Chapter 13

Ramsay

I'd barely slept the night before.

Which certainly didn't help my annoyance this morning, as I poured my third cup of coffee. I stood at the back entrance of my shop, door open to the blustery morning, not caring that I'd have to light a fire to warm the place up when Willow arrived.

At the moment, I needed the caffeine and the cold to shock my system into tearing my mind away from thoughts that I most decidedly should not be having.

It hadn't helped that every time I did fall into sleep last night, a dream would slip through my mind, the softness of Willow's lips pressed against mine. I'd shake myself awake, even in dreamland knowing that she was off limits, and adrenaline would send my mind racing as I tried to force my thoughts away from this attraction that had a chokehold on me.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so instantly taken with someone, and the fact that it was Miles's little sister was like pouring salt into a wound. If Willow had been anyone else, I'd be rolling out the red carpet and wining and dining the bonnie lass until she'd give me a chance. But now, I had to keep Willow at a distance and the only way I knew how to do that was to be downright surly to her. Arsehole move, for sure, but it was the one that resonated the most with me. Being friendly with her danced too close to a relationship status that I wasn't ready for, so I'd need to enlist the time-honored tradition of Scottish banter coupled with my naturally grumpy exterior to keep a stern boundary between us.

Maybe I should set her up on a date.

The mere idea brought a scowl to my face, and I sipped at my black coffee, the liquid bitter against my tongue as I thought about Willow dating one of my mates. Miles would probably have my head if I went that route, so best to just steer clear of anything dating related when it came to Willow.

My laptop pinged, signaling an incoming Zoom call, and I turned from watching a crow swoop above a tree in the small courtyard behind my building and shut the door. The cold was finally starting to seep into my bones, and I flicked a glance to the empty hearth before picking up my laptop.

"Hiya, Sheila. How you getting on then?"

"Well enough, now that you've agreed to the airport store. They've sent the contracts over for the lease. Tenancy will become available in three months."

"That's grand, I'm sure. I hope you've got a good plan for this."

I'd looked over the contracts Sheila had sent, largely because I'd promised her that I would, but also because she was right—if I didn't take the spot, then my brother would, and he only sold mass-produced fake crap. At the very least, I could send tourists home with authentic gifts, plus, based on Sheila's predictions, create a small factory's worth of jobs for locals. All in all, it was a sound business decision, even though I'd have to step away from what I largely loved to do—crafting custom kilts.

"I'm having display designs mocked up for your approval now. I've got a few of our more enterprising employees mocking up some design options that would be easy enough to produce in larger volume. Hopefully, we'll be able to get both the display designs and product suggestions to you within a matter of weeks."

"Scarves?" I asked, knowing it was one of the easier products to make quickly.

"Scarves, bowties, wool cottage socks, tartan bags, pens, whisky glasses?—"

"Whisky glasses?" I interrupted.

"A partnership I'm teasing out. You'll see in the presentation. Wouldn't hurt for you to have a wee chat with Munroe either. I could see an easy collaboration there."

"Wouldn't he need to do something with duty free or VAT then?" I asked, checking the time and moving the laptop to the fireplace mantel in the main store before I bent and began to stack wood.

"He'll have merch. Even if he can't sell liquor, there's other options. Have a chat with him and see."

"He's still mad at me for beating him at pool."

"Do you have to beat everyone?" I could hear the annoyance in Sheila's voice even when I couldn't see her face, and I bit back a grin.

"Can't help that I'm a legend, lass."

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt?—"

I brought my head up, narrowly missing banging my head on the mantel, to see Willow framed in the front doorway that I'd unlocked earlier that morning. I'd taken the bell off the door, the damn thing driving me crazy half the day, and now Willow's eyes darted between Sheila's smiling face on the screen and mine.

"I'll just leave you to your call then." Willow gave me a wink, implying that I was speaking to a date, and breezed past me into the back room. My head swung in the direction she'd just gone.

Nobody went into my workshop without my permission. My mouth gaped open, but nothing came out.

"Is that your new intern then?" Sheila beamed at me, correctly interpreting my expression. "Try not to chew her head off, Ramsay. She works there now too."

"But…" I had never considered she'd invade my inner sanctum. Which was weird, of course. The shop was only so big, so naturally she'd have to come through my back workshop, even if she just needed to get something from the storeroom. This was how having employees worked.

"Go be a boss."

"I don't like being a boss," I hissed.

"So you've told me, repeatedly. And yet, you've built an empire with very little turnover. Seems people like when you're a boss."

I narrowed my eyes at Sheila, and her grin widened.

"She's pretty. Loved her skirt."

"Don't start." On that, I closed the laptop quickly, because I, too, had loved Willow's skirt. At least the quick glimpse I'd gotten of it.

Sparkles.

Who wore a black sparkle mini skirt to work?

Willow did, apparently.

"All finished? Sorry I interrupted," Willow said, coming to stand in the doorway between the back room and the main shop looking like a damn sunflower that had popped up in the middle of a plowed field. She wore a loose button-down blue tartan shirt, cuffs rolled, and ends tied at the waist of her very short, very sparkly black mini skirt. Tights so dark they could be leggings lined her curvy legs, and low-heeled suede boots completed the look. She'd pulled her hair up in a messy ponytail, fastened with a silly bow, and I wanted to pull an end of the ribbon like a besotted schoolboy.

