Page 63 of The Love Leap

I have to find Cal, pronto. We need to untangle this mess, or we’ll be stuck in this warped rendition of his hometown forever.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Regret gnawsat me as I huff and puff my way up the relentless slope towards MacDowell Farm, my ankles protesting loudly and my stomach staging a mutiny for Fiona’s Scotch Pies instead of the stale fries from Campbell’s Cavern.

The wind decides to have a dance party with my chocolate brown hair, whipping it into a wild frenzy across my face. Each uphill step with my luggage trailing behind me sparks a mini-rebellion in my calves. At least I'm smart enough to be in boots this time.

“Aven Valley seriously needs to invest in some escalators,” I grumble.

As I conquer this Everest disguised as a hill, thoughts of Cal ambush me:

Will he be at the farm? Why didn’t he text?

Despite our shared past, nerves nibble at me like arebellious teen sneaking out for a late-night rendezvous.

As I crest the top of the hill, the postcard-perfect panorama of the highlands unfurls before me, neighboring hills undulating like emerald waves on an ocean of green. But it’s Cal’s solitary figure that steals my breath away.

His towering form demands attention against this backdrop, his muscular physique whispering tales of resilience. Still dressed in his favorite kilt, the fabric dances with the wind around him in dramatic swirls.

“Cal!” I call out. Just then, the sun decides to play peekaboo behind low-hanging clouds, throwing a blinding glare that forces me to squint and raise my hand as an impromptu visor.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes locked onto something in the distance.

Holy crap, are those... sleek black condos?

Not just a few. Hundreds of them! I scrunch my nose at the sight of these monstrous, modern black and glass monstrosities, rudely poking out from the serene Scottish hillside like an unwelcome zit on a prom queen’s face.

They’re all sharp angles and severe designs, brutally at odds with the gentle, rolling green landscape. The oversized glass windows mirror back the somber Scottish skies while the slick steel balconies seem absolutely alien among the few remainingthatched-roof cottages. Each building screams ‘disturbance’ in this once-timeless panorama. They’re complete eyesores, a cold, impersonal smudge on the historical and natural beauty that has stolen my heart.

Where’s MacDowell Farm?

It should be right there, snuggled between these hills and Moray Firth, like a cozy hug from Mother Nature herself. A tide of confusion sweeps over me, stirring up an impulsive urge to yank off my boots and chuck them at the cosmos for playing mind games with us.

Cal stands alone, a solitary figure against the backdrop of what used to be his lively family farm. Now? Just an empty expanse earmarked with a sign announcing yet another batch of impersonal condos. The hum of distant machinery punctures our silence, a harsh reminder of the inevitable transformation.

“Cal?” I venture, my voice teetering on the precipice of uncertainty. “What happened? Where’s your farm?”

He pivots toward me, his eyes shimmering with tears he’s fighting to hold back. The usual twinkle in those sapphire pools is replaced by a depth of sorrow that clenches my heart. I want to reach out and soothe him, but something about this moment roots me to the spot.

“It’s all gone, Mills,” he says, his words barely more than a breathy whisper.

“The farm. Our legacy. Everything we workedfor.” He inhales shakily as if bracing himself for what comes next.

“My parents live in Edinburgh, for godsakes, and I found Cameron in some dinky tourist office, just a shadow of his former self. It shattered me seeing him like that...so adrift from who we are.”

As his revelation sinks in, I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. The MacDowells have moved away? They’ve lost their land, and Cam’s lost his pub? The unfairness of it all has my blood boiling, but I ignore it, focusing instead on the man crumbling before me.

His gaze drifts back to the barren land stretching out behind him as regret laces his words. “I wish I hadn’t crossed Gregor back in 1645... It cost us everything.” A lone tear breaks free and carves its way down his chiseled cheek. “I should’ve known better... should’ve found another solution. This can never be set right.”

I can almost feel the weight he’s bearing on those muscular shoulders. All I want is to lighten his load, to reassure him that together we can fix things. But as I part my lips to speak, the words shrivel up and die, uncertainty muddying my thoughts.

Could he be right? Is there no do-over, no magic eraser for past screw-ups? I shake off the creeping doubts. We’ve come too far and battled too much to throw in the towel now.

I inch closer to Cal, my hand hovering before it gently lands on his arm. His skin is warm under mytouch. “We’ll work this out,” I assure him, my voice solid though my nerves are a complete mess. “There has to be a way to salvage your family’s heritage, to carve out a new future.”

Our eyes lock and for an instant, hope sparks in his gaze. But it dies as quickly as it flares up, replaced by that all-too-familiar stubborn tilt of his jaw. He pulls away from me, his eyes turning steely with determination.

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