Chapter 18

Ramsay

Like I needed something else to make Willow more attractive.

But the fact that she had magick? Yeah, that was damn sexy. I'd always loved the fact that Scotland was renowned for its magick and myths, even more so when I'd discovered the Kelpies were real. Granted, they were terrifying, and we all should rightly be cautious of them, but a part of me was still the little boy who had fought dragons with his brother on the hill.

Life was just more exciting with a hint of danger in it.

I was just finishing up my project when Willow breezed through the door, Calvin in her arms, and a tightness in my chest released at seeing her. Maybe a part of me had been a bit worried that she'd turned tail and run after yesterday's encounter with the Kelpies. She'd said she needed time to process when she'd left the shop yesterday, and it had made me wonder if she'd be strong enough to hack it here.

I'd resisted texting her to check in, only just, but also because she hadn't technically given me her phone number. I'd taken it from the intern information that Sophie had given me.

I had acted completely on instinct the day before, racing into the loch to find the wee kitten for Willow. My thoughts flashed to her face, the terror she'd felt, both when she saw Calvin in the water and then the Kelpies. But she'd been fearless. Despite being soaked to the bone from the rain and the loch, she'd felt so perfect in my arms. Right. And the expression of awe in her eyes when she'd looked up at me, the kitty in her arms…I hadn't been able to get her beautiful face out of my mind all night. And that was a problem.

"What is that?" Willow skidded to a halt, and I took the moment to appreciate her curves in motion, before glancing down at my project.

"This? It's a cat tree. Or I guess, a jungle." I surveyed my work, tilting my head. Yes, it was definitely more of a jungle than a singular tree. Knowing that a kitten would likely shred the first thing it got its wee paws on, I'd hammered a few scraps of wood together when I'd stopped to visit my parents the night before. My father's workshop had provided a plethora of loose ends to work with, and before I'd known it, the simple cat tree had turned into a playground that had barely fit into my truck. My father had enjoyed helping, and because it had been the first thing he'd really been interested in since his stroke, we'd spent a fun few hours adding burlap, engineering a cat bridge, and adding various ropes and tassels to keep the kitten entertained. Maybe it was overkill…

"No way," Willow breathed, and I looked up to see admiration in her eyes. "This is incredible. I hadn't even thought about something like this. I literally know next to nothing about cats. I brought a ribbon along as a toy. But seeing this…yeah, okay, I'm dumb. Of course, he needs something like this. Is that burlap? He already almost shredded my jeans this morning. His claws are sharp."

"Aye, burlap. And some nice strong rope. See how it's wrapped here? Then he can really dig in." I pointed to where I'd wrapped rope around one of the poles.

"I'm just in awe. This is, like, professional work, Ramsay. Thank you for doing this for him."

I shrugged off her praise, though her words warmed me to the core. I'd just done this so the wee cat wouldn't rip up my wool. It had nothing to do with seeing the smile that bloomed on her face, making her look like a damn ray of sunshine after a rainy day.

"Let's see if he takes to it?" I nodded to Calvin, sitting back on my heels, and Willow crouched by my side, her thigh brushing mine as she put Calvin in front of the playground.

"See? It's for you to play on, buddy."

Willow's thigh was warm against mine and I tried not to notice that her perfume smelled faintly like toasted marshmallows—was that even a thing?—and willed myself to ignore my body's response to her nearness. I was used to working alone in my shop each day, and lately, when I did socialize, it was with my mates. Having someone as overtly feminine as she was, her body rounded and curved like a seventeenth century master had painted his vision of a goddess, was making it difficult for me to concentrate. I wanted to touch her, to listen to her gasp as I figured out what aroused her, to see that same admiration in her eyes that she'd just given me for building a damn cat tree.

Och, this is not good.

I prided myself on being a good boss. Many of my employees were women. Weaving, particularly darning, tended to be a female-dominated industry. I'd always been aware when an employee was trying to flirt with me and had kept it professional at all times. It was important to me that my employees knew they were respected and that they worked in a safe environment. Sheila knew this as well, in fact she had drilled it into her managerial staff so much so that we had very little turnover, and in the few instances where a line had been crossed in a work situation, the employees had felt comfortable reporting it to management. We'd swiftly dealt with any such occurrences, and now, as I tried desperately not to think about kissing Willow's perky mouth, I berated myself for not following my own code of ethics. Even if it was just my thoughts that wanted to get down and dirty with Willow. Not to mention she's Miles's sister. Completely. Off. Limits.

