Liam had been given the maximum twenty years that he could have gotten. The judge thankfully didn’t buy his act on the day he took the stand. I hadn’t been there, but I had heard everything that had been said, and it all pointed to me being hopelessly in love with him and him being swept up by my beauty and charm—just as his solicitor tried to sell.

He’ll only serve half his term, but it’ll at least give me ten years of planning. Ten years of trying to find the best place to hide. For now, it’s in Scotland. My mum and I had been asked where we would want to relocate to, and since I wanted to be nearer to Easton in some way, I had said Edinburgh. My mum, knowing why I chose that particular place, simply nods. She understands where I’m coming from, but she hasn’t forgiven Easton for his absence all this time. Still, I had pined for him. I had even gone to the house only to find a family I didn’t recognise coming out of the front door. I had hastily left and haven’t been back since. The whole thing is still a mystery.

My mum took Eric with us in the end, and he has been living with her since. We all lived together up until about a month ago when I managed to find a full time assisting job at a law firm in the city centre. It doesn’t pay a huge amount, but it does pay enough for rent, food, and a few drinks at the weekend, once my working week is done. I have made friends, but none as close as how I got to Brett the barman. I miss him. Too many times I came close to picking up the phone and calling the bar, but I had been advised to let go of my old life and move on. As much as that had hurt, I knew it to be true—including after a time, Easton.

“Lisa, would you mind going down to the local café and getting a few coffees? I’ve got the order here.”

Oh yeah, I had forgot to mention. I’m called Lisa now and I hate it.

“Sure, let me have the order and I’ll go now.”

Beth, one of the junior solicitors smiles sweetly as she hands me the paper. “You’re a life-saver.”

I start laughing. “It’s what I’m here for.” I offer her a wink and grab my coat. Despite it being August it still gets cold. I would take this over the winters here, though. They are harsh. Despite all of that I wouldn’t move for the world. I can see why Easton spoke fondly of it here.

Making haste, I walk a little unsteadily in my new high heels. I’m not used to them, but they look great. I get to the coffee house and order the eight coffees on the list and then wait. Female voices catch my attention, and I turn to observe, pretending to play with my phone as I listen to their excitable chatter.

“Have you seen the hash tags?” one brown-haired girl asks, giggling as she does.

“I think it’s so romantic,” a girl with red hair chimes in.

“Of course you would. He could be a psychotic killer for all you know, but yeah … it’s so romantic,” a raven-haired girl with an obvious penchant for sarcasm answers while rolling her eyes.

I chuckle under my breath, but not loudly enough for them to hear me.

“How long has he been trying to find her?” the red-headed romantic asks.

“I think about a month now. It’s seriously trending on Twitter. Everyone is desperate to find the girl NikeRider is after.”

My smile instantly falls. What did she just say?!

“Excuse me,” I say, approaching the girls at the table. They all look up at the same time, and their expressions tell me they all have the same question: Who are you?

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear. you say something about someone called NikeRider, who is trying to find someone?”

The girl with the black hair looks me up and down before saying, “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Can you tell me the name of the girl he’s been searching for?”

My heart speeds up as my adrenaline spikes. Surely this is just a coincidence?

“See for yourself.” She hands me the phone, and I take it from her, my hands slightly trembling. On the Twitter page, there is a photo of a Harley Davidson bike, and the Twitter name is NikeRider. I see he’s from Edinburgh. I look down at the first tweet and see it all in front of me.

#NikeRider seeking his #BikerChick. She was once lost, so now the search is on. She needs to know how much I still love her. If you’re out there, come find me.

I swallow hard before handing back her phone. “Thanks,” I say, but I’m not really looking at her.

“You’re welcome. Hey, are you okay?”

I glance down at romantic girl and nod my head. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”

I quickly turn, and soon after, all the coffees are ready. I pick them up, and as fast as I can, I make it out of the café. I know those girls are watching me. I can feel their eyes penetrating the back of my head. Right now, I don’t care. Right now, all I can think about is that tweet.

I get back to the office and quickly hand out all the coffees before sitting at my desk and taking my phone out of my pocket. With shaky hands, I light it up, go on Twitter, and search for all tweets involving NikeRider and BikerChick. To my surprise, there are over a hundred thousand of them—all virtually saying the same thing: NikeRider searching for his BikerChick. Hey, let’s give this romantic fool a hand and try to find her.

BikerChick, where are you? NikeRider is waiting.

And they say true love is dead. Not when it comes to #NikeRider and his #BikerChick.

