Chapter 19

Willow

Iwas going to my first dance.

I couldn't believe it. I mean, I could, because I was an adult and had gone to clubs and stuff in New York, but not while on a date.

Sixteen-year-old me was still freaking out, even though it had been over a week since Ramsay had asked me to go with him and thus far, he hadn't retracted his invitation.

Time was already starting to fly by. Ramsay and I had neatly fallen into a rhythm where we spent an hour or so each day collaborating on ideas for the castle where time allowed, and the rest was trying to manage his admittedly impressive business. He still barely talked to me, grunting his answers most days, but that didn't mean he was cold to me.

Not in the slightest.

He always had my favorite "biscuits" on hand. He'd smacked my hand—gently—when I'd called them cookies one morning. He noticed when I was cold, and would add a log to the fire, or if the music annoyed me, he'd switch the playlist. One day, I'd been struggling with a headache and two paracetamols had shown up with a glass of water by my desk. He badgered me into taking breaks, tried to force me into letting Calvin stay with him each night, and more often than not, gave me a ride home from work if the weather was bad. And still, getting him to open up was as easy as chipping away at marble.

I was beginning to learn a few things though. His dad had recently had a stroke, which was what had brought him back to Loren Brae. He and his brother didn't speak anymore, which made me sad for him, but I didn't remember his brother at all from our time in Scotland. He was older than Ramsay, and while I wasn't sure where his brother had been when we'd been over to visit, I knew I'd never met him. It had always been just Ramsay and Miles, wreaking havoc around town. Ramsay made it clear he didn't much care for small talk, even more so when it danced too close to anything personal. That didn't stop me from talking to him though. I talked to him all day long, taking his grunts as encouragement, and told him random tidbits about my life as we worked together. I liked to chat, and since Ramsay hadn't yet specifically told me to shut up, I figured he was accepting it. For now.

On one memorable occasion, Ramsay had startled me rearranging the closet, and I'd almost fallen off the small ladder I'd climbed up to reach the highest shelf. Which had landed me in the impossible situation of Ramsay's face pressed firmly to my butt, his hands grazing my breasts, as he caught me before I broke every bone in my body.

Neither of us spoke about that moment.

I may have dreamt about it though.

In turn, I badgered him into trying new music, made sure he ate regularly, and encouraged him to be more sociable by inviting customers into the shop even when he skewered me with looks that would have made most grown men cry. I updated his website, researched ideas for our collaboration, and in general, fell in love with small-town life. Who knew that I'd love it so much more than the hustle and bustle of New York City?

When I'd finally called Dad, he'd been cautiously happy for me. At least he knew Ramsay. That had helped him accept where I'd landed. Naturally, there had been no talk of Kelpies, kittens who could somehow insert thoughts, or magick sewing scissors.

In all honesty, I felt as if I was where I was meant to be.

Now, we sat at the table after a walk-in client had just left, gushing about the cèilidh, ecstatic after having ordered a pink sash for her pink dress. Even I couldn't believe it when Ramsay had calmly shown her a few swatches and promised it would be finished in time for the dance. And now my teenaged self was back to having an inner meltdown about the dance, because I didn't even know what to wear, let alone how to dance.

But adult me was calmly sitting with Ramsay, showing him my sketches, trying to push down his monologue about my body the other day that surfaced every time he leaned his head close to me.

I think you're mind-blowingly beautiful, and any man, or boy, who couldn't see that needs to get their eyes checked. 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.

No one,and I mean no one, had ever made me feel so beautiful like I had that day. Somehow, though, I'd pretended that his words hadn't made my insides go liquid. It had taken everything in my power not to climb into his lap and kiss him until we both were senseless.

Because that would be wrong.

He was just being nice because he was my brother's friend, I told myself, and helping me acclimate to a new town. He'd told me himself that groups of people attended these dances together and that nobody needed an invitation, hadn't he? I really needed to not read into this. Particularly when he'd come back from showing Calvin the litterbox and had barely said two words to me afterward. In fact, his little rant about my body had probably been the most consecutive words the man had ever spoken to me yet. I'd just tuck that away to examine another time, because let me tell you, a man saying those things about me, in that delicious Scottish accent? Oh yeah, I had been secretly feasting off that compliment for days.

"Tartan fanny packs." Ramsay eyed me in horror, and I rushed to explain.

"See? Look, I know they were popular in the eighties and all that, but they're making a comeback. For real."