Calvin launched himself at the cat tree, clinging to one of the poles, clambering quickly up the side and racing across the wee bridgeway I'd built. He pounced on a knot of rope I'd frayed at the end, batting at the fringe, and almost fell off the side of the bridge in his attempt to tear it apart.

"Ope, bud, careful." Willow laughed, the sound sending a shiver down my back, and I stood, needing to distance myself from her.

"Now, Calvin." The cat looked at me, seeming to already know its name, and I nodded, impressed. "This is for you to play on. Not my fabrics, understood?" The cat regarded me for a moment, and then went back to batting at the fringe. Even though I hoped to keep him distracted with the scratching post, I'd still cleaned up the workroom, putting most of the bolts of fabric away in the closet. Less temptation was better.

I glanced at Willow where she lectured Calvin about the importance of being a good shop cat.

Less temptation was definitely better.

"Meeting in ten minutes." I indicated the chairs by the fire and went to make a pot of tea. Sophie had dropped the bomb on me that MacAlpine Castle had decided to host a cèilidh in a month as a Spring Fling of sorts. They'd asked if I could have some extra kilts available. Apparently, both Willow and Sophie were having a hard time understanding the bespoke nature of my work, and Sophie had steamrolled me into stocking any ready-to-wear kilts that we had on hand, as well as a few accessories for those wanting to liven up their wardrobes for the dance.

"Sashes," I grumbled, returning to the fire with tea and biscuits for Willow. I'd noticed she'd been partial to the Tunnock's tea cakes I'd supplied yesterday and had made sure to add two to the plate. Not that I cared what she ate, I was just being a good boss, was all.

"Sashes?" Willow perked up, notebook in hand, and crossed her legs. She'd already sat in a chair by the fire, and I'd positioned the cat tree in perfect view of where we sat so we could keep an eye on Calvin.

"For the cèilidh."

Willow nodded vigorously, her eyes wide. "I have no idea what you're saying to me."

My lips quirked as I sat, my calendar in hand, and I stretched out my legs. "A cèilidh is a traditional Scottish dance. Sophie has informed me the castle has decided to throw one in a month. To get rid of winter blues and welcome spring she said."

"A dance?" Willow heaved in a breath, her eyes going wider.

"Aye, you've heard of them?"

"I have." Her face dropped, something flitting behind her eyes that I didn't like, a vulnerability that made me want to protect her, and I looked away, trying to stay focused on work.

Don't ask her about dancing, Ramsay. Don't.

"Everyone in the town, and likely surrounding villages, will attend. It's grand fun, if that's your thing."

Again, that flash of sadness in her eyes, and I bit back a sigh.

Damn it.

I didn't care whether Willow liked dances or not. I cared about making sure we had enough stock in the shop for said dance. That was it.

"Sophie would like us to have some accessories, kilts even, on hand for anyone looking to perk up—her words—their wardrobe. Completely ignoring the fact that we largely custom-make everything."

"And yet you'll do it, won't you?" Willow's lips curled in a hint of a smile.

"It's not my preferred way of working, you ken? But she's a force of nature that one. Sashes she says. Sashes for the women. Not as difficult to make and can be fixed with a pretty brooch around any dress you wear."

"Oh, I was looking at some examples of a penannular brooch the other day. There are some really beautiful ones made by a shop not too far from here. Hold on." Willow dipped into her bag and pulled up her iPad, flipping through the screen until she found what she was looking for. "Here. See? The thistles are nice, as are the ones with the dragon's head. Maybe we could stock them? Sell them on commission for the artist?"

"Not a bad idea. Would provide some more options for people."

"Great, I'll reach out to them today. I also had some ideas…" Willow trailed off and looked up, wincing. "Sorry, I'm just so excited to start our designs. But I know we need to work on other stuff before we get to our collaboration."

She looked so crestfallen. But I want to see her smiling again.

"Let's make a list of what we can feasibly stock in time for the cèilidh, and then we'll take a look at your ideas for the castle."

"Oh great. Tell me more about the…dance."

"Kay-lee," I said, pronouncing it for her slowly and she followed suit. "A cèilidh usually has a series of well-known dances, and there's a caller who'll instruct the moves."

"Like line dancing?" Willow asked.

"Somewhat, yes. It's fun. Everyone tries it…all ages. You don't need experience to give it a go." Again, Willow shuttered her eyes.

"Don't like dances?" I finally asked, despite my promise to myself to keep the topic just to business.

"I wouldn't know. I've never been asked to one." Willow scribbled something on her notebook, avoiding my eyes.

"Do you need to be asked to one to go?" I asked, genuinely curious. Anyone could attend a cèilidh, and most people went with groups of friends or their families.

