Chapter 21

Willow

"Come on, Calvin. We're going to find the restaurant. Somehow." Calvin struggled in my arms, so I put him down on the hallway floor and he scampered forward. I'd already learned that I wouldn't lose him, he never strayed far from me or Ramsay anyway, and I took a turn down another passageway in the castle.

It was positively pouring this morning. It was the kind of rain that made me want to burrow deeper into the comforters and hold on to the tendrils of the sexy dream I was having.

I'd been sitting on the worktable in the shop, my short sparkly skirt on, and Ramsay had been towering over me.

His hands gripping my thighs, spreading my legs, until he scooted me forward so I brushed against his hardness.

One flick of a button, and my breasts had been exposed to his mouth, and I'd bowed back as he'd suckled, his mouth hot against my skin.

No. Stop thinking about that.

He's your boss. He's not interested in you like that.

I'd promised Lia that I'd come by for breakfast, and grateful that I didn't have to step outside in the sleeting rain to do so, I now took myself on an adventure through the castle, hoping that at some point I'd land at the restaurant's door.

"Moo?"

It came out almost as a whimper, and I hurried to catch up to where Calvin had the ghost coo cornered.

"Clyde. He's just a kitten."

Calvin arched his back and pawed the air, and Clyde whimpered once more, hunching his shoulders and stomping the ground with a hoof. He shook his head, his large horns looking threatening, shaggy coat sticking out around his head.

He looked at me, pleading.

If a ghost coo could plead, that was.

Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped being so scared of Clyde, likely because he had demonstrable feelings about my little kitten. I took a moment to marvel at the ghost, the dim rays of light from the wall sconces filtering through his transparent image and wondered just how many other ghosts wandered the castle halls. Sophie hadn't indicated there were any others that called the castle home, but if Clyde could wander about this massive place, so could anyone else, I supposed.

An image flashed in my head, of Calvin laughing, and I narrowed my eyes down at the little kitten. We were getting better at communicating through mental imagery, which was wild in itself, and now I realized that he was just having fun scaring Clyde.

Because he could.

Not because he was scared.

"You stinky little devil." I scooped up Calvin, and he blinked at me, the picture of innocence.

"Clyde, he's just playing with you. Don't let him scare you."

Clyde tilted his head, and I held Calvin out to him.

"Truly. He's just playing."

The ghost coo tentatively leaned forward until his nose reached the kitten's. The two booped noses, making my heart melt, and then Clyde raced down the hallway, bellowing his joy.

"Jeez." I almost jumped out of my skin at his bellow. "The acoustics in this place are ridiculous."

MacAlpine Castle was built as a square, yet some of the passageways inside the castle twisted and turned in odd ways. I wonder if that had been planned as protection from an attack so there wasn't an easy in or out. I'd possibly read somewhere about having different-sized steps to trip up intruders running up the stairs. I took my time, not caring too much if I got lost, just enjoying exploring one of the oldest buildings I'd ever been in. I found myself in a drawing room of sorts, with a glass case that housed three different wedding gowns from days of yore.

"Oh," I whispered, breakfast forgotten, as I made my way to the display. Three different styles, reflecting three different eras, and my eyes drank in the details. One dress had a deep V at the waist, likely worn with a corset, and a large, pleated silk skirt. Lace flounced at the shoulders, and tiny seed pearls had been embroidered at the neckline. How many hours…days—months?—would it have taken to hand sew all those pearls? How were they all such similar sizes and shapes? Where did they find them all back when this dress was made?

What would my wedding dress look like?

Where did that thought come from?

Likely because I was still working on a design to wear for the upcoming dance. I'd consulted Sophie, who had been absolutely useless when it came to attire for a cèilidh, but Hilda had stepped in and offered some suggestions. From my understanding, anything could go, but because I was who I was, I wanted to make something special. I was so used to modifying or creating my own clothes for myself, that I reasoned it wouldn't take much to create something pretty for the dance.

Ramsay loved my body.

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.

