Chapter Three
Peely Wally: adjective, pale and sickly in appearance. Pronounced: Pee-lee-wali.
Whisky: noun, Whisky (no e) made in Scotland, also Canadian and Japanese grain spirits. Pronounced: Whisk-ay.
* * *
Eden
Soaking in the hustle and bustle of the street outside, I gaze out the window of Castle Cones Ice Cream Parlor.
I’ve been watching the world go by, lost in my own thoughts for the last hour as I enjoy the sweet fragrance of waffle cones in the air.
Thirteenth Century buildings litter my captivating hometown, and of course, there’s the castle that keeps a watchful eye over everyone. It’s central to everything.
It’s breathtaking, romantic, comforting.
Home.
It’s been three days since my car crash.
Sprained thumb. Tick.
Nasal trauma. Tick.
Was the airbag the culprit? Tick.
Car totaled? Double tick.
Turns out my alternator needed replacing, hence the noise. That would have been an easy fix; however, a combination of the crash, the damage the deer performed to my roof, and then the bumper car ride down the field, it’s now a write-off. Deep joy.
Encased in the pastel-colored seating booth, I’m waiting for my lifelong friend, Toni, to take her break.
I watch as Toni elegantly weaves her way through the parlor, casually chatting to customers and laughing with her staff.
She’s one helluva dangerous cocktail. Long brunette hair, deep hazelnut Italian eyes, and all year round caramel skin.
In comparison, being a fully-fledged Scot, I have super-pale skin, although I seem to tan really well in the sun.
Not that we see much of it in Scotland. Rain, rain, rain, and, today’s forecast, rain. That’s why my skin verges on being a lovely shade of whitish-blue in the winter. Peely-wally is what we call it in Scotland. So technically at least I have one thing going for me. My skin and eyes match. Both blue. Great.
Toni lives and breathes the family ice cream shop. Her parents handed over the running of the family business last year, and she’s been working her butt off ever since, renovating and updating the entire business from surroundings to systems.
It’s very rare she takes vacations, but she never complains. She's in her element.
People queue for hours, all year round. The lure of the handmade rich, sugary Italian goodness that Toni and her team serve up pulls people in, even through the wintertime when it’s snowing.
I’ve already had two ice cream cones today myself.
Toni’s been experimenting, yet again, with some new flavors to add to the eighty-one strong flavor menu. Scottish marmalade sorbet and rhubarb with ginger and gin. They were both a big thumbs-up from me. Well, one thumb and one finger because, well, you know, my thumb has a boo-boo.
I’ve tried all eighty-one flavors. Scottish tablet is still my favorite. Mmm, or maybe it’s fudge? It’s a tough call, to be honest. They are similar; Scottish tablet has that firmer grainy, super sugary texture, but then fudge, well, it’s softer, much softer, more melt in your mouth. It’s heavenly. A bit of advice. For the love of God, never tell a Scottish person they are the same thing. Fudge and tablet? Very different. Lots of sampling will prove you wrong, and you will be wrong. They are not the same thing.
So, Eden, tablet or fudge?
Gosh, that’s a hard choice. Please don’t ask me to pick. That would be like asking me to pick my favorite nephew. Nope, not doing that. Although… if you really push me, I may sway more toward little Archie. He’s a wee smasher. All ice-blond hair and blue eyes. Just dreamy and cute. Really bloody cute.
Castle Cones stays open late; who the hell wants ice cream at eleven p.m.? I raise a hand in the air. Eh, me, that’s who. Toni works a lot of the late shifts, so it’s my excuse to ‘drop in.’ Yeah, right.
“Hey, short stuff.” Toni smiles as she shimmies into the opposite side of the booth.
Short stuff. That nickname landed and stuck throughout school, and it’s never gone away. Petite—now I like that word. It’s just a much nicer way to say short, isn’t it? I dislike short stuff. Toni is only three inches taller than me. Geez.
“Have we tamed the ice cream beast?”
“Mayyybe.” I snigger.
“That bruising is really shining through now, huh? Is the pain any better?”
“A little. It’s the swelling I can’t handle the look of. I look like a pufferfish.”
“A beautiful pufferfish.” She blows air into her cheeks.
