone deserves to take a leap, it’s you.”
Heather hesitated. “…I thought you’d be mad.”
Mark let out a dramatic sigh, then shrugged. “Maybe a little. Yeah, His expression softened. “but mostly? I’m proud of you.”
Something lodged in her throat.
Proud of her.
She’d spent years feeling like she wasn’t enough— like she was just Ivy’s shadow. Or just her father’s afterthought. Or just someone who floated through life, waiting for permission from other people. But now? Now, she was giving permission to herself.
Mark studied her face; his usual smirk had faded into something more thoughtful. “This trip— it’s your chance to figure out who you’re without all the noise. And honestly? I think you’re about to have your ‘heroine-discovering-herself-in-a-windswept-landscape’ moment.”
Heather’s eyes stung with the idea of leaving him behind, but she smiled.
He reached out and didn’t just squeeze her shoulder but instead wrapped her into a tight, solid hug that felt like a weighted blanket—strong and steady, knocking the tension right out of her.
Heather stiffened with surprise for a second, caught off guard, but then melted into it. She hadn’t realized how much she needed the hug—or how much she’d missed him after just one day away. When he finally pulled back, he gave her a mock-serious look. “Okay, just promise me one thing.”
She raised a brow. “What?”
His grin turned sly. “Send me a postcard. Or ten. Preferably something ridiculous—like a sheep in a tiny kilt.”
Heather laughed now, wiping at her eyes. “If they don’t sell one, I’ll make one myself.”
She was almost free to go, but then Mark’s voice pulled her back. “Hey… are you going to tell Ivy you’re leaving?”
The question hit like a punch to the gut.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag again, her pulse spiking with an immediate visceral response. She exhaled through her nose, dropping her gaze to the counter.
