Page 32 of Isla

"Halloween," I clarify, giggling at the look on his face.

"That’s Gaelic, isn’t it? Say something else. Please."

"Tha thu bòidheach."

"What does that mean?" he asks, stumbling over the syllables.

"You're beautiful."

He stills, his throat bobbing. "Do you mean that?"

"Have you seen yourself?" My gaze roams over him, appreciating the beauty of those big brown eyes, the dark fringe of his eyelashes, and those dimples I'm starting to love so much.

"Nobody has ever said that to me before."

"I'll make sure to say it more often then." On impulse, I lean toward him and brush my lips over his cheek. His scent punches me right in the gut. "God, you smell good." I bury my face against his neck, inhaling him. Spicy citrus with a hint of musk. He wraps his arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder, basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

The ferry rideand the drive to Inverness go by in the blink of an eye. Dylan puts on a playlist he made specifically for today, and we sing at the top of our lungs for the entire five hours. I’ve nearly lost my voice by the time we pull into a parking spot in the city center.

The first pub is lively despite it being barely past one in the afternoon. We opt for a booth so we can talk openly without the bartender overhearing us. The ambiance is top-notch, and for the first time since I accepted losing the pub, I'm nostalgic thinking about what it could have been.

"I don't know why I thought this was a good idea," Dylan says, reading me like an open book.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine. I'm asking you to participate in a dream-building session for a dream we ripped right out of your hands, Isla. It's not fucking fair."

"Hey." I grab his hand, squeezing gently. "I forgive you. I forgive your brothers. You didn't do it on purpose, and that’s what matters. It's normal for people to look back at what could have been and feel a little sad."

"You're too good for us, Isla. We're raw. Messy. Chaos follows us everywhere we go."

"You're speaking my language, big guy." He starts to protest, but I press a finger against his lips, lingering there longer than necessary. "I'm happy to be here with you, still dreaming about what the pub can be in the future. I may not own it, but it still means a lot to me." He grips my wrist, turning my hand and kissing my palm.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to how good of a person you are," he murmurs, the bottomless pools of his eyes drawing me in.

"If you could’ve heard my thoughts when the three of you showed up, you wouldn't feel the same way," I laugh.

"Were you ready to murder us?"

"I would have just maimed you and Henry. I had already started digging a hole for Theo." I sip my beer, closing my eyes as the flavors burst over my tongue. It's phenomenal.

"Let me know next time. I'll help you."

"Dylan! He's your brother!"

"You underestimate how upset this whole thing made me. I haven't been that angry with him in a long time."

"Let's make this the last time we talk about it, okay? I don't want to draw it out. What's done is done."

Dylan nods reluctantly, holding up his glass. "To the future."

I clink my glass against his, our eyes locked as we drink.

"Damn, this is good." He pulls out the menu, skimming his finger over it until he comes to the beer we ordered. "It's a local beer," he says, impressed. "Is there a brewery on Harris?”

“No, the closest one is in Stornoway.”

“Have you ever thought about opening one?"

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