“Stop it, you. Ah, that’s painful.” I wince. I keep forgetting not to scrunch up my face or make sudden movements. It’s painful when I do. “I can’t breathe properly. I’m so happy it’s not a break though. Thank you.” I roll my eyes toward the sky.
“You still look cute. How did you get into town? Did Ella drive you in?” Toni takes a bite of her cheese and ham toastie.
“Yeah, she did.” It sucks I can’t drive and I’m at the mercy of everyone. My car is a write-off; they confirmed with me this morning. I hope my insurance gets sorted quickly.
“Ella’s coming back to get me. She had some things to sort out at the dance studio. And… she mentioned she wanted one of your famous sundaes you’re now making with cherry soda ice cream.” I smile.
“You three Wallace girls and ice cream, you’re worse than my family. Are you sure you’re not Italian?”
I cross my fingers. “Promise. Oh, here’s Ella now.” I watch as Ella swishes her hips toward us, all eyes on her.
Being a triplet is hard.
Everyone expects you to be the same, but we’re not. For a start, we’re not identical. We’re fraternal triplets. The same, but different. We all sound exactly the same. Our tone and quirks in our voices are identical. This throws Dad into a state of confusion all the time. His rule is… One at a time, please. He gets seriously flustered if we don’t take our turns to speak.
Compared to me, on the flip side is Ella. She’s our full-on party-loving girl and could out-party the world’s greatest party animal. Fact.
I’m not sure if or when she’ll settle down. Eva and I are ‘let's have a night in,’ Ella’s more a ‘let’s go for two weeks to Ibiza and not sleep.’ Yeah. Very different in that respect.
Eva’s our serene, delicate, and thoughtful girl. More homely all around. Her unique boho chic style makes her look supercool. I’d love to pull off her long dress and chunky Doc Martens boot look. She’s a hippy at heart. Her immaculate restored VW Camper Van adds that extra layer to her nomadic style too. It’s only ever taken out on sunshine days on the beach.
Eva and I do have similar golden-caramel hair, but that’s about as similar as we get. Mine is long, very long. Down to my waist long. It’s a labor of love.
I watch Ella pull her black off-the-shoulder sweater up over her long thick shiny ice-blond hair and nestles in beside me.
“Beatches. I am pooped. What a crazy day.”
I roll my eyes. “Having to work for a change, Ella?”
“Down, girl. You're spicier these last few days. I’m taking you home after my sundae, and then we’re going to talk about how we juggle our dance school. I’ll buy you some cupcakes on the way home. Will that help tame your inner bitch?” She sniggers. “The only thing Eva has asked for is more of the under twelve-year-old classes. She’s much better with the kids than I am. I am way ‘too sweary’ apparently.” Ella mimics air quotes with her fingers.
“Eva’s not wrong,” adds Toni.
Ella narrows her bright-emerald eyes. “Friends, Toni.” Motioning the space between them. “We’re supposed to be friends; you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Whatever. I’m not getting pulled into you girls’ ménage à trois.” She rises from the table. “What do you want, a cherry soda sundae, Ella?”
“Bingo. Bring it, baby.”
“You feeling better, babes?” Ella turns to me as Toni slips out of the booth.
“Yeah. Much. It was a great idea to get me out of my house today. Being here, at the parlor, always feels like home, doesn’t it? How many hours have we spent here since we were kids?”
“Hundreds, I reckon. Me, you, Eva, Toni, and Beth, just eating and chatting about school, boys, and music. Not much has changed really.” She laughs.
“I love what Toni’s done to the place.” She looks around. “All the retro ice cream parlor touches are so cool. I love the addition of the jukebox and the new bar stools. I can imagine Sandy making out with Danny from Grease, right there.” Giggling, she points with her perfectly manicured fingers to the chrome bar stools in pastel lilac and powder blue seat pads.
I take in the remodeled parlor. It’s a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree mouthwatering experience. I’ve tried all eighty-one ice cream flavors, so I know. Taste tester, anyone? I jump up and down, saying, “Me, me, me.” C’mon, give me a break; you would too if you were this close to the family.
We sit in comfortable silence.
“Here we go. One cherry soda sundae. And for you, my darling Eden. A wee whisky ice cream. It’s medicinal,” Toni assures me, winking.