Ramsay pointed carefully to a sketch of a bag that I had on my iPad.

"You want us to make a fanny pack?" Something indecipherable hovered in his expression.

"Um, yes?"

"How much can you fit in it?"

"Well, a good amount, I suppose. Depending on the size. We can try different types and see."

Ramsay's face remained passive, yet I sensed I was missing something.

"And will you let other people use it, lass?"

"Um, I guess? It depends on if the owner wants to share it?" What an odd question.

"Is it free or do you pay for it?"

"Of course you pay for it." I squinted at Ramsay in confusion.

"How, um, big is it?"

"Ugh, Ramsay, I don't know, big enough."

"Can more than one person use it at a time?"

"What? I have no idea. I'm sure more than one person can put something in it if needed." Had he lost his mind?

"Is it for men or women? Or both?"

"Both, if they like it."

"That tracks." Ramsay sniffed, wiping his hand across his face, and I caught something in his eyes. "Do you post photos online of it or is that private?"

"Why would it…Ramsay! What is going on?" I threw up my hands in exasperation. "If you don't like the fanny pack, just say so."

"Oh no, darling, I dearly love a good fanny, that I do." At that, Ramsay smirked. "Maybe not for the beach though. Tough when you get sand in them."

"Fine, forget the fanny pack. Clearly you think this is dumb." I made to get up and stopped when Ramsay threw his head back and laughed, the sound rolling over me in one delightful thunderous wave. It was the first time I'd been the one to make him laugh, freely like this, and the sound stopped me in my tracks. I swear my toes curled in my boots. I gaped at him as he wiped his eyes.

"Och, lass. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but fanny means something different over here."

"Excuse me?"

"Fanny is…" Ramsay nodded toward my pants, and I looked down at myself.

"Is what?"

"Your, um …"

Calvin meowed and Ramsay threw back his head and laughed once more. He got up from the table, howling, and walked into the back room while I furiously googled the Scottish meaning for fanny on my iPad.

Oh.

Ohhhhh.

"Damn it, Ramsay! How was I supposed to know it meant vagina? What the heck do you call them here?"

"I mean, colloquially, we have many terms … fanny, fud, vulvarine, honey pot, bearded clam if you're crude?—"

"The bags, Ramsay, the bags," I said quickly, my eyes rounding in horror.

"Oh those? We call them bum bags."

"Fanny means bum in the States," I said, enunciating clearly in case he still didn't get it. "I would not, nor would I ever, suggest we make a?—"

"Kitty bag?" Ramsay winked at Calvin and laughed again when I cringed.

"I might hate you. I think that I do. I can't believe…" I winced thinking about his questions. "How many people can use it, he asks. Like it's a damn toy to be passed around."

"It's a fair question, lass."

"Do people pay for it?" I mocked him in a high voice, and he threw his head back and laughed once more.

"Also a fair question."

"I can't. I can't be with you." I glanced at the time because I had to look away as my cheeks were burning. "Our first appointment is almost here. Go away."

"It's my shop."

I glared at him long enough that he retreated into the back room while I tidied the shop, staunchly ignoring him when I went to wash the teacups, and then positioned myself back at the desk to welcome our first client.

Pulling out my iPad, I drew a big X through my fanny pack design. Nope, no way in hell were we making those. I would never live this down.

By the time we'd worked our way through the appointments, as well as successfully fended off random passersby who I cheerfully welcomed into the store, staunchly ignoring Ramsay's "no walk-ins" rule in between appointments just to annoy him, I'd largely lived down my embarrassment from earlier. Just as I was getting ready to close up, a pretty woman with dusky skin and a shock of red curls popped through the door.

"Am I allowed in? I'm told Ramsay bites." A whisper of Boston tinged her words and I immediately warmed to my fellow American.

"He's more bark than anything. Hi, I'm Willow."

"I'm Lia, the chef up at the castle."

"Lia! Finally, we meet. I've been meaning to stop at the restaurant, but I heard you were gone." I rushed over and gave her a hug, my Midwest niceness propelling me to do so, and she laughed, accepting it. I mean, we were in the same Order, right? It was fine to hug her. I happened to be a touchy-feely person in general, and I couldn't help but notice that Ramsay stiffened every time I laid my hand on his arm. He never shook it off though. And I didn't stop.

The man had serious muscles.