She was fresh, and bright, and just so … out of place here. Her very existence jarred something in me, and I forcibly had to work myself to close my mouth and swallow, before turning back to the fireplace to finish what I'd started.

I needed something to do with my hands lest I do something crazy like dive them into that mass of hair and drag Willow's lips to mine. I was an adult. An adult with a strong code of ethics and morals. I didn't date employees, I didn't use my position of power to intimidate or harass, and I certainly didn't hit on my best friend's little sister. After a stern talk to myself, while Willow watched me in silence, I set a match to the tinder, and a cheerful flame lit the wood.

"Bit of a chill this morning. That should sort it out," I said. Straightening, I turned.

Sparkles flashed as a ray of sun shot through the window, illuminating the curve of Willow's bum, and I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, making a mental note to address dress code. Sparkles were definitely out.

"This place is fabulous, Ramsay. Oh just look." Willow all but cooed as she reached up to trail a finger along the raw edge of the rough-hewn shelves holding a few folded scarves. "This wood is fabulous. I mean, the ambience here is incredible. It hits all the right notes, doesn't it?"

"Does it?"

"One hundred percent it does. These gorgeous stone walls, the wood beams, and you haven't cluttered the space up too much. Just the chairs by the fire, a few kilts on display." Willow whirled around, a smile on her lips. "It really gives the customer a feel like they're getting a custom experience, doesn't it? They're coming here to see an artist at work, to have something tailored to their tastes, not just to grab something off a rung and try it on in the back. With the window showing the loch as the backdrop and all this stone and wood and careful lighting … oh yeah, you've outdone yourself. I even like that you decided to leave the floors bare. It's nice, isn't it, to hear your soles on the hardwood floor."

Willow demonstrated the sound by strutting across the floor, her hips swinging, and I swallowed a silent groan. What had I done to deserve this torture? I could have my pick of women if I so chose, couldn't I? Why did I have to suddenly be smitten with one woman who was decidedly unavailable to me? In so many ways.

My lack of sleep and earlier annoyance heightened, and I growled at her.

"It's not a runway."

"It could be though. Just enough room for a good strut and a fabulous turn." Willow stalked across the room, modeling a perfect runway walk, and flipped her hair as she pivoted at the door, and stomped back before striking a pose right in front of me.

She looked incredible.

"When you're done playing maybe we can get to work?"

"Oh, yes, boss." Willow saluted me, clicking her boots together for emphasis, a cheeky sparkle in her eyes. "What's the plan for today? Are we designing or am I interning?"

"Interning. I have two appointments, so I'll teach you that process, then we can go through intake, ordering, and customer service."

"Wow, a whole two appointments? Keeping yourself busy, aren't ya, Ramsay?" Willow winked at me.

"I find my tolerance for people ends after two appointments. Don't schedule more than that in a day for me. And I don't allow walk-ins."

"You don't…" Willow trailed off as I turned, tucking the laptop under my arm, and crossed to a large desk in the corner. I nodded to the chair in front, and took the leather armchair behind, taking a moment as I reopened the laptop, and hit Spotify. There, I selected my rock playlist of the day, and an edgy guitar riff from Greta Van Fleet came through the hidden speakers.

"Greta, nice." Willow nodded her approval. "Okay, wait, why don't you allow actual customers in the store? It looks like you have a few things that they could buy on site if they wanted."

"A scarf or two. It's a custom experience, Willow. Everything should be selected, made, and tailored directly for the client."

"And someone coming in off the street can't have that experience?" Willow stuck her nose in the air. "How rudely Pretty Woman of you."

"I don't know what you're saying to me."

"What? Oh come on. You have to have seen Pretty Woman. You know the scene where the fancy rich people won't serve Julia Roberts in their fancy rich store? She walked in off the street, and they looked down their noses at her?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and I certainly don't look down my nose at anyone." I looked down my nose at her, and Willow grinned.

"You sure about that, boss?"

"Stop calling me boss."

"Fine. Partner?"

"Ramsay will do."

"Ramsay it is then." Willow reached for her bag while I groaned internally. My name rolled across her tongue like a lover's murmur, and I berated myself for being an idiot. Boss was much more impersonal. Willow brandished a notepad and pen. "I'm ready to take notes. Why don't you run me through a typical day, and I'll try not to piss you off too much while you do so."

"Good luck with that."

"I don't doubt it. Seems most things annoy you." And yet, that fact didn't seem to bother Willow as she hummed along with the music thumping in the background.

"Then why do you want to work here?" Curiosity got the better of me.

"Why not? An opportunity to learn at the hands of a master kiltmaker—albeit a very surly one—is not something to pass up."

I pulled my mind away from the image of Willow under my hands and narrowed my eyes at her.

"Is it kiltmaking you're wanting to go into, hen?"

"Hen?" Willow looked at me, clearly delighted. "Did you just call me hen?"