“Thank Christ you’re not driving then.”
A voice pops up from behind Toni.
“Hey, Eva.” I welcome her. Seems like we’re all meeting here today then.
“Hi.”
“Ciao Bella.”
“Can I have one of those, please, Toni?” Eva points to Ella’s sundae.
“Sure, coming right up.”
“So this is what you two do when I’m at work then, huh?” I ask deadpan.
“Eh, no. We live our lives, Eden. So while you teach all day, try to cram more classes into our timetable, create TikToks, and overplan the business. Oh, and read. Eva has the kids, school runs, a house, a hubby, and I have a house and a dog and the horse. We have a life outside our dance studio, Eden.” She points her long sundae spoon at me. “So stick that up your peachy tooshie.”
Christ, does Ella’s feistiness never switch off? “And you said I was spicy today, Ella?” I quirk my brow.
My sisters and I own a dance school here in Castleview Cove—T3SDS. Short for The 3 Sisters Dance School. Us three girls attended the Scottish Contemporary Dance School after we left school. Surrounded by my sisters while away from Castleview Cove felt more like home away from home. We trained for years together, learning everything about dance and where our strengths lay. We then trained to teach. None of it ever felt like work for any of us. Dance is in our bones.
When we set up a dance school, it was the most natural thing for us to do. We wanted to share our gift.
There was no dance school in Castleview Cove. So we made it our goal to open one. Make it fun, make it accessible, be creative, and nurture untapped talent. We do what we love every day in the town where our hearts belong. My heart is rooted here forever.
We extended the gable end of my barn conversion, that’s now my dream home, to accommodate our dance school.
Following the incident four years ago, Ella and Eva oversaw the last stages of the conversion. I wasn’t in a good place mentally to do so.
When the sad-looking barn sat year after year perched within the grounds of my parents’ estate, Castle Sports Therapy Retreat, without a purpose, I asked if I could buy the building. They insisted I could have it. But we did it all officially. The barn is something to ooh and ahh over now. It’s even featured in a few Scottish home magazines. Five years on and I’m still in love with it.
I’m ever so grateful because if Mum and Dad hadn’t bought the mansion house and its grounds, then I never would have been the proud owner of my barn, which I proudly named, The West Barn. How super imaginative of me.
Eva asks, “What’s happening with your car? Do you know yet?”
We each have a Fiat 500. Minus mine now. They’re our advertising machines. One in mint green. Well, no longer. But I’m replacing her as soon as I get the go-ahead from the insurance company. I groan at the thought of the ensuing paperwork. Ella has a black one and Eva drives a silver one—it’s our dance school brand colors: mint, black, and silver. We emblazoned each one with our dance school logo.
“Yeah, I found out this morning. It’s a write-off. I’m not bothered at the moment because I can’t drive for a few weeks until my face and thumb heal, but I hope the paperwork doesn’t drag and suck a bag of dicks.”
Ella splutters. “What the hell, Eden? When was the last time you sucked a dick? Or saw one for that matter?”
“Shut up.” I blush.
“They just get you into trouble; look at me with two kids. Word of advice from Aunty Eva, stay away from dicks.”
“The closest I’ve been to one lately is in my book. He was the size of a sword, apparently.” I place my hands out in front of me, wide, demonstrating the length.
Eva drops her voice. “Hey, Ms. Wallace, come here; let me impale you with my thirty-inch sword.”
We all shake with laughter.
“What are we all laughing at?” Beth’s sultry voice drifts our way. I look up and just like always, Beth’s phone’s in her hand. With her head down, she struts her lean, elegant figure toward us.
“Yay. Beth’s here.” I raise my arm with glee.
“Eden’s books. She was talking about dicks.” Ella fills Beth in.
“You and those bloody books.” Beth rolls her dark-green eyes, crossing her long slender legs as she teeters sideways on the edge of the seat.
“You need a dick and not read about one.”
She’s wearing her signature black power collarless blazer, teamed with the tightest matching pencil skirt. How does she walk in that? And those shoes look dangerously high. It’s not like she needs the height.
