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“Help me,” Jenn pleaded.

“There’s no way I’m getting involved—”

“Jenn!” both her cousins were now shouting at her.

“I’d better go…” she smiled at Ruairidh.

“Yup. See you around, Jenn.” Ruairidh gave one of those smiles.

Jenn’s stomach twisted as her cousins dragged her away onto the dance floor.

She’d finally earned one of those devastating Ruairidh smiles. Oh, she was in trouble.

Chapter 18

The Hellisay Shellfish Company—Hells Shells to the locals—was the kind of place that looked like it had been cobbled together out of fishing gear, fairy lights, and good intentions. It was nestled in the picturesque seafront village of Faernish. It was ramshackle and homely, smelled like garlic butter and old driftwood, and oozed all-round good vibes. Outside, the fishing boats bobbed in the harbour, deck lights casting long, shaky streaks over the dark water. The rainbow-painted houses were softened to silhouettes, their windows spilling lamplight onto the tide. Gulls wheeled overhead, and somewhere out in the bay, the low thrum of an engine carried over the water. Jenn loved it immediately. And not just because it had fairy lights!

She was huddled round a table with Lizzie, Cathy Ann, and Màiri. Their wine glasses clinked against oyster shells and half-eaten crab claws. Splattered crustacean had smeared across Jenn’s sleeve five minutes in. No one cared.

“Next time, we’re ordering the seafood linguine without the lobster theatrics,” Cathy Ann declared, dabbing her mouth—how that red lipstick stayed on, Jenn didn’t know. “Goddess, I’ve had quieter births.”

“You weren’t complaining when the waiter cracked it open like a magician,” Màiri said, grinning. “What was that noise you made?”

“A perfectly dignified noise.”

“It was a squeal,” Lizzie said mildly, sipping her white wine. “From the depths of your soul.”

“I’m just saying,” Cathy Ann huffed, brandishing her wine glass, “if the waiter’s going to crack lobsters at the table, he should warn a person. I nearly flashed the poor lad out of fright.”

“You were flirting with the poor lad,” Màiri said. “He’s still calling you ‘Miss’ like he thinks you’ll leave him something in your will.”

“I tip well. He’ll survive.”

Lizzie raised a brow. “You tipped him your number.”

Jenn grinned into her glass. This was an unexpected Thursday night—elbow-deep in shellfish, local gossip, and unsolicited life advice—but it felt right. Good. Messy. Familiar. Comforting. A bit ridiculous. Very Hellisay.

“How’s Javi, anyway?” Cathy Ann asked, deceptively casual.

She blinked. “Still charming. Still golden, shirtless, and mildly allergic to plans. And weirdly, still convinced I’m more spontaneous than I actually am.”

Màiri arched an eyebrow. “That sounds… evasive.”

Jenn took a sip of wine to stall. “It’s not. We’re just having fun. That’s all it is.”

“And you’re fine with that?” Cathy Ann asked, not quite smiling.

Jenn nodded, maybe a little too quickly. “Of course. It’s not some epic love story. No confessions. No promises. He’s fun. Easy. Uncomplicated.”

The table went quiet for a beat—just the clink of wine glasses and the soft click of mussel shells.

Jenn added, more quietly, “That’s what I need right now.”

Màiri gave her a knowing look. “At least you’re honest. Some people can’t even admit when they’re mildly obsessed with their running rivals.”

“Oh, here we go,” Lizzie muttered, snapping a langoustine a little too forcefully.

Jenn raised an amused brow. “Ally again?”