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“Um, yeah—sure,” Jenn said, surprised to find herself already half-seated.

As Fabulous Lady disappeared behind the red velvet curtains, Jenn glanced around. A crystal ball and a velvet-wrapped deck of tarot cards sat on the table. Oh my God. Did she actually do readings?

Jenn wasn’t exactly a believer—but not a total sceptic either. After all, her folklore dissertation had raised plenty of questions. She liked to keep an open mind. Maybe she was a little spiritual—yoga had rubbed off on her, if nothing else. Though judging by her love life and career choices, she didn’t exactly practise what she preached.

Fabulous Lady re-emerged carrying a mismatched tray of china cups, silver spoons, a teapot, and a mountain of biscuits.

“Oh wow, thank you. You didn’t have to go to all this effort.”

“It’s tea o’clock. Why not?” Fabulous Lady grinned, pouring out generous cups.

“So—you said your granny’s from here. Who are your people? Oh! I’m Cathy Ann, by the way—not exactly mystical, I know.” She waved a perfectly manicured red hand.

“Jennifer—well, Jenn.” She smiled. They shook hands.

Jenn found herself spilling the whole story over steaming tea and half a pack of shortbread—right down to the date with crying-cancer-budgie-man. Cathy Ann laughed so loudly she nearly knocked over the teapot.

Cathy Ann felt like a kindred spirit—a friend Jenn had known all her life. She’d grown up on a neighbouring island, married young, had two kids. But after her divorce, Cathy Ann had gone travelling. Proper travelling. They’d laughed over shared experiences and exchanged disastrous stories. Eventually, the Hebrides called her home—though she wasn’t keen to return to her own island. So when the old gift shop on Hellisay went up for sale, Cathy Ann took it as a sign. Beira’s Bazaar had become her little Queendom. Though she was well-settled now, Cathy Ann still felt like a bit of an outsider. Not that she seemed remotely interested in blending in. And she liked it that way. So did Jenn.

“Well, do you know something,” Cathy Ann said a couple of hours later, as she finished the last of the tea, “you better pop in regularly for a cuppa and a catch-up, lovely. That’s the best blether I’ve had in ages.”

“And me too,” Jenn said—and she truly meant it.

It felt like something had finally shifted. Meeting Cathy Ann, laughing, talking, sharing—it had lifted more of the weight from her shoulders. She loved her Auntie Peigi, of course, and her family, too—but having even one friend she could call her own made this whole move feel less… ridiculous.

“And another thing,” Cathy Ann said, fixing her with a look. “On your way home, you stop in at that school hall and tell them you’re starting a yoga class once a week.”

Jenn blinked. “Do you honestly think people would be interested?”

“Honestly? Yes. Zumba and body pump are grand, but not all of us want to jump around like maniacs.”

Jenn laughed—she couldn’t help it. The idea of running her own yoga class had always appealed to her. Back in Edinburgh, she’d been a regular assistant and had the experience and credentials, but launching something solo had never been feasible. Maybe now was the time. It would be a way to meet people. Root herself. Show up for something. She’d promised herself she’d give Hellisay a year. Might as well give it her all.

Who knows—it might even be fun.

Chapter 7

It was Jenn’s third shift at the airport and, so far, no one had died or come down with food poisoning from her baking. In fact, the customers seemed to be loving it. Some of them were even putting in requests. Today, she was on coffee duty, with Ealasaid manning the counter and Abigail on food. Two of the local school kids were floating around clearing tables, washing dishes, and generally helping out. It was amazing how much busier the island had become. The early flight had landed not long ago, so now everyone was trickling into the café, ready for a mid-morning caffeine fix and a sweet treat.

Jenn glanced towards the runway door just as a pilot walked in—one she hadn’t seen before.

Oh. Wow.

He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and in uniform, no less. Honestly, overkill. Most of the pilots she’d met were in their fifties and sixties—though that hadn’t stopped a few of them being flirty rogues. This one didn’t look like the flirtatious type at all. Slightly aloof, maybe. Not quite the brooding Mr Darcy kind. But there was a quiet command about him—all business, serious, contained. No nonsense. The sort of presence that made her sit up straighter and say, well hello, Captain. He had clean-cut brown hair, a jawline you could slice cake with, and a physique that made his shirt look like it was working overtime. Not that she was complaining. He was very easy on the eye. The kind of man who made you picture being pressed into the cockpit door mid-flight, breathless and entirely unprofessional. Forget the mile high club—this was the captain’s upgrade.

And then—a crack in the armour. He slowed as he approached the cake cabinet, gaze fixed with almost boyish longing, like the rest of the room had fallen away. Ah, a sweet tooth. The sight tugged a smile from her before she could stop it. A man like that, undone by chocolate cake? Dangerous.

Another pilot appeared beside him, leaned in, and whispered something in his ear. Oh my God. He looked like he’d walked straight off the cover of one of Auntie Peigi’s Mills & Boon novels. The proper old-school kind, with heaving bosoms and windswept cliffs. Definitely Spanish or Italian—Southern European, at any rate. His dark brown hair was just a shade too long to be respectable, and his dark eyes were, she swore, twinkling from across the room. He had the kind of stubble that wasn’t accidental. What a delicious cliché.

The pair of them, in their tailored uniforms and crisp white shirts, looked like something from a fashion campaign. You could practically hear the collective gasp and sigh ripple across the café—from the women, and even a few of the men.

Then Mr Mills & Boon doubled over in laughter, all twinkle and swagger. And Captain No-Nonsense was looking at her with a peculiar intensity—one that sent her pulse skittering through her chest. What on Earth was going on? She could feel the panic rising. Shit—were they laughing at her?

She touched her face and hair. Just yesterday, she’d served an entire customer with a blob of cream on the end of her nose. Then she glanced down to check she hadn’t splattered herself with coffee.

“Ruairidh! Enrique!” Ealasaid cried out beside her, practically sprinting round the counter to greet them.

Jenn blinked. Ealasaid sprinting?