Ah, those legs. They are truly enviable. At five foot eleven, she’s so graceful. It’s kind of embarrassing when I stand next to her. I look like I came along as the freak show circus act. Although Beth reckons it’s the other way around. The thing we do share in common is that we both lurveeee to shop. Oh yes, we do. Internet shopping is great and all, but Saturday afternoons are all about shopping. We are bona fide shopaholics.
Out of our little quintet, I’m the shortest. Ding, ding, winner. Yay, me. I definitely pulled the short straw. Literally.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to get out more. Eden’s a saddo. Whatever.”
I love my books. I love the escapism of a good romance novel. Cozied up on the couch. Just me and the story. It reminds me of my life before, a life I don’t have anymore. A life that I had a sneaking glance at. Then boom. Like a clap of thunder, it took all those dreams from me. Four years ago now. Feels like so much longer.
You’ll find me with my head in a book between dancing. I choose to only read the books that have a happily ever after. Or if you’re a book geek, like me, also known as HEA.
My favorite books all have a HEA. Girl meets boy. They encounter hardships along the way. They conquer every emotion under the sun. Travesty tears them apart, but they always, always, get back together and live happily ever after—or HEA to you and me.
I know that actual life is not like that. I’m living proof of that, but I love to dream, and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Those books give me hope because of the sheer joy and high they always end on.
I don’t think I could handle reading anything other than a HEA.
It just hurts too much.
Miracles, hope, and love happen in books.
Hope.
Such a beautiful word.
I cling on to hope.
I drift off, lost in my thoughts, as an ache pulsates in my heart.
Staring around, I take in the tourists and day-trippers filling up the booths and queue of Castle Cones. Most of them are most likely golfers.
Our town attracts them in droves. Visiting from all over the world with the dream of playing golf on Scotland’s finest golf courses.
They all want to eat ice cream at the world-famous ice cream parlor, walk the golden beaches, the harbor, the pier, and watch the sun set. It’s the Castleview Cove must-dos.
Castleview Cove, The Heart of Golf. That’s the town’s tagline. Apt for Castleview Cove. Surrounded by nine golf courses, including the mother of all courses, The Champion. It’s classed as the best, oldest, and most famous in the world; it’s monumental in the world of golf and it hosts the world-famous Castleview Championship Cup, or The Cup for short, and takes place every four years.
I watch as Beth taps away on her phone. Probably answering the copious amount of emails she receives every day.
Ah, the cross is hard to bear when you’re the CEO of The Scotland Golf Association here in Castleview Cove. The Association oversees everything golf related.
It comes with weighty expectations and demands. Beth is the youngest to become CEO in the history of the Association, a highly sought-after role and historically filled by a man. She’s making waves and setting the stage for new fresh talent to join her team.
The five of us played a cracking game of golf, once, when we were eighteen, following a very drunken-lunch-gone-one-drink-too-many afternoon.
We hired clubs, with no idea what the hell we were doing. Well, Beth did. That is her job to know how to play golf after all. But way back then she was too drunk to teach us, and frankly she couldn’t give a monkey’s.
We ended up on the wrong course. Lost a few balls. Riled up some tourists. Toni fell in the burn that runs along the length of the course, and then we crashed a golf cart into the sand dunes.
I don’t recall leaving the course. Apparently, I swung my bra around my head, catapulting golf balls from it as we walked to the pub. God help poor Beth. That story comes up from time to time. We’re twenty-seven-year-old responsible adults now. With proper jobs and everything. We don’t do that kind of thing anymore. Well, maybe the girls do from time to time. Just don’t let them loose on a bottle of tequila. That. Changes. Everything.
Where was I? Golf. Yup. Golf is the soul of our majestic historic town. It was even part of our school curriculum. I sometimes wish Toni and I had paid attention in those classes, then we might know what the fascination with it all is and maybe look more interested when Beth shares her days with us. That glazed look we often have is a look of ‘yeah, we do not know what the hell you’re talking about’ when she explains golfy things to us. Golfy things, that’s an actual thing just for the record. Well, it is in our book.
Us townies love the tourists and love the buzz of the town. Beth, Toni, and Ella like it for other reasons—hot golfers apparently.
Can’t say I’ve looked in a while. I don’t want to look.
Beth settles her phone down on the table, looks straight at me without flinching, and three simple words spill out her mouth. “So, Hunter King?”
She’s a minx.