A shiver ran across my skin, and I turned away from the wedding dresses, pressing a kiss to Calvin's head, and left the drawing room, my mind on Ramsay. I'd probably replayed his little monologue in my head far more than I'd needed to, and he'd never once mentioned my looks in any capacity since then. In fact, the more I tried to get close to him, the further he pulled back. I could read signals, and I wasn't the type of woman to throw myself at a man who wasn't interested in me, so I'd fallen back into a routine of trying to make him less grumpy. So far, I hadn't largely succeeded, but I had sensed a subtle softening in him. I'd call that a win and be happy I had a date to redirect my attention to. Not that I thought Andrew was going to be a sweeping romance or anything like that, but since the only man I currently spent all my time with barely grunted answers at me most days, a decent conversation with someone else would be a nice distraction at the very least.

And sometimes we just did things for a bit of an ego boost, didn't we?

The reality was, I wanted Ramsay to find me desirable. It was stupid. I knew it was reckless to have these feelings for someone I worked with, let alone for Miles's best friend. I'd already been burned by crossing lines in a professional relationship before. Adding the brother component to it? Yeah, those feelings were just plain stupid. Yet the more I spent time with Ramsay, the more I genuinely enjoyed his company, respected him as a boss, and really liked him. Not that I'd tell Miles that.

My brother had been hounding me for information about my new job, to the point where I'd threatened to block him if he didn't let up. I'd finally brought the matter up to my father.

"Threads, he's just worried about you."

"Can't he worry about something else? I'm fine. Thriving, in fact."

"I'm glad to hear it. Be patient with Miles. He's never been the adventurer that you have. What you do? It's outside his comfort zone. And when he doesn't understand something, he just assumes it's the wrong way. But it's not, I promise you. Your way is equally as good as his way. You're both just different."

That had stopped me in my tracks. I'd never really considered it from that angle before, that my brother worried about me not because he didn't trust my ability to handle new experiences, necessarily, but because he wouldn't take those same risks. My father was absolutely right. Miles was a down-home Minnesota boy who thrived in the predictable routine of darts league at the corner bar, opening day tailgating, and early summer mornings on his boat. While I enjoyed aspects of that life, I didn't thrive there. But here? Where life was unpredictable, and the days were filled with new things and experiences? Growing knowledge and seeing an expert at his craft? I was glowing.

I wasn't sure if it was this newfound magick, or if it was that I so enjoyed bantering designs back and forth with Ramsay, all while getting to know Loren Brae better, but I could feel my roots starting to curl into the earth here. Maybe Miles and I both enjoyed small-town life, just in different countries. It could be a connecting point, at the very least, and I made a note to try a different approach with him the next time I decided to answer one of his text messages.

"Oh, here we are."

"Brrrp." Calvin did one of his half-meow's half-purrs and I ducked my head into a doorway.

"Lia? You here?"

"Yup, come on through," Lia called, and I entered directly into a kitchen that was far more impressive than I was expecting it to be. I mean, I guess I hadn't really much thought about kitchens being extraordinary or not, but this one really was. Likely because it was in a badass historical castle and all, but the room was this incredible blend of both historical and modern that made my mouth drop open.

"Wow," I said, and then motioned with Calvin in my arms. "Also, can I bring a cat in here?"

"Likely not if the health inspector came through, but I've got some assistance to keep this place magickly clean." Lia beamed at me from where she whisked something in a bowl at the counter. Her hair was tied back under a bandana, and she wore a navy apron. A green grasshopper pendant sparkled from a chain around her neck.

"I've heard…" I glanced around. "Sophie mentioned a brownie?"

"Broonie in Scotland." Lia came forward and scratched Calvin's ear, the cat bumping his head against her hand. "You can put him down. Though I'm not sure if Brice likes cats or not."

"Is that the broonie's name?"

A soft chattering had me glancing to the corner, but I didn't see anything out of sorts. A shiver went down the back of my neck. I mean, listen, I was doing pretty well with accepting magick, but I had no idea what to expect with a little kitchen elf. All I kept picturing was the scary trolls from an old eighties movie I'd seen back in the day that kidnapped children and ate them.

"That it is. He's around somewhere. He'll make himself known if he feels comfortable. Coffee?"

"Please." I put Calvin on the floor, and he did a long stretch before wandering after Lia while I turned to take in the room. A massive spice cabinet caught my attention, the wood worn with age, each tiny drawer labeled with the name of the spices. A double arched wood door was closed against the rain, chunky stone walls reflected the age of the castle, and music played softly in the background. It was a cozy spot, and I sat at a table with kitchen stools tucked beneath and put my bag against the wall. "Mind if I sketch while you cook? I just had this idea in a dream that I want to get down."

