“C’mere with me, love,” Donnal said, twining their fingers and tugging her deeper into the garden.

Nova lifted her skirts to avoid tripping as they rushed down the path. “Where are we going?”

He laughed and didn’t answer. Hope filled her down to her toes. Would this be the night he proposed? Nova giggled, and her feet skipped over the grass as he led her to the edge of the orchard.

Today was the anniversary of their first date, and what better occasion to make their union official than right before the Border House costume party? She already wore her authentic Guthrie tartan gown, and he was in his traditional feileadh beag.

She wanted a short engagement—definitely—and to ring in the New Year as husband and wife. Her mother might balk and try to get her to wait, but it was her life and her love. The world had changed, even in the last decade, and women’s options weren’t as limited as they once were. A diamond ring would be splendid, but Donnal was practical, so she didn’t expect more than a simple band. It didn’t matter either way, because she cared more about him than any piece of jewelry.

“We’re here,” he said with a mile-wide smile. He positioned her in front of him and clasped both her hands tightly. “I’m excited.”

Her heart beat like a caged bird, ready to fly away. “Me too, my love,” she whispered, gazing into his azure eyes, the color of a clear summer sky. She was going to spend the rest of her life with this handsome man. Nova held her breath, waiting for him to pop the question.

His cheeks creased in happy lines, and he leaned down to press his forehead against hers. “You’re a bonny lass with yer pink cheeks and bright eyes. I could almost forget why I brought ye here.”

The first hint of confusion caused her to pull back and glance around. “Who else is here?” she asked, surreptitiously looking to glimpse whichever one of their friends was hiding to take a photo of the big moment.

“Just us, my love. You’re the first to know.”

“I don’t understand. Donnal, I thought we were coming here to, you know…” She couldn’t embarrass herself by saying the words.

He wrapped his arms around her and spun them around in a quick circle. “I would dearly love to tumble in the grass with ye, my darlin’. ‘Tis too important. Are ye ready?”

Relief washed through her. “I’ve never been more ready. You’re everything to me.”

“Aye.” He nodded, plucked an apple from the branch over her head, and extended the red and gold fruit to her. “I’m about to become the most famous brewmaster in Scotland.”

“That’s an apple,” she said stupidly.

“Look at it! See the color? The red and lighter yellow spots? The Bloody Ploughman apple is a dark red variety. I spliced it with the yellow-red James Greive apple almost four years ago.” He whipped out a knife and cut off a generous slice. “Taste it. The sweet-crisp-tart flavor is extraordinary. Perfect even, with a hint of—I dinna ken how best to describe it. This apple will make my brew the greatest ever created.”

Nova’s disappointment was sharp enough to have her gulping for breath. “No,” she said, fighting tears as she pushed away his hand and stepped back. “Tell me ye didn’t bring me here only to look at fruit.”

His countenance fell. “Not just any fruit. I’ve waited years for the trees to produce. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“You brought me here to show me apples you’ve grown for yer beer making?”

Donnal ran a hand through his messy curls, tipping his chin to study her. “Sweetheart, come back to my shed, and I’ll give ye a sample. Tis a perfect blend of spice with the tiniest effervescent bubbles.”

“Ye promised we would go to the Halloween Ball this year. It’s the anniversary of our first date.”

“Alright then. I’ll share it with ye another night. Give me an hour, and I’ll be back to the house for the dancing.”

Her heart ached with self-pity. “No. Tonight, I thought … it doesn’t matter. I’m through with being the second-best thing in yer life. Find me when ye decide which is more important, me or your brews.”

“Nova—”

“Mayhap ye should marry the apple tree.” She spun on her heels and took off at a run lest he see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

* * *

That long-ago night, after her flash of anger, she’d hoped Donnal would follow her from the garden. He did not, and that exchange was the last they ever shared. Shortly after nine, the valve on his homemade pressure fermenting device overloaded and blew apart. A jagged piece of metal lodged in Donnal’s heart, killing him instantly.