Page 98 of Of Heather and Thistle
Her phone buzzed in her hand. Flynn.
She hesitated, staring at his name on her screen, before pressing accept.
“Campbell,” he greeted her, his voice as steady and familiar as ever.
Campbell. Not mo chridhe.
Not even Heather.
It was like he had drawn a line between them, and she had no one to blame but herself.
She ignored the sting of it.
“Mr. Duncan,” she said, keeping her tone even. “What’s the update?”
There was a beat of silence before he exhaled. “The newroof is nearly done. The new windows are in, and the stonework has been reinforced where needed. It should be all wrapped up next month.”
She nodded to herself, even though he couldn’t see her. “Good. That’s good.”
Another silence, heavier this time.
Finally, he spoke again, voice measured. “You’ve thought about what you’re doin’ next?”
Heather swallowed. “I have.”
“Yer selling it?”
Her grip on the phone tightened, fingers curling around the edge like it was the only thing tethering her to solid ground. The words were right there:
I don’t know yet.
But they felt too dangerous. Too real.
She glanced at the old trunk beside her, the faded initials carved into the lid. Her mother’s, maybe. Or someone before her. The past always left traces—whispering reminders of things she didn’t understand.
Flynn’s silence stretched on the other end of the line. Waiting.
Heather exhaled sharply, forcing steel into her spine. “Yes.”
Flynn was quiet for so long she thought the call had dropped. Then—finally, a quiet, resigned, “Aye. Figures.” His voice was quiet, but it scraped something raw inside her. She didn’t know what she expected—understanding? Disappointment? A fight?
Heather squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s the right choice.”
“For who?”
The words slammed into her like a punch, knocking the air from her lungs.For who?
Heather’s heart stuttered.
Her nails bit into her palm, but she barely felt it. The answer should have been easy. It was logical, practical, the right choice.
Then why did it feel like a lie?
Her throat worked, but she shoved it down, smothering the flicker of doubt before it could grow into something she couldn’t control.
“For Glenoran,” she said, forcing the words out before she could take them back. “It needs someone who wants to be here.”
A beat. Then another.
