Page 263 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
Note 2: Ragnar deserves a lifetime pension paid entirely in apples.
She studies the page for a long moment, her wrinkled hand resting flat against the paper.
Four brilliantly successful operations.
Four grandchildren now married—or well on their way to it.
Callum and Jane, raising a little boy who already inherited the McGregor stubborn streak.
Keira and Alistair, who achieved the impossible by uniting rival clans.
Lachlan and Emma, proving every day that love couldn’t care less about age gaps or backgrounds.
And now Mary and Finn, who learned together that vulnerability is strength, not weakness.
Something unexpected stings Maggie’s eyes.
Tears?
Really?
“I’m getting old,” she murmurs, blinking rapidly.
Hamish watches her with what looks disturbingly like compassion.
She turns the page, ready to begin planning the next operation the way she always does after a successful victory.
But her hand hesitates over the blank paper.
Connor and Cameron come to mind immediately. Identical faces, completely different hearts. Their whole lives ahead of them. Love stories just waiting for a small push in the right direction.
But then she thinks of Mary earlier that morning, glowing in her summer dress as she hurried down the castle steps toward Finn, who’d been waiting for her with a bouquet of wild heather—an entirely spontaneous idea on his part.
Mary’s words still echo in Maggie’s mind:
Sometimes you have to let life unfold on its own.
Let life unfold on its own.
What a strange—and honestly terrifying—concept.
“What do you think, Hamish?” Maggie asks aloud. “Should I listen to Mary?”
The sheep rises and rests his head gently on Maggie’s knees, a gesture so rare it immediately softens something inside her.
His dark eyes hold hers with almost human intensity.
“You think I’ve completed my final mission?” she asks softly. “That the others can manage on their own now?”
Hamish doesn’t move, but something in his gaze seems to say:
Maybe it’s time to enjoy your victories instead of searching for new ones.
Maggie sits silently for a long while, absently stroking the wool on top of his head.
She thinks about all the years spent pulling strings, orchestrating meetings, creating opportunities. She’s been an architect. A strategist. A general commanding the battlefield of love.
But maybe…
