Page 98 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Two

Kelly

A few hours earlier

T he hum of the car engine is the only sound between us, steady and rhythmic, a low murmur against the vastness of the Scottish landscape. The highlands stretch endlessly on either side, their rugged beauty overwhelming. Rolling hills, draped in golden heather, rise and fall like the breath of the earth itself. Patches of dark green forest punctuate the horizon, and in the distance, the peaks of the Cairngorms loom, dusted with the remnants of winter.

It has been too long since I was last here. Too long since I let myself remember what it felt like to be part of this world. The view of the hillside is seared into my memories so deeply that just the faint traces of sunlight peeking over the mountains are enough to lodge a lump firmly in my throat.

Ashley taps his long manicured fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at me from the driver’s seat.

“You’re quiet,” he says, not unkindly.

I shrug. “Just thinking.”

He snorts. “Dangerous habit.”

I huff a laugh, but my thoughts remain tangled. I hadn't expected the call. It had been over a year since I had last spoken to anyone from the McCraig family. The divorce had been finalised quietly, with lawyers handling everything. No heated exchanges, no drawn-out battles, just a cold, clinical severing of a bond I had once thought unbreakable. I'd heard from a mutual friend that Liam McCraig had passed away. I'd almost reached out to David, to say something, anything, but what would have been the point? We weren’t part of each other’s lives anymore. I'd seen to that.

And yet, the call had come. The lawyers handling the estate had reached out to me personally. Liam had included me in his will. I'd been stunned into silence. Why? After everything, why would he still think of me? I had almost said no to coming, had almost convinced myself that I had no right to return. But here I was, driving towards Galferkus House, the place I had once called our home away from home.

I turn my gaze back to the road. The further north we travel, the wilder and more beautiful the landscape becomes. Riots of purples and reds coat the mountainsides. The modern world seems to slip away, replaced by something older, something untamed. The air is crisp and carries a scent I remember well, peat, pine, the faintest trace of sea salt carried inland from the northern shores.

Memories creep in, unbidden. I glance at Ashley, who is humming to the song playing softly on the radio, completely unbothered by the weight of returning to a past life. I envy him and his ability to just be without the burdens of the past and decisions that strip my flesh back bare to my soul.

I'd loved Liam McCraig like my own grandfather. He and his wife, Moira, had been the heart of Galferkus House. Moira had passed three years ago, and in many ways, Liam had never truly recovered. Since she'd died, he had spent his days walking the grounds of the estate, his figure a lonely silhouette against the vastness of the Scottish land. He would stand at the edge of the fields, gazing out over the hills, hands clasped behind his back as though waiting for something, perhaps for time to bring her back. They had built a home together, a place of solitude but also of peace, not just a house, but a place filled with warmth, love, and an unspoken understanding between them.

I remember one evening, long before things between David and me had begun to crumble, when Liam had come home late, his mood dark and brooding. David had nudged me gently and gestured across the table towards his grandparents as they orbited around each other in the small kitchen that formed part of the tiny flat that they had built at the back of the large estate house. They'd used to say that the stately home was for everyone else, but this small haven amidst the vastness was just for them.

"Grandfather is annoyed and Grandma… I'm not sure why, but she had a bit of a sheepish look when he came home earlier this afternoon," David had whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh no, should we make ourselves scarce?" I'd worried my bottom lip between my teeth.

"No need," he smiled, placing a kiss on my cheek before nodding his head towards his grandmother. Moira, instead of arguing, had simply walked into the kitchen and started cooking. I had watched in quiet fascination as she prepared something I had never heard of before, Rumbledethumps. A simple dish, potatoes, cabbage, and onions mashed together and baked. Hardly the fare I would have expected from Scottish nobility. But as the scent filled the kitchen, something shifted. Liam had walked through the door, inhaled deeply, and in an instant, his expression softened. Without hesitation, he had swept Moira into his arms, kissed her forehead, and whispered an apology.

I had looked at David then, seeing the way he watched his grandparents with something like awe. As if they had cracked some secret code that the rest of us could only hope to one day understand. Liam had laughed, telling us that love was never about grand gestures. It was about the small things. The meals cooked after an argument, the quiet reassurances, the silent promises made in stolen glances.

I had believed in that once. I'd thought David and I had that. But in the end, love had not been enough to shield us from the weight of his family’s expectations.

For the first time in a long while, my mind drifts back to home, my first home. Filey, a small seaside town in Yorkshire. I can almost smell the salty tang in the air, feel the grit of sand under my feet. In my teens I would walk down the steep alleyways behind the stone-built houses on the hillside, down towards the coastline. I'd always been surprised the fine ornate walking canes propped up outside back doors that led towards small but perfectly maintained gardens that led onto the narrow alleyways. The older generations still managed the steep treks to and from their homes each day, meeting up at the small cafés in the town, gossiping and drinking the famous Yorkshire tea before once again returning home.

My parents, Jan and James, had worked hard their whole lives, my mother as a receptionist at the local GP surgery and my father in the Scarborough fisheries. There hadn't been much money, but there'd been warmth, deep love, and an unshakable work ethic that had been drilled into me from an early age. I was the first in my family to go to university, a fact my parents had taken immense pride in and would form part of my nan's frequent updates to her gossip circle in the town.

