Though none of my grief slips into my voice. It never pays to appear weak. My mother taught me that and life reinforced it. ‘I don’t see why we can’t get this over and done with now.’
He chokes on thin air and wets his lips—the gesture tests my patience and my nerves further.
‘I’m sure they will be here very soon. They promised they would be. And I promised your grandmother I would abide by their wishes.’
‘If I’m to be made to wait for this person, surely I deserve a name?’
My ears are primed for their identity...yet, nothing. What’s he so afraid of?
‘Come now, Charles. I must know them. Unless you’ve managed to dig up some distant relative that no one has ever heard of and declare Katherine’s entire—’
‘I’m so sorry I’m late!’
The breathless voice permeates the heavy oak door to Charles’s office and the man himself shoots up out of his seat, wiping his palms down his trousers as the door opens on his secretary.
‘Miss Evans has arrived, Mr McAllister.’
‘Thank you, Tracy.’
He’s already striding forward, his smile warm as he looks past Tracy to the woman I’ve heard but haven’t yet set eyes on.
Miss Evans?
Who on earth is...?
The faintest of bells ring in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind... The slight rasp to that feminine tone...the unidentifiable accent...
I rise and turn, good manners overriding my mental flurry as I seek to greet our new arrival, but the ground shifts beneath my feet, my vision narrowing until all I see is her.
Summer.
It’s not... It can’t be...
I force my body to straighten, smooth out my tie on impulse as my head refuses to believe what my eyes are seeing. At first all I register is an abundance of blonde hair and bronze skin—far too much skin for autumn in Scotland—and clothing that seems so mismatched it’s like she’s walked into a charity shop and paid no heed to size nor colour. Her walking boots are as worn as her backpack, which is almost as big as her and likely weighs much more.
Where the hell does she think she is? Her whole get-up is better suited to a trek across the sunny beaches of Bali than the streets of Edinburgh in the damp and dreary depths of autumn.
Does she not realise what season we’re in? Does she not care that she looks so out of place?
Did she ever?
My head taunts me, reminds me, teases me.
This is Summer, who never cared for anyone’s opinion but her own.
And that’s when I meet her gaze and it truly hits home. Summer. Summer Evans. She’s the person we’ve been waiting for. She’s the person Gran insisted be here for this.
A thousand memories surge forth as my heart stutters in my chest.
The grin she gives me is accentuated by lines that suggest she smiles often. The nose that has seen a bump or two lifts marginally and her eyes...her eyes transport me back twenty years, to those same bright blue eyes, the same rebellious grin...
I snap my gaze away.
‘What the hell is she doing here?’ I fire at Charles, and his sweat makes a prompt return, his smile falters.
‘Well, if you’ll both sit down,’ he blusters, ‘I can explain just that.’
‘It’s a pleasure to see you too,’ she directs at me, and although her voice is strong, her eyes show a hint of what I’d like to think is remorse.