"Not at all. Tell me more about it."

"I kind of want to play with tartan vests for women but in the style of motorcycle jackets, you know? A little edgier, a little bit punk. Maybe mixed with some dark lace. I just think there'd be such a fun way to add tartan on different looks without always having to be just a kilt or just a jacket. Trimmings, accessories, hints of tartan, you know? I also really like mixing prints, and if Ramsay would be open to it, I bet we could do something really cool with tartan and flowers."

"Like how?" Lia came over, bringing the bowl with her, and whisked while she looked over my shoulder. I swiped through some images to find where I'd designed a black and white tartan silk scarf with huge hot pink peonies plastered across it. "Oh that's fun. Good travel scarf. Could wear it with anything, dress up or down."

"That was my thought. By making it silk, we'd give it an elegance."

"Smart. People are always looking for gifts from their travels and I think something more unique like that is a good talking point. Sophie will love it, I'm sure, even if Ramsay doesn't."

"We'll see. I haven't asked him yet."

"How's that all going?" Lia pulled out a cast iron skillet and put it on the stove. "I heard he can be a bitch to work for."

"He has his moments." My lips quirked. "I'm sure you've had to work with your share of personalities in the service industry."

"Oh, for sure. I kneed my last boss in the nuts and quit on the spot. Trust me, I know difficult."

I threw my head back and laughed, immediately feeling a kinship with Lia.

"And now you're in Loren Brae. And getting married, I hear."

"My own restaurant. Love of my life. Magick. I mean, hard to believe for a poor girl like me from the streets of Boston." Lia tossed a few drops of water on the skillet, testing the temperature. "It all seemed to fall in place in a way I could never have expected."

"That's kind of how I'm feeling," I said, beginning to sketch. "Minus the love part, of course."

"Ramsay's wicked hot."

"He is."

I let the silence draw out until Lia cursed.

"Throw a girl a bone, would ya?"

"He's hot. He's also my boss and good friends with my brother."

Lia whistled, long and low, and shook her head, pouring batter into the skillet.

"That's spicy, isn't it?"

"Just a bit. But, in other news, I do have a date tonight," I said, wanting to direct her away from asking questions about Ramsay. Largely because I had no answers for her. Ramsay was hot. And that was that.

"Oh, with Ramsay?" Lia's face lit with excitement, and I shook my head.

"Simmer down. No, with a man I met at the grocery store yesterday. He's cute enough, friendly, and asked me out for a drink. Can I be honest with you? I've never been picked up like that before. Not, like, out in the wild."

Lia snorted, her eyes on the skillet. "I find that hard to believe, a pretty girl such as yourself."

"For real. Not once. Maybe it happens to women like you, but a lot of men are put off by my size."

"Then they don't deserve you." Lia flipped the pancakes, not missing a beat, and I smiled in her direction. I didn't need her validation, but it was nice to hear the compliment, nonetheless. I'd become such an advocate for body acceptance in the fashion industry that I'd had to become my own personal cheerleader along the way. While occasionally the insecurities of growing up as a big girl surfaced, for the most part I'd learned to love how I looked. Sometimes it could be a battle, since society badgered us constantly with messages that thin equals healthy, but I just took that as a challenge to prove to people otherwise. I was big, I was strong, and I was usually the most fashionable person in any group I was in.

And yet still, I'd never been picked up in a grocery store before.

There was a first for everything, and I was going to enjoy this little moment as another win for all the plus-sized women out there who thought that they didn't deserve a fun meet-cute like in a romance novel.

A strange sound drew my attention.

It was a cross between a purr and a roar and I jumped up, realizing I'd lost sight of Calvin.

"Calvin?"

Lia went to a door that led to a hallway and turned, a look of delight on her eyes, and waved me over. Crossing the room, I leaned through the doorway, my eyes widening at the sight that greeted me.

A small man, or, um, elf, I guess, with wrinkled skin, faded overalls, and big brown eyes was currently having a mutual lovefest with Calvin. He cradled the kitten in his arms, and Calvin licked his face, cleaning him like he'd found his baby. A soft purring of sorts was coming from the broonie's mouth, and he looked delirious with joy.

