kisses or fun little emojis. No clues to anything, really—but even getting a text was more than she had expected.
Freya hadn’t expected anything. She’d hoped that she might see him again—of course she had—but this simple text... Well, it confused her. This didn’t fit with how he had said it would be.
She honestly didn’t know how to respond.
A part of her wanted to fire back smiley faces and pictures of tartan berets and Russian hats—just to keep it all light and breezy. Yet light and breezy wasn’t how she felt when it came to Richard.
And so, when most women would be firing off a rapid response to a text from Richard Lewis, Freya—because she didn’t know how to respond—instead sent the promised text to Alison, and then stuffed her phone back in her bag.
Freya had no intention of telling people about Richard. Certainly she wouldn’t be telling her parents. While Freya adored them, her mother Jean loved ‘a wee natter’, and—as Freya well knew—nothing stayed a secret in Cromayr Bay for very long.
Alison was a different matter. And she was there waiting when Freya got out at Cromayr Bay.
The clouds had parted and the sky was high and blue, and Alison was smiling widely as she waved to her.
‘Look at you!’ Freya smiled, because in the weeks that Freya had been away Alison had changed and was now sporting a lovely little bump.
‘I know!’ Her friend smiled back. ‘Betty said that you can sometimes show a lot more quickly the second time around.’
Betty had clearly said easily what Freya hadn’t been able to. And still Freya did not know why.
She had been dwelling on it for months now, and had even discussed it with Richard, but still she had a huge block when it came to speaking about the loss with her friend.
‘I booked us a table at the Tavern for tonight,’ Alison said as she drove her home.
‘In the restaurant?’ Freya checked, because usually they went for a curry, or just to the Tavern’s bar. The restaurant was pricey, and rather grand, but she had heard right.
‘Yes, it’s closing for renovations next week. They’re going to put a function room in at the top, and they’re refurbishing the restaurant.’
Freya didn’t like the sound of that—she loved it as it was.
‘The bar’s staying open, as well as the hotel, but I thought you might want to see the restaurant as it is one more time.’
Oh, she really did.
They took the hilly street approach and, rarely for summer, there was a parking spot close to Freya’s cottage. They pulled in behind her little purple car.
‘Do you want to come in?’ Freya offered, but Alison shook her head.
‘I’ve got to go and do a shop—I’ll meet you in the Tavern bar at seven.’
‘I’ll see you there, then.’
‘It’s good to have you home, Freya.’
It was good to be here, Freya thought as she pushed open the door.
The drapes had been closed by Mrs Hunt after the last tenants, and Freya went around opening them up and letting in the late-afternoon sun. Then she turned on the hot water and caught up on her mail while she waited for it to warm.
And she did all she could not to think too much of Richard and what had happened last night.
She wouldn’t be telling Alison. At least she didn’t know whether or not to tell her.
Alison and Callum had been childhood sweethearts. And Freya wasn’t sure her friend would understand.
Freya herself didn’t understand.
She liked it that there was no risk of getting overly involved with Richard.
The break-up with Malcolm had been tricky. He’d kept messaging and coming round, turning up wherever she went, wanting to talk, to see if they could give it another go.
Well, she wouldn’t be having that problem with Richard!
It was rather freeing.
* * *
It was nice to dress up and go out. She hadn’t brought much with her, but she had a nice copper-coloured dress, and with heels it was dressy enough. Her hair was still rather wild from going to bed with it damp last night, so Freya wore it up and then added a dash of lipstick.
She glanced at her phone as she put the lipstick back in her bag, and then decided she’d do well to leave the phone at home, to prevent herself from replying to Richard.
She had no idea what she would say anyway.
Freya headed to the Tavern bar, and she felt herself tense a little as she walked inside. It was Friday night in Cromayr Bay, and that meant there was a fair chance Malcolm would be there. But thankfully there was no sign of him, and a moment or two later Alison arrived.
The Tavern really was gorgeous—a boutique hotel just off the main street, it was set high on a hill and offered a stunning version of Freya’s favourite view of the Firth.
They climbed the steps to the restaurant and were shown to their seats by a waitress. Then Gordon, the owner, came over.
‘Are you two here for a last trip down memory lane?’
‘Something like that.’ Freya smiled.
‘I remember you coming here when you passed your midwifery exams—och, and for your eighteenth too...’
‘I’m going to miss the old place.’ Alison sighed.
‘Well, hopefully you’ll love the new one just as much,’ Gordon said, and then he talked them through the menu.
They made their choices—which was tough, because there was lobster brought in from the pots just that afternoon, and there was Dornoch lamb, as well as Freya’s favourite, game pie. But she’d had that the last time she was here...
‘I’m going to have the lamb, please,’ Freya said.
‘And I’ll have the spelt and mushroom risotto,’ Alison said.
Freya had wine, and Alison a mocktail, and they chatted about Freya’s move to London.
‘So, have you made any friends there yet?’ Alison asked.
‘Not really,’ Freya admitted. ‘They’re very cliquey...’ she started. Only that wasn’t quite right. They were all very nice. ‘I don’t know what it is. I try, I just don’t seem to fit in. Richard says I’m too subtle.’
‘Richard?’
‘A friend,’ Freya said.
‘So you have