"Munroe stole me away for a mini vacation. We're planning a wedding, and it has been a bit hectic. But since this is our slow season, I was able to take some time from the restaurant."

"Well, I'm glad you stopped in. I've heard nothing but great things about Grasshopper."

"Good to hear it." Lia glanced around the shop, interest in her warm brown eyes. "This place is nice. I know Munroe has several kilts, but maybe we should get something special for the wedding."

"I'm happy to spend Munroe's money any day," Ramsay said from the doorway to the back room, Calvin cradled in his arms. "Good to see you, Lia."

"Awww, who is this guy?" Lia walked over to Ramsay, patting his shoulder in greeting before scratching behind Calvin's ear. Even in a week the kitten had grown, and he'd become more adventurous for it. We were constantly lecturing him about things, but strangely enough, Calvin seemed to understand exactly what was off limits for him and what wasn't.

He also continued to communicate with me in images.

Sometimes it was when he was hungry.

Other times it was if he didn't like a customer.

Lately, it had been a lot about Ramsay. I couldn't quite piece together what he was trying to tell me.

Or maybe I was just ignoring it.

Either way, Calvin had grown just as attached to Ramsay, and I had to admit, watching the tiny kitten follow the massive muscular man all over the shop made my heart twist. I mean, it would for anyone, no? One time, I walked into the back room to see Ramsay on the floor on his back, a screwdriver in hand, adjusting something under his worktable. At his side, Calvin lay on his back, mirroring Ramsay, surveying his work. I'd been tempted to offer both hard hats, but instead had pulled out my phone and snapped a photo without them knowing.

Not that I'd ever tell Ramsay I'd taken his photo.

And I'd only looked at it a time or two since. Maybe twice.

Okay, like ten times.

Either way, it was just a cute photo. That was all.

"I'm popping by because I was on the way to the market and Sophie had mentioned you wanted to stock up."

"Oh, I do. That would be great." I glanced between Calvin and Ramsay. "Can you watch Calvin? I can come back for him after."

"He can stay with me tonight."

"Absolutely not. I wouldn't want to put you out."

"Nae bother, hen."

"Nope. We're coming back for him."

We had this argument at the end of every day at the shop, and so far, Calvin had come home with me every night. I loved how he snuggled into my side, comforting me if I was restless.

My familiar, Agnes had suggested when she'd met him.

I'd never heard of such a thing, but now I loved the idea that Calvin might be magickal as well. I mean, why the hell not? It seemed anything went in the magickal world these days. I'd even heard about Shona's gnomes, though I'd yet to meet her. That was next on my list. Because, are you freaking kidding me? Of course I wanted to meet a real live gnome.

"Shall I let you guys box this one out while I wait in the car?" Lia winked at me.

"Nope. He's mine. I'm coming back for him."

"I saved him. He's mine." Ramsay glared at me.

"Maybe I will fight you," I said. "I do love a good throat punch."

"Oh, me too," Lia gushed. "My Boston side can't help but love the occasional throwdown."

Ramsay blinked between the two of us, muttered something about "bloodthirsty women" and disappeared with Calvin into his back room.

"Thanks for taking me, I appreciate it. At some point I'll probably have to look at more serious transportation," I said, grabbing my purse and stepping out front with Lia behind me. The last of the afternoon light was just fading, and while it was starting to warm up just a smidge, the blustery wind that rocketed down the side of the hills wasn't quite ready to give up on winter yet. I hurried to her car.

"How's it been living in Loren Brae? I mean, Boston is a pretty big city to leave behind. Do you miss it?" I asked Lia as she drove to the outskirts of Loren Brae where there was a larger supermarket along with a pharmacy and small post office.

"I do, at times. But not enough to make me want to go back. I miss baseball." Lia laughed when I pumped my fist in the air. Then I gasped.

"Oh no. Sox fan?"

"Duh."

"Twins fan."

"Well, I guess this friendship is over already." Lia pretended like she was going to pull the car over and kick me out, and I laughed.

"Hey, it's not as bad as being a Yankees fan."

"Truth, I'll give you that. Okay, I'm going to run into the chemist then I'll meet you in the market?"

"Great, thanks. I don't think I need too much. I just feel bad that Hilda is making like every meal."

"She loves it. I promise you she does. There is nothing that lights that woman up more than having people to cook for. But I get it. Some nights you probably just want to be on your own too."

"Yeah, it's still an adjustment coming here. Plus, you know, the Order stuff. I need some me time too."