I let out a small laugh, tears springing my eyes as I go through hundreds of tweets one after the other, and then it hits me. Something I probably should have done ages ago, but never thought I would ever get a hit. I Google Easton Lockhart.

Straight away I get a hit and I’m delighted when I see what I find. He has his own art gallery called Evie’s, named after his mother, but that’s not the one thing that stands out the most. All this time he’s been here, in Edinburgh, practically two streets away from where I work!

I’m out of my seat like a shot and racing towards Beth. “Beth, can I please leave early? I wouldn’t normally ask, but it’s an emergency.”

She can see the urgency in me to leave, so nods her head. “Of course. I hope it’s not too serious?”

I shake my head on the smile. “No, not at all. Quite the opposite.” I grab my coat and bag noticing the frown on her face. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

I don’t stay long enough to hear her reply. I’m out onto the street and racing down there without even putting my coat on. By the time I reach the plush looking studio with huge windows, I stop still when I see the huge sketch—the sketch of me that I found hanging on his bedroom wall. I gasp, throwing a hand over my mouth before peeking inside to see if I can see him. There’s no one around, but that doesn’t stop me from walking in. A bell rings, announcing my presence, but I’m still alone for the time being. I notice the walls are literally covered with sketches; there is barely a free inch. The majority of the sketches are of lakes, mountains, sunsets, and sunrises, but amidst all the beauty, there are also sketches of people in obvious pain. The pain on their faces is so raw and so visceral that it makes my heart hurt.

“I’ll be right out,” I hear a voice shout. It sounds a lot like Easton, but I can’t be sure. I turn to the sound of the voice, waiting to see who will come out from the room in the back.

I hear a banging noise followed by a curse which makes me giggle, and then.

He emerges.

All six foot four of him, the soft wavy brown curls I used to love threading my fingers through when we were cuddling. He wipes his sweat with an old rag full of different, vibrant colours of paint and then he looks in my direction. His eyes look tired, but they’re still the colour of whiskey gold currently burning their way into my soul.

His face is a mixture of shock and elation. “Sasha?” he asks, as if I’m not actually real.

I can’t move. My feet are cemented to the ground. My emotions, however, want to act violently. Tears fill my eyes and start to spill down my cheeks.

Sensing my reaction, Easton picks up a stick leaning against the wall and starts walking with it, an obvious limp when he does.

That’s when I react.

“What happened?” I asked, finally able to find my feet. I sprint the distance, grabbing onto his arm for support. I don’t miss that zap of electricity and neither does Easton.

“Never mind that for now. Come here.” He grabs me, pulling me in close, and it’s then that his smell invades my nostrils. God, I’ve missed this man so much.

“I have so much to tell you.” He snuggles his head into the crook of my neck, kissing me lightly and sending shivers up my spine.

“One of them being that you have your own art gallery.” I chuckle lightly, not wanting this moment with him to end.

He starts to laugh too and then says, “I wouldn’t have taken the plunge if it hadn’t been for you.”

The bell on the door chimes alerting us that someone’s here. We both turn to find a middle-aged man standing by the door. He obviously doesn’t know where to put himself once he sees us involved in our obvious show of affection.

“Is this a bad time?” the man asks, pointing to the door behind him. “I can come back.”

Easton looks down at me. “Go tend to your customer,” I whisper. “We have all the time in the world to talk.”

As hastily as he can with his limp he grabs a nearby chair and offers it to me. “Don’t you dare go anywhere,” he warns, earning a big smile from me.

Yeah, as if I would.

He has some explaining to do. I would be pissed off if it wasn’t for the fact I’m so fucking elated that I’ve found him.

“No, it’s fine,” Easton finally says to the man. “How can I help you?”

The man points to one of the sketches on the wall. It’s of a young lady, her face cocked to one side as she leans her chin on one of her hands, tears stream down her face as she looks off into the distance at something. I can’t see what, but something tells me she’s gazing into the root of her pain.

“I came in yesterday to have a browse round and this one straight away caught my eye. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Is it for sale?”

Easton nods. “It is.”

“Great!” he beams. “I would like to purchase please.”

Easton tries to take the picture down, but it’s awkward with his stick. I rush forward to help him and he thanks me as I manage to take it down. I follow Easton as he takes it to the counter and pulls out lots of wrapping paper. Bit by bit, I help him secure the picture.

“You know, you’d make a great assistant here,” he jokes, but I can’t help my heart fluttering at the idea.

The man pays a whopping six hundred pound for it before thanking Easton. He then asks, “I hear you’re going into painting?”

Remembering Easton walking out from the back room with paint all over his rag and fingers, it makes me wonder.

