Page 34 of The Love Leap (Timeless Love Chronicles #1)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Regret gnaws at me as I huff and puff my way up the relentless slope towards MacDowell Farm, my ankles protesting loudly and my stomach staging a mutiny for Fiona’s Scotch Pies instead of the stale fries from Campbell’s Cavern.

The wind decides to have a dance party with my chocolate brown hair, whipping it into a wild frenzy across my face. Each uphill step with my luggage trailing behind me sparks a mini-rebellion in my calves. At least I'm smart enough to be in boots this time.

“Aven Valley seriously needs to invest in some escalators,” I grumble.

As I conquer this Everest disguised as a hill, thoughts of Cal ambush me:

Will he be at the farm? Why didn’t he text?

Despite our shared past, nerves nibble at me like a rebellious teen sneaking out for a late-night rendezvous.

As I crest the top of the hill, the postcard-perfect panorama of the highlands unfurls before me, neighboring hills undulating like emerald waves on an ocean of green. But it’s Cal’s solitary figure that steals my breath away.

His towering form demands attention against this backdrop, his muscular physique whispering tales of resilience. Still dressed in his favorite kilt, the fabric dances with the wind around him in dramatic swirls.

“Cal!” I call out. Just then, the sun decides to play peekaboo behind low-hanging clouds, throwing a blinding glare that forces me to squint and raise my hand as an impromptu visor.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes locked onto something in the distance.

Holy crap, are those... sleek black condos?

Not just a few. Hundreds of them! I scrunch my nose at the sight of these monstrous, modern black and glass monstrosities, rudely poking out from the serene Scottish hillside like an unwelcome zit on a prom queen’s face.

They’re all sharp angles and severe designs, brutally at odds with the gentle, rolling green landscape.

The oversized glass windows mirror back the somber Scottish skies while the slick steel balconies seem absolutely alien among the few remaining thatched-roof cottages.

Each building screams ‘disturbance’ in this once-timeless panorama.

They’re complete eyesores, a cold, impersonal smudge on the historical and natural beauty that has stolen my heart.

Where’s MacDowell Farm?

It should be right there, snuggled between these hills and Moray Firth, like a cozy hug from Mother Nature herself. A tide of confusion sweeps over me, stirring up an impulsive urge to yank off my boots and chuck them at the cosmos for playing mind games with us.

Cal stands alone, a solitary figure against the backdrop of what used to be his lively family farm.

Now? Just an empty expanse earmarked with a sign announcing yet another batch of impersonal condos.

The hum of distant machinery punctures our silence, a harsh reminder of the inevitable transformation.

“Cal?” I venture, my voice teetering on the precipice of uncertainty. “What happened? Where’s your farm?”

He pivots toward me, his eyes shimmering with tears he’s fighting to hold back. The usual twinkle in those sapphire pools is replaced by a depth of sorrow that clenches my heart. I want to reach out and soothe him, but something about this moment roots me to the spot.

“It’s all gone, Mills,” he says, his words barely more than a breathy whisper.

“The farm. Our legacy. Everything we worked for.” He inhales shakily as if bracing himself for what comes next.

“My parents live in Edinburgh, for godsakes, and I found Cameron in some dinky tourist office, just a shadow of his former self. It shattered me seeing him like that...so adrift from who we are.”

As his revelation sinks in, I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. The MacDowells have moved away? They’ve lost their land, and Cam’s lost his pub? The unfairness of it all has my blood boiling, but I ignore it, focusing instead on the man crumbling before me.

His gaze drifts back to the barren land stretching out behind him as regret laces his words.

“I wish I hadn’t crossed Gregor back in 1645.

.. It cost us everything.” A lone tear breaks free and carves its way down his chiseled cheek.

“I should’ve known better... should’ve found another solution. This can never be set right.”

I can almost feel the weight he’s bearing on those muscular shoulders. All I want is to lighten his load, to reassure him that together we can fix things. But as I part my lips to speak, the words shrivel up and die, uncertainty muddying my thoughts.

Could he be right? Is there no do-over, no magic eraser for past screw-ups? I shake off the creeping doubts. We’ve come too far and battled too much to throw in the towel now.

I inch closer to Cal, my hand hovering before it gently lands on his arm. His skin is warm under my touch. “We’ll work this out,” I assure him, my voice solid though my nerves are a complete mess. “There has to be a way to salvage your family’s heritage, to carve out a new future.”

Our eyes lock and for an instant, hope sparks in his gaze. But it dies as quickly as it flares up, replaced by that all-too-familiar stubborn tilt of his jaw. He pulls away from me, his eyes turning steely with determination.

“It’s over,” he grates out, each word heavy with emotion. “Nothing left worth saving.” He digs into his pocket and shoves a handful of bills into my palm; his fingers linger before he steps back.

“Just go catch your flight. No use stickin’ around here.”

