Page 39 of Of Heather and Thistle
Heather took one last look at the small apartment building she’d called home for years. It wasn’t perfect; it never hadbeen. But it had been hers. She inhaled deeply and then swallowed the lump in her throat as she and Byrdie slid into the backseat. As the taxi pulled away, she watched the familiar streets blur past, disappearing into the dark.
* * *
The airport was already alive with movement despite the early hour. Heather felt like she was moving on autopilot, as if her body was going through the motions even as her mind swam with the thought of everything she was leaving behind—check-in, security, navigating through the crowds. But a wave of quiet luxury washed over her when she stepped into the first-class lounge—soothing but unfamiliar.
She’d never flown like this before.
Everything about it felt like it belonged to someone else: someone polished; someone who knew exactly where they were going. And yet… Heather was here. She settled into a chair, with a glass of water in hand and her suitcase tucked beside her.
Her jeans and sweater suddenly felt all wrong—like they still belonged to the girl she was leaving behind. Digging through her suitcase, her fingers brushed over the white linen two-piece set she’d bought days earlier.
The fabric was soft and weightless in her hands: a clean slate. She stepped into the lounge’s private restroom to change, and then she barely recognized herself. The linen fabric skirted her edges and softened her silhouette while the top draped over her in a way that felt effortless and unburdened.
Heather stared at her reflection, adjusting the necklineand smoothing her hands over her hips. She looked…New. Like someone lighter, freer. Like someone who wasn’t just carrying ghosts on her back. he saw the version of herself she wanted to be—the girl who had waited, not the girl who had settled. Not the girl who had swallowed her hurt for the sake of peace.
Someoneelse.
Someone…more.
“It’s just you and me now,” she murmured, pressing her palm gently against the mesh front of the carrier. Byrdie sniffed at her fingers, then rubbed her cheek against them, her soft purr vibrating through the fabric.
Heather exhaled, a little of the tension in her chest easing. “We’re going to be okay, right?”
Byrdie purred again, and something tight in Heather’s chest loosened. Maybe the healing sound of Byrdie’s contentment was all the reassurance she needed. By the time the boarding call echoed through the terminal, Heather’s nerves had settled into a quiet acceptance.
She adjusted Byrdie’s carrier, stepping onto the jet bridge. Her seat on the plane was spacious and semi-private which was a comfort she’d never known before.
She placed Byrdie’s carrier under the seat, settled in, and ran her fingers over the plush leather armrest. Not long after she boarded, a flight attendant offered her champagne. She hesitated with the weight of the past twenty-four hours pressing down on her. But then she gave a smile of gratitude to the flight attendant as she accepted the fluted glass.
Her gaze drifted to the window and the sleepy city lights blurring beneath the clouds… but then the doubt slithered in again:
…What if I hate it there?…
…What if I don’t belong?…
…What if I come back even more lost than before?…
She lifted the champagne glass to her lips again, her decision solidifying for her as the plane left the ground.
She wasn’t turning back.
Not this time.
Chapter 11
The flight touched down smoothly, with its wheels kissing the tarmac as the early morning light spilled over the hills surrounding Edinburgh Airport. Heather gaped out the window, her breath catching as the soft gray sky gave way to glimpses of green fields, snow-capped mountains, and distant stone buildings.Scotland!She was here.
As Heather followed the signs toward baggage claim, she took a steadying breath to settle the nervousness and anticipation in her chest.
The baggage terminal was clean and modern, yet undeniably Scottish. AVisit Scotlandposter showcased the Highlands, a whisky advert boasted the ‘true taste of Scotland’, and cheerful signs welcomed travelers with a friendly “Fáilte gu Alba.”
Welcome to Scotland, indeed.
The crisp air from outside the sliding doors sent a shiver down her spine as she exited the arrivals hall, holding ontoByrdie’s carrier over her shoulder and clutching her suitcase handle with her other hand. As she scanned the crowd for the driver with whom her solicitor had made arrangements, she noticed him near the exit, wearing a black coat andholding a sign that read:Miss H. Campbell.
Heather squared her shoulders against the chill and walked toward him, the reality of her new life beginning to take shape with every step.
The man holding the sign gave her a polite smile as she approached. He was tall, but unimposing and built with the quiet sturdiness of a man accustomed to long hours on the road. His salt-and-pepper hair peeked out from under his tartan flat cap, the brim tilted just enough to shade his sharp hazel eyes.
