Page 268

“You’re a good man, Bertie.” I pull him into a gentle hug, his hand resting gently on my back.

“If I have any advice for you, Master McCraig,” Bertie says as I pull away, “it’s to not let the trinkets or anything keep you from what you truly desire in this world.” I nod, but my thoughts are elsewhere. Bertie’s gaze sharpens slightly. "You should pay particular attention to the stable cottage. Might want to go check on it right away."

I frown. "Why?"

He just smiles. "Trust me."

I make it outside with record speed. The quad bike roars to life, and I take off across the estate, the cold wind biting at my face. The moon hangs high overhead as I reach the stable cottage. The moment I pull up, I know something is different.

Candlelight glows softly from the windows. A faint melody drifts from inside, something familiar, something from the past. Then I see the path.

Lined with lanterns, interspersed with flowers, a careful arrangement of objects leads from the front of the cottage around the side to the kitchen entrance. A rugby ball signed by Jonny Wilkinson. A travel guide from our tour of Italy. A keychain, the same one I gave Kelly with the key to my flat, the day I asked him to move in with me. Photographs of us, frozen in time. And at the very end, a picture of Kelly on our wedding day, smiling at me as if I was the only thing in the world. My heart pounds as I follow the path, each object like a breadcrumb pulling me forward. I push open the door to the country kitchen. The room is bathed in candlelight. The table is set for two. And standing there, waiting, is Kelly. He looks at me, his expression open, unguarded.

"What’s going on?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.

ChapterSix

Kelly

Epilogue

The kitchen is warm, filled with the scent of butter and potatoes, of melted cheese crisping at the edges of a dish that has been made in this house for decades. Rumbledethumps. A meal of comfort, of love. A dish that had soothed old wounds and spoken apologies when words had failed.

I stand by the kitchen counter, smoothing the creases in the tablecloth as my fingers tremble slightly. The candlelight flickers, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The soft hum of music plays in the background, a melody from a life we once shared. And then, the door creaks open.

David steps inside, his silhouette framed against the night air, his eyes scanning the room. His gaze lands on the table, on the flowers, on me. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is steady when he finally speaks. “What’s going on?”

I take a deep breath, gripping the back of the chair for support. “Bertie, you are a lifesaver,” I whisper to no one. “I need to talk to you,” I say, my voice softer than I’d like. “Really talk to you. No misunderstandings. No running away.” David exhales, stepping further into the room. His gaze flickers toward the dish on the table, and something passes over his face. Recognition. A memory.

“I see you remember,” I say, attempting a small smile. “Rumbledethumps. Your grandfather told me once that this dish was like a cupid’s arrow straight to his heart. And now… it’s my turn to use it.”

David stays silent, waiting. He’s always been good at that, giving me space to say what I need to say. I pull out the letter from my pocket, the red wax seal broken, the words inside now permanently etched into my heart. “Your grandfather left me this,” I say, unfolding the paper. “And I think you should know what it says.” David’s throat bobs, but he nods. I take a steadying breath and read:

Kelly,

The greatest regret of my final months was not standing up to Carrick and Lucinda when I had the chance. I watched my grandson lose the love of his life because I was too old, too tired, too broken by grief to fight the way I should have. But I see now that love is worth fighting for, no matter how hard, no matter how complicated.

Rumbledethumps has been a part of this family for years, the one thing that has carried Moira and me through countless storms. It is the dish of reconciliation, of forgiveness, of love.

So here is my gift to you: the recipe, the same one Moira used, the same one that always brought me back home to her.

Use it well. I hope it brings you and David back to where you belong.

With love,

Liam McCraig.

Silence fills the room when I finish reading. The only sound is the soft crackling of the fire and the distant call of the wind outside.

David swallows hard, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the back of the chair in front of him. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. “He regretted it.”

I nod. “Yeah. He did.”

David closes his eyes for a moment, as if absorbing the weight of it. And when he opens them, I see something else there, something deeper, something raw.

“I love you,” I say before he can speak. The words pour out of me, unfiltered, unguarded. “I never stopped. Not for a second. I let other people decide what was best for you, and I didn’t trust you to decide for yourself. And that’s my biggest regret.”

David takes a slow step toward me, and then another. “Kelly…”