Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Pasting on a smile, I nodded and followed him out of the room.
“Starting to feel overwhelmed?” Quinn guessed as we strode down the dark hallway and out the front door. We hadn’t finished our final tour before renovations were set to begin, so I didn’t understand why he was leading me outside.
“Um … maybe a little,” I admitted. “Where are we going?”
“To remind you of something.” He walked around to the back of the house, and I followed him, my hiking boots trampling overgrown weeds, unkempt hedgerow scratching into my jeans as we waded through it.
Quinn stopped in the garden on the cliff top. Even though I’d already seen the view, my breath caught again as I looked out at the harbor to the sound of Glenvulin. Beyond the deep blue waters was the rugged coastline of the mainland of Scotland.
The large guesthouse was built on the hill above the harbor. Below was the main street with colorfully painted buildings that lined the coastal front of Leth Sholas. Leth Sholas was a tiny harbor town on the Isle of Glenvulin. Leth sholas meant half-light in Gaelic and the town was colloquially nicknamed for its English translation.
Half-Light Harbor.
I’d fallen in love with the tiny village while backpacking around Scotland in search of the perfect place to start over. Half-Light Harbor, like many of the towns on the cluster of isles off the west coast of Scotland, was a dying community trying desperately to rejuvenate so they could provide opportunities that tempted their younger generation to stay. I was concerned as an American that I’d be viewed as some outsider intruding on their island. However, the community council had been more than helpful aiding me in obtaining the planning permissions needed to turn the guesthouse into a modern bed-and-breakfast.
“Once we open up the front”—Quinn gestured to the frontage with its too-small windows—“the views will be spectacular. I’ve always thought this place could be tremendous.” His look was warm and reassuring. “We’re all with you, Tierney, and grateful someone is investing their time and money into this old lady.” He nodded back to the house. “She deserves it.”
Gratitude suffused me. Since arriving a week ago to stay permanently on Glenvulin, I’d vacillated between excitement and panic. However, every time I slid toward the panicked end of the spectrum, someone from this tiny harbor town made me feel good about my decision. They were the most welcoming people I’d ever met. Some gruff and blunt, but always friendly. Well, almost always. There were one or two members in the community council who enjoyed making me sweat and uttered passive-aggressive comments about my not understanding how island life worked.
Scanning the stunning view, not for the first time, I was drawn to the small island off the coast of Leth Sholas. A causeway road connected the two islands, but only when the tide was out. Otherwise, the smaller island sat isolated and disconnected in the middle of the sound.
“That’s Stòr.” Quinn pointed to the tiny piece of land.
“Is it inhabited?”
“Only by the bloke who owns it.” He flashed me an attractive grin that crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. “You’ll meet him soon enough. Ramsay McRae is my business partner. We own the building company together. He was an … engineer. But he’s also a dab hand at woodwork. Some of the custom work we’ll be doing around the house will be Ramsay’s.”
“I look forward to meeting him.” I cocked my head in curiosity. “So, are people allowed on his island?”
Quinn considered me. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you wanted a wee look around. Just remember to check the safe crossing times if you do decide to venture over.”
Last year when I drove around Scotland looking for the perfect place to either build or renovate to start my B and B dream, I’d gotten used to the driver’s seat being on the right side of the vehicle and having to drive on the left side of the road. However, while the main A road around the coast of the island was large enough for passing vehicles, most of the B roads were single track. Having learned the hard way last year driving the NC 500 around Scotland, I’d opted to buy the smallest SUV I could find.
My cute Suzuki Ignis in bright turquoise bumped along the rough causeway that connected Leth Sholas to Stòr. There was water on the road, which made me a little nervous, but I guessed the tide never fully went out. When I was a kid, my parents were forever joking about my curiosity and how it was going to get me into trouble one day.
A nagging ache gnawed at me as I passed the tide times warning sign because as it turned out, my parents’ curiosity had gotten them into trouble first.