"Most of the ones in high school you did. Prom, that kind of thing, all needed a date."

"Why wouldn't anyone ask you?" I asked, genuinely surprised. Willow was a knock-out, both in personality and looks, and I couldn't imagine a man not being proud to have her on his arm. Or a boy, I supposed, if we were talking about high school. I cast my mind back to my impression of her as a kid. I remembered her dying her hair some weird colors, and she'd definitely worn some outlandish clothes. Had she been pretty then? I honestly couldn't remember because I'd been older and had had my eyes on the lasses in the class above me.

They were more developed.

Sad to say, but hormones were a powerful thing. And, yeah, I'd been pie-eyed over a lass two years older than me who'd barely known my name. Nothing had ever come of it, much to my teenaged broken heart, but I couldn't remember paying much attention to Willow one way or the other. But surely boys in her class had.

Willow huffed out a laugh and gestured with her hand to her body.

"And?"

"Oh, come on, Ramsay. Don't make me say it."

"Say what?" I asked, surprised to see anger flash across Willow's face. She was so perpetually cheerful that it was rare to see that bite of frustration.

"Seriously?" Willow scoffed. When I just looked at her, dumbfounded, she rolled her eyes. "I'm fat, Ramsay. Curvy. Plus-sized. Whatever you want to call it. But to highschoolers, it was just fat with a capital F. I embrace that word now, because I've learned to love my body, but it sucked growing up. Kids can be pretty cruel."

"You're not…" I stopped myself and held up a hand when Willow looked ready to bite my head off.

"There's nothing wrong with being bigger, Ramsay."

"I'm not saying—" I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling like I was navigating a minefield. "Och, I hear what you're saying, aye? I stopped myself. I didn't mean. Yes, you're right, the word fat is often used as though it is a bad thing. Which is stupid, really, because we welcome it in food, don't we? Add more fat in and everything tastes better, doesn't it? I guess what I meant to say is that I think you're mind-blowingly beautiful, and any man, or boy, who couldn't see that needs to get their eyes checked. It's their loss, isn't it then?"

Willow's mouth had rounded to a perfect O shape at my rant, and I wasn't sure how to take it, so I rushed to reassure her that I wasn't trying to insult her body and that I accepted her just as she was.

"Seriously, Willow. You're a damn goddess. You would be at any size, because you have the personality of a fecking angel, but add in those killer curves and that damn mouth, and och, it's enough to bring any man to his knees. Or woman, if that's, um, your thing."

I'd never asked her if she preferred women, had I? I hadn't asked her much about herself at all, I realized, instead just doing my best to scramble away from her so my heart didn't do something stupid like jump off a ledge and fall head over heels for this woman. She'd been sunshine in a bottle as a child, and now, literally lit my shop with the smile that beamed from her face.

I could use this type of light in my life.

Where the hell had that thought come from? And how?

I seriously hadn't had time during the last decade to date all that seriously. I'd taken a lass or several out to the occasional meal, but it had only really been a precursor to a night of sex. At least I was always honest and up-front with my expectations. A few short relationships had sprung up here and there. But anything long-term had been completely off the radar.

So why was I thinking about wanting light in my life?

Standing up, I bent to help Calvin unhook one of his wee claws from a particularly gnarly piece of rope, grateful for the distraction, yet helpless to stop the sudden flow of words from my mouth.

"And that's braw if that's your thing. It's none of my business, you ken? Either way, I'm sorry you missed out on dances growing up. You won't have to miss out on this one, and I'm happy to go with you if you're nervous about attending."

Shite, had I just asked her to the cèilidh?

"Are you asking me to the dance?" Her tone was incredulous, and I couldn't bring myself to look in her direction. She was giving me an out, and I could clarify that I'd meant just as friends, or that we could go as a group, but since she'd clearly been hurt by stupid teenage boys not asking her to stupid dances in the past, I'd just add to it by backpedaling now. I certainly didn't want to contribute to more hurt for her.

Bloody hell, I'd neatly boxed myself in, hadn't I?

"I'd be honored if you'd accompany me to the cèilidh, Willow."

"Jeez, well, yes, thank you very much, Ramsay. I'd love to go."

A quick glance showed me she was glowing, literally glowing, and I had to restore some sort of balance here or I was about to break my code of ethics and bury my face in her lap.

"I need to show Calvin where his litter box is. Then I'll take a look at your designs before the first appointment of the day."

As I left the room, her voice floated after me.

"Oh, and while I find women to be beautiful, Ramsay, I prefer men."

My blood heated, and I glared down at where Calvin bit my finger, testing his strength on me.

I guess we both were testing our strength now.