I feel my cheeks heat for the second time today.
“The Hunter King. Pro golfer Hunter King. Found you in a field. Holy shit. Have you seen those eyes, girls?” She looks around the table at everyone, then turns to look straight back at me. “I heard all about your little encounter today when Hunter helped us kick off our promo for the Championship Cup. I’m so over this promo stuff, and we still have three months to go. He told me about how he’d found this ‘pretty Scottish girl’ and how he rescued her in a field. How her voice was like a siren and how she was as cute as a button.” She mockingly swoons.
“He didn’t bloody say that.” I tilt my head to the side. “Did he?”
“Mmm.” She taps her chin.
I’m going to kill her.
“No, he didn’t. But he might as well have. I overheard him speaking to his swing coach about you. He’s been texting Ella. Ain’t that right, hon?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you yet.” Beth flinches under the table as Ella takes a swipe at her shins. “But he likes you, and he’s concerned about you. He wants to come see you.”
She continues. “He’s asked about you several times over the last few days. When Mum and Dad showed up at the hospital, Hunter was there. Do you really not remember? He followed behind the ambulance. Mum told you that too. That bump to the head has made you such a space cadet these last few days.” She frowns as I shake my head. “Hunter explained how he’d found you. Of course, Dad knew who he was. Dad was expecting him that night to check in at the retreat. He’s staying here for three months. And when I say he likes you, I mean, he really likes you.”
“How is that even possible? Look at me. Five foot two, a nobody, average plain old Eden. And he doesn’t know me. He likes me?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you blind?”
“Hush now, girl.”
“You what?”
All at once cries call around the table.
Ella turns to me, curling her leg on top of the leather seat. “You, Eden Wallace, are beautiful.” She reaches out and tucks a loose caramel strand of hair behind my ear. “You have a bangin’ curvaceous hourglass body with flexibility and strength that even Eva and I can’t keep up with. You need a man to share that shit with. It’s totally going to waste. You’re funny and clever and have the kindest heart. You’ve lost all your dating confidence and belief in yourself. I know you think you don’t deserve happiness, but you do. And also not because you’re my sister and please believe me when I say this. You are gorgeous.” She bites her top lip. “Although as I’m looking at you, all I see is a pufferfish.”
I find Toni’s eyes. “See, I told you. Pufferfish.” I slap my good hand to the table. “I knew it.”
“I just gave you my greatest speech, and that’s what you take from it.”
We fill our little corner of the parlor with soft chuckles.
“In all honesty, girls, I don’t feel beautiful. I certainly haven’t felt remotely attractive for a long time. My confidence has taken a full on nosedive for sure.” I shrink back into my seat and wrap my arms around myself. “I still can’t get my head around why he left, and why I then lost my little angel. I didn’t deserve this,” I say meekly.
I haven’t spoken to anyone about my feelings for a long time, or ever. I try to bury them all. Stay in. Work. Dance. The show must go on, right? Mask on, shoulders back, tits out.
I have quite good tits too. I think it’s because my waist is so tiny it makes my boobs look much bigger than they really are. It makes buying bras and jeans a bloody nightmare—tiny waists are awful things. That’s why dancewear is my go-to. Lycra is life.
Sinking myself into dance is my grand escape. I was born to dance. I’ve dreamed about it since I was ten years old. However, back then I imagined myself as tall and slender. Just like the girls in the music videos I was obsessed with watching. Never did I think that at twenty-seven years old I’d be all grown up and still the same bloody height as I was back then. Just with much bigger boobs and a lot of junk in my trunk with all the squatting and dancing I do.
Sensing my sorrow, Eva slides her hand across the table. “You know we love you?” I take her hand in mine. One by one, the rest of the girls place their hands on top.
“We’ve got you, babes. But you’ve got to let us help you,” Toni says.
“I don’t know if I’m ready… I think I want to go home now. Can we go home and organize what we’re doing with classes while I’m off?”
The girls groan in defeat.
“I need to pick the kids up from school and nursery, so I’ll let you two sort it out. I trust you.” Eva winks.
“Just so you know, Eden, Hunter wants to see you. He’s a man on a mission,” Beth states firmly.
“He can be as determined as he wants, but he’s not coming to see me.”
Famous last words.