“Yes, I have done a few. I actually have an art exhibition this Saturday where I’ll be showcasing some of my pieces. You’re welcome to come, if you want? It’s fully booked, but since you’ve just bought one of my sketches, I can put you on the VIP list?”

“This Saturday, you say?”

Easton nods. “Got other plans?”

“No, this Saturday is fine. Can I bring my wife with me?”

“Sure,” he replies, grabbing a pen. “What are the names?”

“Mr and Mrs Walker.”

Easton busies himself jotting down the names before putting his pen down. “I’ll look forward to seeing you both.”

Mr Walker holds out his hand to shake Easton’s. “And us too. You have quite the talent, Mr Lockhart.”

Easton blushes under the compliment. “Thanks,” he responds, shaking his hand back.

Mr Walker then looks to me, then Easton. “Right, I’ll leave you two to it.” He offers me a wink before turning and strolling towards the door. Easton follows behind him and once the door is shut, Easton turns the Open sign to Closed before locking the door.

“Follow me,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me towards the back door.

“What happened to you?” I ask, watching as he continues to hobble into the back room. It’s a smallish room with a desk, which has copious amounts of bills and paperwork strewn across it.

“Wow, you’re messy.” I giggle a little.

“I told you I needed an assistant.” He smiles back. “Here,” he says, pulling out a chair. “Sit. We have a lot to discuss.”

I sit down and watch as Easton grabs his desk chair, pulling it over so he can sit with me. “Where are all your paintings?”

He points to another door in the far corner. “In there, but let’s talk about that later. I had an accident.”

I gasp. “Oh my God, when?”

He shakes his head like the memory of it all is painful. “The day I was supposed to meet you my mum died.”

I throw both my hands over my mouth, tears immediately welling in my eyes. I loved his mother. “Oh no, Easton. How?”

He takes one of my hands in both of his, bringing it to his lips. My heart aches for him as he drops my hand, but keeps it cradled in his. He looks down at it as if trying to find the right words to say. I can already tell he’s trying to be brave—trying not to break down in front of me.

He then takes a deep breath. “Heart attack. It was sudden and violent, but the killer was she was on her own when it happened. She managed to call an ambulance, but by the time she arrived at hospital she was pronounced dead.”

I close my eyes and with it a tear rolls down my face. “Oh, Easton. I’m so sorry.”

He looks up then, tears in his eyes. He smiles before cradling my face. I turn into his touch nestling my cheek into his fingers more. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, before pulling his hand away.

“When I found out, I was working on the farm for an hour before leaving to come and see you. I had been so happy when I woke up knowing I would get to see you again.” He shakes his head at the memory of it. “I left as quickly as possible and raced on my bike to the hospital. On the way there, someone pulled out in front of me, an inevitable crash happened. I was in a coma for three months. By the time I had come around I had missed my mum’s funeral, missed seeing you. I was a mess. It took months of rehabilitation and lots of operations on my right leg. That took the most of it. My bones shattered in the impact. It took hours for the doctor to take the fragments out before pinning them back. Although my leg will get better over time I will always have a limp, and may even suffer arthritis when I’m older.”

More tears fall down my cheek. “Oh, Easton. How awful. No wonder you never turned up that day. I– I had began to think you didn’t want me anymore … especially when I left a message and you never responded. I even went to your family home and saw a strange couple living there.”

Easton raises his hand to my cheek again. “I could never, ever not want you. You’re the reason to everything.” We smile at each other before he continues. “Once my mother died no other members of our family wanted to move in. We all thought it too painful. We rented the house out for six months until eventually I moved in after I came out of the hospital. I had hoped you would turn up at the door. I did try and find you but had guessed you went into hiding again after everything that happened with Liam.” He lets out a deep breath. “I heard about the attack. It fucking killed me to think you had been through all of that and I wasn’t there.” He looks down at my arms. “How are they now?”

I flinch, pulling away. “They’re ugly.”

I still have nightmares about that day. It will never leave me. Liam and that girl who had never been found have both made a permanent scar in my mind. My mum went crazy towards the police for that. It should have been easy to find her, but so far it’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the earth.

He grabs my arms, pulling them towards him before pushing up my jumper sleeve. I look down seeing the hideous burn marks and look away. I feel when Easton kisses them and I look down surprised.

“We both bear scars now, but each one of them has led us here.” He looks up to me with a heart-stopping smile and right then my ugly scars on display are all but forgotten.

“How’s your mum?” he asks, changing the subject.

I smile. “She’s good. Living with Eric now and talking of marriage. I lived with them too up until about two months ago. I rent a studio flat near to Holyrood Park.” I look down then. “I thought it best to leave my mum and Eric alone. I was just a third wheel.”