David and I had met at that university. The University of Shropshire, where David had been studying for an MSc in Rural Estate and Land Management and I was taking my BVetMS in Veterinary Medicine and Surgery. It had started with a spilled coffee.

I'd been rushing, late for a lecture, books and notes clutched to my chest, when I’d collided with someone rounding the corner of the hall. The impact had sent a cup of coffee flying, directly onto my heather grey oxford shirt.

“Shit, I am so sorry…” The voice had been deep, accented with the unmistakable refined lilt of Scottish nobility. I had looked up, heart hammering, to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark auburn hair and piercing blue eyes staring at me in horror.

David McCraig.

"It's honestly fine," I'd smiled with a sigh, wiping the cuff of my already ruined shirt across the front of my brand new textbook, wiping the remnants of my black coffee away from its front cover.

"I'll replace that, I swear," he'd said passionately, like some knight from an older time swearing a solemn vow. "Oh dear, look at your shirt! We should really get you out of that."

I'd choked back a laugh. "Normally I'd say you could at least offer to take me for a coffee first, but I'm afraid of getting even more soaked."

He'd blushed a deep scarlet red at his words and my following insinuations before clearing his throat. "Well yes, I would in fact…" he coughed some more, "like to take you… you know… out for tea?"

I'd looked at his handsome face, the nervousness etched on his features, and had known with a level of certainty that this man would spell disaster for me. By the end of that year, I had fallen hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him.

Ashley whistles low as we crest a hill, and the estate comes fully into view. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “This place is massive.” I nod but say nothing. Words won’t come. It’s been over a year since I last saw this house, and even longer since I felt like I belonged in it.

I'd overheard Carrick and Lucinda arguing with Liam in his study, their voices sharp and cutting. Carrick had demanded that Liam put a stop to my marriage with David. He had said that if David chose to stay with me, he would make sure his son never saw a penny of his inheritance. The tension had boiled over, the argument turning heated. And then, I'd heard a crash. I peered around the corner into the study and watched in horror. Liam had collapsed.

That night, I sat alone in our apartment, staring at the walls that had once felt like home. My thoughts raced, looping through every moment of the argument I had overheard. Carrick’s voice had been sharp, slicing through the air like a blade.

"David will never see a penny if he stays with him. You need to put an end to this, Father. You need to think about the family."

I had heard Liam stand his ground, his voice unwavering despite his age. "David is my grandson. You will not dictate who he loves." But the stress of the confrontation had been too much. The moment Liam clutched his chest, his face twisting in pain, everything else had ceased to matter. Carrick had called for an ambulance, Lucinda had gasped in horror, but all I could do was stand there, frozen, knowing that I had been the reason this had happened.

I should have told David. I should have explained everything. But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, I had sat there in our bedroom that night, listening to the steady rhythm of David’s breathing as he slept beside me, oblivious to the war raging inside my head. He hadn’t known that I had already made my decision. By morning, I had packed my bags. I'd stood by the door, watching him stir from sleep, his hair still mussed from the pillow, his eyes squinting against the morning light. He'd looked so soft in that moment, so completely unaware that his entire world was about to shatter.

"I can't do this anymore." The words had tasted like poison on my tongue.

David had sat up, confusion knitting his brows. "What?"

"Us. This. It’s not working." My voice had been steady, even as my heart cracked inside my chest.

He'd swung his legs over the bed, the drowsiness slipping away as something sharper took its place. "Where the hell is this coming from?"

I'd swallowed, my hands clenching into fists. "We were never going to work, David. Your family hates me. You keep pretending that doesn't matter, but it does. It always has."

His jaw had tightened. "That’s bullshit."

"Is it?" I'd forced a bitter laugh. "You think your father’s going to stop? He’s going to make your life hell, David. And what if he does cut you off? What if he follows through on everything he threatened? I won’t be the reason you lose all of this."

David had shot to his feet, anger radiating off him. "That’s not your decision to make."

"It is when I’m the reason you’re caught in the middle."

A thick silence had stretched between us. David’s gaze had searched mine, desperate for something, some crack in my resolve, some sign that I was lying.

I had never been a good liar, but for him, I'd forced myself to be.

"I’m leaving."

His throat had bobbed as he'd swallowed hard, his voice quieter when he finally spoke. "Do you still love me?"

For a single, devastating moment, I'd almost told the truth. Instead, I'd looked away. "No."

The silence that had followed was the worst kind, the kind where I'd known I had just broken something beyond repair. I had expected him to fight. To argue. To demand an explanation. But he hadn’t. He'd just stood there, staring at me, and I knew he'd believed me.

That had been the moment that hurt the most. I'd walked out before I could change my mind.

The guilt had been unbearable. I'd left because I'd thought I was protecting David. But standing here now, I wonder if I had only made things worse.

Ashley pulls the car around toward the cottages, parking near the stables. “I’ll get our bags,” he offers, but I barely hear him. I step out of the car, boots crunching against gravel. The cottage is quaint, smaller than I remember but still beautiful, with its ivy-covered stone walls and warm light spilling from the windows. I should go inside, settle in, prepare myself for whatever comes next. Instead, I stand there, staring at the house in the distance. No matter how much time has passed, no matter how many miles I put between myself and this place, one thing has never changed.

Galferkus House is still home.

And David McCraig is still in my bones.