"Holy shit," I breathed.

"So this is Brice. Brice, meet Willow. Calvin belongs to her."

Brice looked up at me, and squeezed Calvin harder, a mutinous look coming over his face.

"Who I will bring to visit you whenever you want," I said quickly, realizing that Brice wanted to keep Calvin. "We live here too, so you two can play whenever."

At that, the broonie brightened, chattering softly in Calvin's ear, and Calvin flashed an image of happiness in my mind. Friend.

"I think they're besties," I said, happy to see Calvin not striking terror into the heart of at least one of the magickal beings in this place. "Also, I'm kind of freaking out right now."

"It's crazy, isn't it?" Lia darted back to the stove, and I left Calvin and Brice to play in the pantry, not wanting to be rude and stare at the little elf guy for too long in case I offended him.

But seriously. A house elf?

"Wild. Man, just wild."

"I'll admit, once you get used to him, he's pretty useful. He likes to clean up, often anticipates my needs ahead of time, and will have ingredients for spells ready quickly."

"Spells. Right. About that, how does that all work?"

"Turns out I come from a line of kitchen witches." Lia plated food for us, bringing it over to the table, and topping off our coffee cups as she spoke. "There's this amazing book of magickal spells for like teas and food and ointments that my gran helped contribute to. It's become my guide as I learn how to use my powers."

"Was it…like, I don't know, how do you feel about all this?" I felt that I could speak with Lia in a way that maybe I couldn't with Sophie, since Sophie technically employed me and financed my future.

"At first? Yeah, it was a lot to take in. Particularly having Brice around. But once I found the book and realized that this power was connected to me through my bloodline, I don't know, I guess it brought me comfort. I've always been close with my family, so it just felt like another piece of them shared with me." Lia's eyes warmed, and she wrapped both hands around her cup of coffee, looking out the window at the rain that continued to come down in relentless sheets.

My stomach twisted. My family was small, but tightknit when my brother wasn't acting like a controlling butthole, yet there'd always been a piece missing. At times, it seemed like my mother's absence was stronger than her presence had ever been. I'd been a pretty resilient little girl, always able to gauge when someone needed cheering up, determined to be the sunshine on someone's rainy day. Maybe I could be the one to fill the hole my mom had left in her death—my young self had reasoned—and I'd been determined to never show that I was missing out on having a mother growing up. Now, as Lia's face filled with love while speaking about her family, and her grandmother, a part of me wished that I could find that connection here too.

Even if I could just be one branch of my mother's tree. Which reminded me—I needed to go see Gran. Maybe I could get Sophie to take me at some point.

"My mother was Scottish. We have some roots here. I haven't had time to explore, but I'm hoping, hearing your story, that maybe I'll find a similar connection."

"Was?" Lia's face took on that familiar expression of sympathy that I'd seen hundreds of times over the years.

"Yes, she passed when I was young."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll help you look for any connection, if I can. In fact, if you give me her name, I'll look for it through my book. It's really cool, here, let me show you."

I let out a shaky breath and sat back from the table, anticipation traveling through me. What if my mother had been blessed with magick as well? It would be a link between us, one that maybe I hadn't known I'd needed, and the thought made nerves twist low in my stomach.

"Welig," I said faintly. "Her name was Welig. It means Willow."

"Aw, that's sweet," Lia said, returning to the table with a beautiful leather-bound book with a pretty Celtic design on the front. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "I won't have time to look just now, but isn't this fabulous?"

I opened the book and was surprised when a zip of energy buzzed through me. The pages were old, with handwritten recipes and spells, illustrations, and notations edging the margins of the recipes. It was a book made with love, I could feel that much, and my eyes caught on a recipe for patience.

"I could use this. I'm always wanting things now, now, now." I laughed, tapping the recipe.

"Let me make it up for you before you go. It's just a quick tea I can brew. You can finish your design that you wanted to get down on paper."

I pulled out my iPad, and Lia and I fell into easy silence as Lia took the book to her prep table to brew the tea and I tried to bring to life the design I'd seen in my dreams.

And suddenly I was no longer in the kitchen anymore.