"Aye?" Granted it wasn't super common to call a woman hen, but it wasn't all that unheard of around Scotland either. I'd learned from Graham and Lachlan to put it on a bit for the tourists, and it was true, they just ate up any stereotypical saying we had. I didn't much mind it, if I was honest. I liked keeping some stereotypes alive, if only because it partnered so nicely with keeping the history of our kilts alive.

"Should I cluck for you then?"

My eyes strayed to her pretty lips, and I imagined them pursed, making a clucking sound, and had to take a deep breath to settle myself. This was getting a bit ridiculous, and I had work to do, not sit here and ogle the intern all day.

"You can bark for all I care, so long as the work gets done. First appointment is in a half hour. Typically, we like to offer tea or whisky, or champagne if that's their taste."

"Where's that?" Willow craned her neck to look around the shop and I stood, motioning her to follow. Her hand brushed mine as she stood, her skin warm against mine, and I bit my lip.

"I like to give my clients time to consider what they want. We don't push, we don't rush, this is meant to be an experience. I lock the door after they arrive so nobody else can interrupt. For some, this may be the only kilt they purchase in their lifetime. It's an important and monumental day, and here at Ramsay Kilts we treat it as such."

"Really? Some people only buy one in their life?"

"If they don't outgrow it. A well-made kilt should last. Most men will get their family's tartan as a gift when they turn eighteen."

"Surely you're not the same size you were at eighteen?" The way Willow surveyed my shoulders made me stand a little taller.

"Kilts have some flexibility to be let out as you mature."

"I wish more clothes were designed like that." An indiscernible look crossed Willow's face.

"It's the nature of people to change and grow. We design for that."

"Ah, a bit of life wisdom woven into the kilt." Willow held up her notebook. "So, what's next? Welcome the client, get them drinks, then what?"

"Typically, I leave them alone."

"What?" Willow laughed, a siren's song to my heart, and I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Aye. I give them time. No pressure. No rushing. Pull the chairs up by the fire, cozy in with some fabric samples, take some time browsing. Only after about three-fourths of a cup of a tea do I wander back out and start answering their questions."

"Three-fourths of a cup of tea." Willow scribbled in her notebook, squinching her nose as she looked back up at me. "Does that translate to a specific amount of time for us non-Scots?"

"Figure it out."

"Got it. No rushing, no harassing, no pushing. A gentle welcoming appointment."

"Don't touch the music."

"No music changes."

"Don't come in my workroom."

"Don't—"

"And don't?—"

"Wait, why can't I come in your workroom? I put my purse back there. Where am I supposed to go while the clients are ruminating on their fabric choice? Am I supposed to stand in the corner and turn my back to the room?"

"If you must."

"Ramsay." Willow rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Also, is there a bathroom? An employee locker? Where are you brewing this tea?"

"There's a kitchen and bathroom in back." I gestured with my thumb.

"Which I access …"

"Through my workroom."

"Yet I can't go in there?" Willow put a hand on her hip, and I felt like I was being scolded.

"I don't like being interrupted while I work."

"But here we are, supposedly working together. I thought you were going to show me these famous kilts and how they're made. Plus, aren't we going to start tossing designs around for the castle shop?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't toss designs around."

"Brainstorm, discuss, collaborate, dream, spitball, whatever…" Willow laughed up at me, not at all bothered by my gruff tone.

When she laughed, little lines feathered out from her eyes, and her face came alive. She was an animated person, talking with her hands, moving about the room as though she couldn't quite sit still, and the sparkles kept catching my eye.

She was sunshine to my storm clouds, and I wondered how the two could ever coexist.

"We can arrange time for that this week."

"Right, so what, exactly else, do you need me to do here?" Willow squinted around the shop as she ticked points off on her fingers. "Don't bother the customers, don't let new customers in, don't go in the workroom, don't change the music, don't design any kilts, and no runway walks."

Pinching my nose, I sighed. The woman had a point. Striding across the room, I flipped through my appointment book to the back where I'd started a list for Willow.

"Here's some tasks to get started. Managing the calendar, updating the website, answering emails, answering the phone. You'll meet Sheila at some point who manages my other branches, and I'm sure she'll have loads of things for you to do."

"Branch manager?" Willow pursed her lips as she studied me, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Are you a kilt mogul then, Ramsay? Hiding out down here in your quiet shop while your empire grows elsewhere?"

"Less people down here." I pointed at the clock on the wall. "Client should be here soon. Familiarize yourself with the space. I'll get the tea on."

"Yes, sir." Willow's grin widened when I glared at her. "What? You said no to ‘boss,' but not to sir."

"I knew this was a mistake," I grumbled under my breath, turning and leaving her at the desk. "I don't like people in my shop."

"Great to be here, sir. Can't wait for our first day together. It's going to be so much fun. We'll be besties in no time," Willow called after me and I stopped in the doorway to my office. Turning my head, I glared over my shoulder.

"Besties?"

"You know … best friends. Making friendship bracelets for each other. Telling secrets." Willow fluttered her eyelashes at me. I shook my head, furious that I'd be stuck in her vicinity every day for the foreseeable future. How had Sophie managed to con me into this?

"Bloody hell."

It was going to be a long day.