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“Is that Màiri who messaged you? What did she say? Any details?” Auntie Peigi leaned in, craning her neck for a peek at Jenn’s phone.

“Look at you, desperate for gossip.” Granny Annag laughed, giving Auntie Peigi a playful swat on the arm.

Jenn read the post aloud. “She’s just written: ‘Aaaaaahhhh Dol asked me to marry him, and obvs I said yes! We went for a walk on the beach just before dinner at my mum’s, and he went down on one knee. He’d even managed to sneak a blanket and a bottle of champers in his jacket to drink on the beach! The boy did good! Now that you ladies know, I think that’s everyone, and we’ll post a message online later. Merry Christmas and love you lots!’ That’s it.”

“Oh wait, a second message, ‘PS. Jenn. I told Ru not to message you as I wanted to tell you myself—haha!’”

“Aww, how lovely!” Granny Annag beamed. “In fact, is that not how Eachann proposed, Peigi? Down on the beach?”

“It was indeed.” Auntie Peigi’s eyes softened at the memory. “Just further over there towards the Ban-sìthe Cave. Though we celebrated with a dram back at Mum and Dad’s rather than champagne.”

“We’ll need to have a big party or something next year for your emerald wedding anniversary,” Jenn’s mum said.

“A beach party!” Jenn blurted.

“Now there’s an idea.” Granny Annag clapped her hands in delight.

“Och, we don’t need to do anything.” Auntie Peigi tried to shrug them off, but her grin gave her away.

“Nonsense, Peigi,” Granny Annag said, sounding like she’d already calculated how many sausage rolls would be needed. “Let’s do a family-and-friends get-together on the beach. You know everyone will love it, and it’s during summer.”

“Well… now that you put it like that… let’s do it!” Auntie Peigi said, secretly pleased with the idea.

“It’s going to be so much fun!” Jenn declared as they headed back up to the house, hearts full and cheeks glowing from the cold.

Summer on the beach with this lot? That was either going to be magical or complete chaos. Probably both. She wondered, just for a moment, if Ruairidh would still be there beside her when it came. The image was so clear it startled her—his hand warm in hers, laughter lost to the wind—

She shouldn’t picture that. She knew she shouldn’t. This thing between them wasn’t built to last. It couldn’t be. He was roots and home and everything she wasn’t. Besides—she’d be gone by then, off chasing whatever came next.

Nope, not thinking about that now—she shoved the thought away, kicking at some pebbles as if she could scuff the idea right out of her head.

Chapter 34

By the time he’d escaped the MacLean Christmas dinner, Ruairidh was half-convinced he’d developed permanent tinnitus. Between Màiri’s engagement squeals, Donnie’s relentless wind-ups, his mum’s insistence on at least three more helpings of pudding, and his dad’s booming laugh, the noise level had been somewhere between ‘airport tarmac’ and ‘live ceilidh band in a broom cupboard’.

Not that he minded. It had been a bloody good day.

Màiri was still flushed from Dol’s proposal, her left hand flashing the ring every time she so much as reached for the salt. Dol was glued to her side, eyes soft and looking stupidly pleased with himself. He kept topping up Màiri’s wine as if she might evaporate if he stopped fussing. Ruairidh was genuinely chuffed for Màiri and Dol—and not remotely surprised. Dol had been tailing his sister like a lost puppy since they were teenagers. The proposal was overdue by at least a decade.

“Right,” Donnie had announced at the table, loud enough to halt three separate conversations, “that’s another one down, two to go. You’re up next, Ru.”

Ruairidh had rolled his eyes. “Aye, because nothing says romance like a public ambush between the sprouts and the cranberry sauce.”

“Better than your usual method—sulking in the corner until someone trips over you,” Donnie had fired back. “Hell, I’ll even find the ring for you. Something subtle. Maybe with a cupcake on it.”

“Chocolate sponge,” Màiri had thrown in with a wink. “With sprinkles.”

Mum, of course, had been no help at all. “Well, you’re not getting any younger, Ruairidh,” she’d said over the clatter of cutlery.

Then Granny Shona had added, “And Jennifer seems like a lovely girl. Nice family. Good-looking. Sensible. Bakes.”

As if that last one clinched it.

That was when Cairistìona and her lot barrelled in from the cold without knocking—kids dumping jackets in the hall and making a beeline for the presents, Robert juggling a bin bag crammed with gifts and a tray of mince pies like some festive pack mule, and Cairistìona herself with a bottle of whisky under one arm and a tin of chocolates under the other, grinning like she was about to single-handedly fuel the next few hours of chaos.

“Tell me I’ve not missed the story, and let me see the ring,” she’d said, yanking Màiri’s hand for a look before anyone could stop her.

“You’re on the seventh retelling,” Donnie said. “But it gets better every time. Like a fine wine.”