Page 9 of Of Heather and Thistle
“Sorry, Byrdie,” Heather muttered. “What am I supposed to do?”
Byrdie answered with a questioning meow, but Heather barely heard her. She exhaled, glancing at the photograph again until her gaze drifted to the glass of a photo of her and Ivy on the wall. Her own reflection stared back at her, and for a fleeting moment, she saw her mother instead.
She had spent so much of her life hating her features because of how her father resented them, but now, looking at the photo, she felt connection—to her mother, her roots, and the life her mother had dreamed of leaving her. This felt like an anchor. This felt like a chance for her mother to tell her where she came from and who she was meant to be.
The weight of it all pressed against her chest. Needing space, she wandered into her bedroom and sank onto the edge of the bed, still clutching the photograph of Glenoran House. Her fingers traced the edge of the image again. She felt a brave flicker of excitement.
She’d scrimped and saved for so long, budgeting every paycheck to keep her modest apartment and afford little luxuries like coffee with Ivy. And now, a Scottish estate, an inherited fortune, another world—just waiting for her across the Atlantic.
Heather had just been given a gift. A legacy. She needed to embrace the past.
For her mother.
For herself.
Chapter 4
The following day, Heather sat at her usual table in the corner of the coffee shop, staring at the photograph of Glenoran House on the table.
Ivy sat across from her, stirring sugar into her latte with exaggerated focus, even for her.
“You’re serious,” Ivy said finally, glancing up, her perfectly arched brow lifting in disbelief. “This is real? An estate in Scotland? A trust fund? You’re not messing with me?”
Heather smiled faintly, a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling under the surface. “It’s real,” she said, sliding the photograph across the table toward her. “This is the house. It belonged to my mom’s family. Apparently, it’s been waiting for me all this time.”
Ivy picked up the photo and studied it, her lips parting in awe. “Oh my God,” she said dramatically. “This is… Heather, this is like something out of a movie. Look at this place! It’s a freaking castle!”
“It’s not a castle,” Heather said, though she couldn’t help butfeel a flicker of pride at Ivy’s reaction. “It’s a historic estate. And it’s falling apart, probably. Who knows what kind of shape it’s in after all these years.”
“Who cares?” Ivy shot back, her dark eyes sparkling as she returned the photo. “It’s gorgeous. And it’s yours. Do you even realize what this means? You’re, like, secretly royalty or something.”
Heather laughed, shaking her head. “Hardly. I’m still me—just… me, with a house in another country that I didn’t know existed.”
Ivy leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand and giving Heather an appraising look. “So, what are you going to do? You’re not seriously just going to sit on this, are you?”
Heather hesitated, the weight of the question settling over her. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, I want to go. I need to see it and figure out what’s there. But… it feels huge, you know? Like, I’m not the kind of person who picks up and flies across the world to claim some mysterious family estate.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Heather, you’ve spent your whole life thinking you’re not the kind of person who does big, exciting things. Maybe it’s time to prove yourself wrong. Or at least—” she smirked, “—prove to me that you’re not the one standing in your own way.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is simple,” Ivy said, tilting her head. “Unless you make it complicated. Like you always do.”
She sighed, then continued as she picked up the photo and showed it to Heather.
“Don’t you think this is what your mom would’ve wanted?”
Heather swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to thephotograph.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think she would.”
She gently took the photograph from Ivy’s hands, her fingers curled around it like it might slip right through them. An entire estate was hers? It should have felt thrilling, but a quiet panic lodged in her ribs. She had a steady job at the bookstore and a best friend who felt like family. She’d spent so much of her life craving stability—was she really about to upend everything?
* * *
An hour later, Heather walked into Evergreen Books, the cozy bookstore where she worked. The bell above the door jingled softly as she stepped inside, and the familiar scent of old paper and rich wood greeted her. Her work routine offered comfort, a reprieve from the chaos in her mind.
She grabbed the books by their spines and reached to shelve them as her coworker, Mark, carried them to her from a new box behind the counter. The titles in the stack sparked a slight sense of stability—Wuthering Heights, The Catcher in the Rye, A Tale of Two Cities—familiar, reliable stories.
