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Jenn leaned back against Ruairidh’s chest. “Well,” she murmured as a shooting star cut across the sky, “if that’s how we’re starting the year, we’re in for one hell of a ride.”
Except rides ended. And she wasn’t supposed to want to stay on this one.
Chapter 37
Such a perfect evening couldn’t last, of course.
A short while later, Abigail and Jenn staggered out of the ladies’ loos in Saints Bay Hall, giggling like schoolgirls. Abigail got distracted chatting to her cousin, so Jenn wandered on ahead, aiming for the hall exit, when a voice cut through the din.
“Jennifer!”
Jenn turned—and instantly wished she hadn’t.
Moira was sashaying towards her like a green glitter bomb on legs, the kind of legs that made skyscraper heels look like flats. Beside her was another of the Sharks—Batgirl. Jenn was eighty percent sure her name was Catherine, maybe Cat. Both were ridiculously gorgeous in that airbrushed, high-maintenance way that made Jenn suddenly conscious of how much champagne she’d had. Shame that all that beauty came with the warmth of a January frost.
“Hello, Jennifer,” Moira drawled, her vivid eyes sweeping over Jenn with slow, cool assessment. “I suppose we ought to wish you a Happy New Year.”
“Umm… Happy New Year!” Jenn replied, channelling every ounce of fake cheer she had. She could feel the sides of her face twitching with the effort of what might pass as a smile. Her hands twitched at her sides—resisting the urge to pat her hair and check her dress for wardrobe malfunctions.
“Have you had fun tonight?” Cat-or-Catherine asked, her kohl-rimmed blue eyes locking on Jenn’s like a predator assessing prey. There was nothing remotely festive in her tone—no Happy New Year, no warmth. Jenn felt her shoulders tense. God, this woman was unnerving.
“Yes! It’s been… uhh… great! What about you guys?” Jenn replied, forcing a polite smile while her brain scrambled to figure out why they’d bothered to stop her.
“You’re here with Ruairidh, aren’t you?” Moira cut in smoothly, ignoring Jenn’s question altogether.
“Well, yes,” Jenn said, her irritation spiking. She wasn’t the confrontational type, but something about these two made her easy-going nature go rigid and defensive.
“Not for much longer, mind you,” Moira added with a lazy, dismissive flick of her perfectly waved hair—hair so glossy and obedient it probably had its own PR team.
“Excuse me… what?”
It took Jenn a beat to process what Moira had just said. She’d been momentarily hypnotised by that unfairly perfect hair.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re only here until March, aren’t you? You’ve had your fun with island life, but your time’s nearly up. Then it’s back to the mainland. There’s nothing really here for you,” Moira said with certainty, as if decreed by Beira herself.
Jenn’s brain short-circuited. She just stood there, mouth slightly open, while the words ricocheted through her skull. The alcohol in her system wasn’t helping. It made everything heavy and fuzzy and too loud.
“…you’re both very different people… just a fling… long-distance… nothing serious… he’s an islander and you’re an outsider…”
Jenn blinked, realising belatedly that Moira was still talking, with Cat standing next to her, expression unreadable.
She knew—she knew—they were only trying to get a rise out of her. But the comments hit their target. Hard.
Her bubble—this cosy, happy, don’t-think-too-much-about-the-future bubble—suddenly burst.
She was an outsider. A mainlander. In a couple of months, she’d be gone. Her contract was over. She had no job lined up after it. The cottage needed to be reset for bookings. This life—this peace—was temporary.
She’d been happy here. Happier than she’d been in years—maybe ever. She’d built something—routine, stability, maybe even belonging. But it wasn’t forever. It was only until March. And Ruairidh… that couldn’t be serious. Was it? It hadn’t even been a couple of months.
“I… I need to go,” Jenn mumbled, her voice faint. She staggered towards the exit, bile burning at the back of her throat.
Jenn sank down on the cold stone steps outside the library next to the hall, trying to steady her breathing. Her heart was thudding wildly, her stomach roiling with a cocktail of champagne and panic. She dragged her hands over her face, as if she could wipe the anxiety away. It was quiet here, blessedly so. Only the distant sound of laughter and the clatter of feet spilled across from Harbour Road, where The Ghillie Dhu had just emptied. Murdo stood outside, cheerfully shooing stragglers along, his voice carrying over the stillness of the night.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Ruairidh. She glanced at the screen—two missed calls, a new one coming in. She couldn’t answer. Not yet. Not like this.
What was she even thinking? What was she feeling? Was this just… ridiculous?
