Love on the Scottish Summer Coast, Ebook

‘So, what do you need me to do, Maw?’
Kirsty asked her mother.

Liz looked up from wiping down the coffee machine. ‘For starters, go to the shop for some milk. We’re running out soon and I didn’t get round to do it yesterday. You still remember where it is?’


Another passive-aggressive remark. Kirsty would have to live with that for the next three weeks, possibly forever.

‘Course I do. I’ll be only a minute.’ She frowned. Something else wasn’t right. ‘Where’s Da?’


‘Upstairs. Resting and doing the books. You can say hello later. Now go get the milk. Chop, chop!’


‘Aye, captain.’


She stepped out into the heart of Cairnhaven under a sky painted with the bold strokes of a glorious Scottish summer’s morning. The houses crouched shoulder to shoulder under the bright July sun. Rays winked off the windows, casting shadows across the cobbled streets. And somewhere, just out of sight, there was certainly a gull eyeing someone’s buttery with the cold, calculating gaze of a ruthless feathered pirate.


The small former fishing town of Cairnhaven in this corner of Aberdeenshire was a picture of idyllic charm. Or so the postcard-pretty houses would have you believe. Their slate roofs were a testament to gravity-defying optimism. An excessive number of chimneys punctuated the skyline like exclamation marks, surprised at their own continued existence amidst the onslaught of the sea.


This was the place Kirsty had grown up. The place that shaped her. A shape she’d spent the past fourteen years to twist herself out of.


She could still draw the outlines of the tiny harbour and the skyline of crooked houses with her eyes closed, and it would be roughly accurate. Its bones hadn’t changed in two centuries. Certainly not in the time she’d been away.


Then why did Cairnhaven feel so uncomfortable, like a shirt with an irritating tag?


Pushing through the automatic doors of the town’s only big supermarket, the neon tubes cast a sterile glow on the fresh produce. On her quest for the milk fridge, Kirsty grabbed a basket and moved into one of the aisles that rose like human-made canyons stocked with the spoils of far-off lands and nearby farms or factories. Everything was different, of course. The last time she’d been in here, she’d bought a large bottle of Irn-Bru and Jammie Dodgers for the train ride to London. New Year’s Day.


Her heart stopped as she caught sight of a vaguely familiar, unruly shock of dark, wavy hair at the end of the aisle. That thick skull…


It can’t be. Can it? No.


Every cell in her body refused to believe what couldn’t possibly be true.


But there, by the milk fridge, stood Connor Bannerman. 


In. The. Flesh.


Statistically speaking, an encounter like this might have been inevitable in a town as tiny as Cairnhaven. But that didn’t prevent the shock that wrapped around her like a sudden gale. She didn’t even know he still lived here, her parents hadn’t mentioned him. And Kirsty had never asked. She’d assumed he’d moved away. Most people did, eventually.


Each heartbeat boomed deep into her stomach as she watched him, her teenage love and the main reason for her abrupt and permanent departure from Cairnhaven, browse the shelves. Like nothing had ever happened.


Connor fucking Bannerman.


Still towering over anyone, still broad-shouldered, like a massive wardrobe. But he also looked different. More rugged, more serious, more…grown-up and manly. But unmistakably Connor. There was a familiarity in his features and stance, a memory tickling the corners of Kirsty’s mind. He wore a faded plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular, tanned forearms. And then he did the thing, softly tapping a rhythmic beat on his thigh. He’d always done it when he was concentrating or thinking.


Kirsty was a million times more prepared to become baby Gigi Amadeus’ devoted personal assistant for the rest of her life than to face the first man who’d ever broken her heart.


Well, that wasn’t quite accurate.


Broke it, shredded it, set it on fire, and then pissed on it.


She turned on her heel, intent on leaving the shop before he had any chance to notice her. Heart still a rowdy knot of nerves and memories, she navigated the aisle with the grace of a newborn deer on ice. Her body bumped sideways into a cardboard display of stacked bags of crisps. The display wobbled precariously, then gave way, sending a cascade of crisp packets down. The crash reverberated through the aisle, announcing her presence to everyone.


Smooth. Real smooth.


Connor spun around at the commotion, and their gazes locked. It knocked the wind out of her with the force of a wrecking ball. All those memories surged back into her mind.


How he’d secured her poem from the nasty hands of Maisie MacPhee, saving her further humiliation in their first week in secondary one. The first sip of cider on the steps of the war memorial. Their first kiss on the beach. Sneaking off to go night-swimming in the quarry… All the first times of everything important had been with him. He’d been her first boyfriend and first man and best friend.


Until he wasn’t.


As she tried to turn and run in panic, her foot slipped on a rogue packet and down she went, arms flailing. Blindly, she grabbed for support, any support – and latched onto Connor’s belt.


God have mercy.

He must have got closer while I zoned out.


She wanted to combust on the spot.


‘Kirsty? Is that you?’ His deep voice broke through the fog of remembrance as he looked down on her. His pupils dilated in disbelief, as if he thought she was an illusion or something.


‘Erm… No?’ 
It was then she realised that she was still holding on to his belt. She let go as if it were lava.
Connor narrowed his eyes.

‘Liar. Who else would tackle me in the snack aisle?’


She got up and squared her shoulders, mortification battling with anger and the desperate urge to disappear. ‘Sorry, no. You got me confused. I’m Isabel. Kirsty’s evil twin.’