“I’m sure they didn’t see it like that.”

I look back up to see his smile. “I guess not. I think—if I’m honest—I selfishly couldn’t handle the happy couple. I hate saying that because it makes me look bad. I’m deliriously happy for my mum. I am. I just …”

“It made you miss us too much?” he asks, hope clear in his voice.

“Every minute of every day,” I admit. As he strokes my arms he starts to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking how in the beginning it was like the universe kept throwing us together like we were meant to be. And then when we parted it was like the universe was determined to keep it that way. I liked it much better when we were being thrown together.”

“Yeah, hashtag Nike Rider.” I look down, smirking when I see he’s still wearing Nikes, even if they are a different pair this time.

He notices and smirks right back. “I had to find some way to get your attention.”

“Well, it worked … in the form of three young ladies sitting in the café down the street talking about you.”

He quirks his eyebrow. “Oh really? And what did they say?”

“That you may be a pervert.” I start giggling causing him to shake his head.

“There will always be at least one.”

I reach out cupping his cheek in my hand. “Well, you’re my pervert.”

He chuckles. “Thanks.”

“How’s your family?”

He clears his throat. “Well, Grayson’s still out breaking hearts and causing trouble, Hamish is now a Chief Inspector in the police, Gregory is now in Iraq touring for six months—we all weren’t that happy about that. Anthony’s still working at the docks, and Ella just had her firstborn six months ago and is a stay-at-home mum. She still lives in the US with her husband.”

I take a deep breath. “Wow! A lot has happened, hasn’t it?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just wish you were here with me to see it all.”

“I’m here now.”

He smiles, taking my hand again. “Yes, you are.”

“Can I see your paintings now?”

He rises out of his chair, so I quickly follow suit. “Come on then,” he bellows, grabbing his stick and pulling my hand to follow him. We reach the door to his studio and he pushes through. Straight away I notice how different the room is compared to his dark, small office. In here there’s bright white walls with huge windows letting in all the light. I look to the floors and find lots of paintings lined up one by one with sheets protecting them. There is an easel in the middle of the room and on it is an almost finished painting. It’s of a young girl. She is looking at something or someone and she has the biggest smile on her face. Her blonde hair is willowing in the breeze. She is surrounded by flowers, all of them in different shades of bright colours.

Straight away I recognise who the girl is.

“Is that me?”

Easton nods his head, a mixture of happiness and uncertainty at how I would take it. “You’ve made me look beautiful.”

“That’s because you are beautiful.” Suddenly, he grabs for me, pulling me into his arms. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight now that I’ve found you.”

I smile as he looks down towards my lips. “Your biker chick is here.”

“Do you still have the helmet?”

“Of course. I would never get rid of it. Are you not riding anymore?” I look down at his leg. Surely after the accident he doesn’t still ride a bike? I do notice, however, that he’s still wearing his Nikes. I don’t know why I get a kick out of that.

“I didn’t want what some idiot did to me put me off my love of riding. After I got a good payout in compensation I used the money—along with the amount my mum left me in her will—to fund my dream. I wanted to do it for you, but I wanted it for me too. It was your voice in my head that drove me forward. I was depressed because of my mum, you, the accident, but I was determined to make something special come out of a dire situation. I was broken and I didn’t want you to see me that way. Eventually I put myself back together again, bought this studio, and it’s only once I really started selling my sketches that I thought myself a worthy man for you. That’s when I really started searching. I thought social media would help, and I’m so glad that it did.”

I start to tut under my breath. “How you can say you’re not a worthy man, Mr Lockhart? I would want you no matter what—even if there was a big wart on your nose and you didn’t have two pennies to rub together!”

Easton throws his head back in laughter. “A big wart, huh?” I nod my head in defiance. “So, does this mean we can start dating properly now? As in publicly?”

I bite my lip to try and suppress a smile. “I guess so.”

Before I can continue, his lips are on mine. They are warm, wet, inviting, and intoxicating—everything I remember and more. As our tongues dance, so too do the butterflies in my stomach. His hands cradle my head as he moans into my mouth, causing a fire in between my legs … a fire which I thought had died the moment Easton and I parted over a year ago.

My head is swimming. I’m completely lost in this man, and I never want this feeling to end. But then he suddenly breaks our contact. “I love you,” he says, still breathing heavily against my mouth.

“I love you too, Easton. More than words can ever say.”

He smiles before leaning down to press his lips against mine. “To our kiss,” he says, smiling from ear to ear.

I can’t help the euphoria that runs through me when I reply, “To our kiss.”