Chapter Forty-Six

Rory

The meeting with Scarlet and Tommy took a little longer than I thought, as there were some logistics to work out for next week’s West Highland Way trek. It was 10:45, later than I’d wanted to get on the road for the roughly two-hundred-mile drive to Glasgow, but Amelia’s flight wasn’t until tomorrow morning anyway. I was actually looking forward to the long car ride—anything to spend a few more hours with her.

“I’ll get the van and meet you out front,” said Tommy, who was driving us to Sligachan so I could borrow Gav’s car.

“Aye, be right out.”

I jogged up the stairs and unlocked the door. “Sorry, Amelia,” I said as I entered the room. “Are you—”

The room was empty. Amelia wasn’t there. Her rucksack wasn’t there, though mine still sat on the floor by the chair. She was probably on the phone outside somewhere. I hit the loo, grabbed my pack, and headed downstairs.

I greeted the landlady, Mrs. Douglas, whom I’d known for a few years. “Here’s the second key for Number 2.”

“Thanks, lovey,” she said. “Your lass turned in hers already.”

“Thanks—I guess she’s waiting for me outside.” I turned toward the door.

“Rory, wait. Amelia asked me to give this to you.”

She held out a plain white envelope with my name written in cursive on the outside.

And I knew.

I took it from her as if it were a snake and stumbled to one of the chairs in the lobby.

That was where Tommy found me a few minutes later.

“Hey man, are we going or what? I got things to— What’s wrong? Where’s Amelia?”

Wordlessly, I handed him the single sheet of paper that had been inside the envelope. I watched him read the words I’d already read several times.

Dear Rory,

I know you told me that we shouldn’t get involved, that you didn’t think I was cut out for a short fling. And I know I told you I was, insisted I could handle it.

I lied. To you—and to myself.

This morning, it all came crashing down.

How would I sit beside you in the car for the whole day, making small talk? How would I have a nice dinner with you in Glasgow and not talk about what would happen after I went home? How would I spend another glorious night in your arms and pretend my heart wasn’t breaking at the thought of leaving you? How would I say goodbye to you?

I was strong enough to complete the Skye Trail, but I’m not strong enough to say goodbye.

I changed my flight to this evening, and by the time you read this, I’ll be on the bus to Glasgow.

I know it’s for the best—for both of us.

There’s no way I can ever thank you for what you did for me this week. But I’ll say it anyway: Thank you. For helping me get through the trek. For making me feel. For everything.

Maybe we can email from time to time, and maybe our paths will cross again, but if not, that’s okay. It’ll have to be.

No regrets.

Amelia

Tommy lowered the letter. “Why are you still sitting there?” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

I looked up at him, my whole body numb. “Where? We can’t chase the bus, Tommy. It left half an hour ago.”

“We don’t have to chase it. We know where she’s going. If she changed her flight to tonight, it’s probably leaving at what, like eight-something? We’ll get there in plenty of time.”

I threw up my hands. “In time for what? She’s flying back to New York, to her new job, to her life. We could have had one more day—one more night—together, but she gave that up because she didn’t want to drag this out.”

“All of that may be true, but it’ll eat you up inside if you don’t get some kind of closure. So let’s get in the goddamn car so you can say goodbye to her.”

Resigned, I grabbed his hand and let him pull me to my feet.