"I know. Come by for breakfast tomorrow. It's the only time of the day that I'm really alone. We can talk more about the Order, and I'll make you something yummy."

"You don't have to cook for me," I protested, and Lia laughed again as we got out of the car, waving my words away with a hand.

"Cooking is my love language. It's fine. Okay, see you in a bit."

I wandered into the store, pleased that I would have a moment to shop for a few things and gathered a few bags of sweet and salty popcorn in my arms, along with a new addiction—salt and vinegar chips. Or crisps, as they were called here. Chips were French fries, apparently. Humming to myself, I turned the corner of an aisle and ran smack dab into someone, my snacks going flying to the floor.

"Oh, shite. That's my bad." A handsome man winked a smile at me, grabbing my arms to stop me from tumbling forward. I looked up at him, gasping in surprise as he laughed down at me. Seriously, what was with the men here? They were all so damn good-looking.

"I'm so sorry. I truly wasn't looking where I was going. Daydreaming, I guess."

"American, are you? Here on holiday?" The man bent, gathering my snacks before I could get them, and held up the bag of crisps, shaking his head at me.

"No, I live here now." It was funny to say it, I realized, but it also felt really good.

Loren Brae was home now.

And I was actually doing something with my life that I was excited about. Warmth filled me, and I beamed up at the man, not for the reasons he likely thought, but nevertheless, I was in a good mood.

"In that case, I'd better show you the secrets if you're planning to make your home here. Come on then." The man motioned me back down the crisps aisle and pointed to a different brand than I'd picked up. "It's Mackie's you're wanting. The best."

"Oh, I didn't know." I switched bags and smiled at him. He vaguely reminded me of Ramsay, now that I looked more closely at him, but they had different hair color, and this man was shorter and stockier than Ramsay. Much more charming though, since he'd already spoken more words to me than Ramsay did most days.

"Trust me on this one. You'll never look back."

"I'm so glad I ran into you then. Any other grocery store secrets I should be aware of?"

The man crossed his arms and thought about it for a moment.

"What are you shopping for?"

"Largely a few snacks for my apartment. Late night nibbles. Light dinners."

"Ah yes, snacks for the flat. So far, you're doing grand with your choices. You'll need shortbread, naturally. Have you tried Irn Bru yet?"

I looked at him, confused, and he threw his head back and laughed.

"Tell me you know what I'm talking about."

"Nope, no clue."

"Och, lass, you're in for a real treat. I wish I could be there when you tried it." The man led me toward an aisle with soda. "My name's Andrew, by the way. Yours?"

Something niggled at the back of my brain, but I couldn't figure it out.

"Willow."

"That's a nice name for a bonnie lass. If it's not too forward of me, maybe I could take you for a proper drink this week? If my Irn Bru recommendation doesn't turn you off us Scots forever, that is. I've got loads of insider tips I could share about Loren Brae."

A date?

Was I getting picked up in a grocery store of all places? I'd heard of such things but had never been privy to it before. Flustered, I smiled shyly at him.

"Um, maybe? If this Irn Bru doesn't kill me that is."

Andrew laughed, and the sound made me warm to him even more.

"Tell you what, lass. I'll give you my number. Text me later after you've had the Irn Bru. If you survive, I'll treat you to a proper drink."

"Okay, you're on." I cupped my snacks in one arm while I added Andrew's number to my phone. Then he handed me a neon orange can that I eyed suspiciously.

"Is this an orange pop?"

"I don't know what pop is." Andrew shrugged a shoulder.

Ope, my Minnesota was showing.

"I meant soda."

"Mmm. Irn Bru is its own experience. Trust me on this."

"Okay, random person I just met in a grocery store. We'll see."

"I'm off then. Hope to hear from you soon, Willow." With that Andrew waved and left the store without buying anything, and I squinted after him. Why did he feel so familiar to me? Shrugging, I took my items to the checkout, still eyeing the neon can suspiciously.

"Is Irn Bru any good?" I asked the cashier.

"Oh, it goes down a treat."

Well, I guess that was that. I'd be trying something new, and I had a date. Maybe it would take my mind off my burgeoning crush on Ramsay. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that a date was exactly what I needed.

Nothing serious, of course. I didn't actually want or need a relationship right now. But the novelty of being picked up in a grocery store was just too much for me to pass up. Plus, maybe it would provide a tiny distraction from thinking impure thoughts about my boss.