I stare at the crumpled Scottish notes in my hand, his brush-off triggering a surge of hot anger within me. His readiness to surrender everything we’ve built together is just… infuriating! I chuck the cash back at him, the bills fluttering down like discarded dreams.

“I can’t believe you’re folding so easily,” I snap back, words rising like mercury in a thermometer. “After all we’ve been through? You’re really going to walk away? I’m sure we can reverse this! We can change things!”

In Cal’s silence and fixed gaze lies an ephemeral shadow of disquiet. I see layers of doubt lurking beneath.

Is he holding back just because his family’s legacy is at stake? Or does it run deeper, a fear that he might not be able to shield me from the dangers of 1645?

The sky above us has blackened entirely, and rain starts to fall, its cold droplets mixing with the hot tears on my cheeks.

I blink them away fiercely—I won’t let him see how much his rejection stings.

The crumpled Scottish pounds strewn on the muddy ground between us twirl in the wind before settling down again.

Cal stoops to pick up a twenty-pound note and thrusts it into my hand. “Take it,” he says gruffly.

“Just catch a bus and go home.”

I shove the crumpled note into my pocket. “I don’t want your cash,” I holler, my voice shaking. I want you, you stubborn, maddening Scotsman! I want a future with you. How can you just give up on us?”

Cal winces like he’s been physically hit, his eyes glistening with tears he won’t let fall.

“Mills... please,” he pleads so softly that it’s almost drowned by the wind. “Dinnae make this more difficult than it already is. I have nothing to offer ye now. I am nothing now. Can’t ye see that?”

“No!”

My head shakes so vehemently that it’s a wonder it doesn’t fly off my shoulders.

“You’re not nothing, Cal! You’re shocked and frightened, but we can fix this together. We can salvage your family’s legacy and carve out a life here! Just don’t push me away now... not after everything we’ve weathered.”

“What do ye want from me?” His voice is an echo of desperation.

“I want you to shake off this self-pity party and fight for something that means something to you!”

His eyes flash with wounded pride and indignation. “You think I’m no’ fighting? This is me fighting—grapplin’ with reality—that sometimes what fate hands ye isn’t up for negotiation.”

“That’s Highland cow bull crap!”

I’m half-laughing at my own colorful language choice. “We’ve crossed time itself together, Cal! After everything we’ve survived, are you seriously telling me it’s too late to do anything about this now? That we should just give up?”

“Aye,” Cal replies flatly, his tone as cold as a Scottish winter. “Maybe we should before one of us gets hurt again.”

His words slice through me. This is it, I realize with an icy dread coiling in my stomach. This is how our story concludes; not with a fairytale ending but with a heart-twisting farewell under the drizzle.

I square my shoulders, letting the anger steady me. "You know what, Cal? If you're determined to stay miserable, then that's on you. But I won't beg for a space in your life when you're too scared to fight for it."

I take a deep breath, crossing my arms to hold myself together. My voice is firm, even though my heart's breaking. "Love should push us forward, not hold us back."

With those words, I turn away, head held high despite the tears brimming my eyes.

Each step I take feels like a dagger twisting in my chest and a declaration of my pride—a refusal to cling when he's already let go.

As I walk, the wind tangles my hair. I wish he'd find the courage to love without fear.

My legs barely support me as I trudge down towards the bus stop at the village's edge, but I force myself to keep moving, to put one foot in front of the other.

As I lift my suitcase onto the bus back to Inverness, the rain starts pouring down; the droplets drumming against the windows in a sad symphony.

Hello again, Heartbreak. Goddammit! Is lasting love just a pipe dream for me?

The bus roars to life beneath me, pulling me away from Aven Valley; away from Cal. As the village recedes in the rearview mirror, I let myself cry, mourning a love found in the foggy corridors of time.

I wipe away tears as I steal a final glance at Cal’s formidable silhouette up on the hillside. As the bus lurches forward, I sink into a seat covered in rough tweed, feeling hollow and spent.

The notion of destiny and an enduring love that outlives time suddenly leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Outside the window, rain blurs the landscape into watercolor smudges.

Every passing mile brings me nearer to Inverness and, subsequently, closer to my flight back to Toronto.

But as thoughts of home rise up within me, they’re shadowed by an unexpected twinge of. .. what exactly?

Doubt? Yearning?

I love it here. It’s always raining, and they’ve got strange traditions involving sheep stomachs, but it feels like where I belong.

Still, building a life in Aven Valley would mean missing Lila and Chanandler Bong—my bestie, and my precious fur baby. Despite these ties tugging at my heartstrings, though, Toronto feels more like a faded snapshot than somewhere I belong.

A peculiar sensation bubbles up inside—homesickness not for Toronto but for Moray Firth’s rugged hillsides, Rosewood Cottage’s endearing charm… and Callum MacDowell.

The truth slams into me harder than any Scottish gale: Home doesn’t feel like home anymore without him in it.