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“It’s just a story,” Rhona says with a cluck of her tongue. “But that’s how Finlay’s father told it. Usually after he regaled us with tales of how he stepped on a weever fish trying to find Finlay’s mother’sring after she dropped it in the ocean when he took her to Sutherland one summer.”

“What’s a weever fish?”

“Nasty wee things,” she tells me. “Massive stinger on their back. Hurts like hell.”

“So what did Grandpa sacrifice foryou, then?” I tease.

“Och.” She shakes her head, but there’s a fond smile on her mouth now. “To hearhimtell it—he gave up his wily ways to be with me. Popular as he was.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That does sound like him.”

“Truth be told,” she says, lowering her voice, “I’m not sure your grandpa has sacrificed a day in his life. He’s a lucky bastard, that one.” The mirth ebbs from her eyes immediately, as if remembering. “Well…save for your father, I suppose.”

She goes quiet after that, concentrating on her knitting needles. I can feel pain radiating off her in waves, and it clutches me tight, wishing I knew how to make it better. So much suffering in this family…and for what?

I tilt my chin toward the project bundled in her lap—eyeing the soft-looking emerald color of the yarn with interest. “What are you making?”

“I…” She pauses her needles as an honestblushcreeps into her cheeks—making my stoic grandmother appear almost…bashful. “Well, if you must know,” she says, clearing her throat and trying for her usual hardness. “I was making an extra blanket for your bed. It’s getting colder, and I didn’t know how long you meant to stay, so I thought—”

“That’s for me?”

I can feel the smile creeping across my face, warmed by thegesture and even more so by the blatant embarrassment coloring Rhona’s features. It makes her seem softer, doing something so grandmotherly. It makes my chest hurt all over again but with something more like joy.

“It’s nothing much,” she mumbles.

I just smile wider. “It’s already gorgeous,” I tell her honestly. “I can’t wait to use it.”

“Aye, well.” She turns her eyes back to her needles, shrugging softly. “I know Duncan’s auld room can get drafty sometimes.”

I feel my breath catch. “I’m staying in my dad’s old room?”

“Did I not mention that?”

“No, I…” My mind whirrs with the information, part awestruck that I’m sleeping in the same place that housed my dad growing up, part reeling with the knowledge that I’ve barely given the room a second look since I got here—haven’t even reallythoughtthat there might be something hidden in there. “I didn’t know,” I say finally. “That’s…interesting.”

Rhona pauses her knitting once more, her eyes softening as she stares at her hands. “It’s been…nice. Having you there. Sometimes it really does feel like a part of my boy came back to me.” A small smile touches her mouth, and when she looks over at me, her eyes are full of warmth. “I supposed he did, though, didn’t he?”

I feel my eyes sting with the threat of tears, and I have to blink rapidly just to will them away. There have been entirely too many emotional roller coasters today, thank you very much.

“Yeah,” I answer thickly. “I hope so.”

She clears her throat, blinking furiously, and I suspect she might be fighting back tears of her own, but I won’t call her on it.

“Best you go and clean up for supper,” she says stiffly. “I’ll be done here shortly.”

“All right,” I tell her.

I push out of the chair, noticing she doesn’t look at me as I do so. I’m still buzzing slightly with the new information about staying in my dad’s room, but instead of rushing up the stairs like part of me wants to—I hold back. I waver for a moment as I try to determine whether it would be welcome or not, finally deciding to just go for it as I close the distance between my grandmother and me, leaning down to hug her around the shoulders. She goes still in my arms for a moment, maybe two, but then she relaxes into them, and I feel the light pressure of her hand as it pats my forearm gently.

“You’re a good lass,” she says softly.

I press a barely there kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Now go on, I said,” she grunts. “Enough of this silliness.”

I leave her be then, knowing she isn’t the type to show anything she deems weakness in front of others, but I don’t miss the way she smiles gently as she works now. I think maybe she needed the hug a lot more than she would ever let on.

I know I did.