Chapter 3

Willow

"Dublin? As in Ireland?"

"Correct," I said, cheerful despite missing my connection to Scotland and having to wait five hours for the next flight. The flight on Aer Lingus from Minneapolis had been, well, honestly, amazing. Sophie had upgraded me to business class, and I hadn't been able to sleep a wink in case I missed out on something fabulous. I'd been rewarded when the flight attendant came around with ice cream while everyone else was napping. I had boldly asked for seconds because I didn't want it to go to waste. The flight attendants were happy to indulge me, and I was just keen to keep them talking because their gorgeous Irish accents made me smile. Now, I could barely keep the grin off my face as I shamelessly eavesdropped on everyone around me in the airport just to hear the rhythm of different accents being spoken.

"Knock it off, Willow. I've had a shit day at work. What do you need?" My brother's annoyed tone cheered me up even more.

A woman walked by in a gorgeous wool cape that had my head turning. Pinned at the neck and draped neatly so the material didn't overwhelm, the cape was so flattering. It made me instantly want to wear it with leggings and my Vince Camuto equestrian boots or perhaps even with my ripped straight-leg jeans and a chunky loafer…

"Willow!"

"Ope, sorry." I drew my mind back to the conversation at hand instead of mentally building outfits around that fabulous cape. "I don't need anything. I'm calling to tell you that I left, and that I'm in Dublin on my way to my new job."

"Italy … but how?—"

"How did I still get the job even though you sabotaged it for me?" I asked, injecting my voice with sweetness.

"Listen…Willow. I'm not going to apologize for that. It was a crappy job offer. It was the right decision."

Not a hint of chagrin entered his voice. I rolled my eyes.

"The right decision for you, Miles. Not for me."

"I did it for your own good. It's time for you to stop messing around and get serious about your life."

Not even an apology.

My breath left my body as a deep-rooted anger threatened to surface.

I hated being angry.

In fact, ever since the shift in the household after my mother died, I'd actively sought out happiness. I always tried to look at the sunny side of things and did my best to act as peacemaker between my father and Miles when things got tough. Maybe that was the real reason Miles never wanted me to follow my dream—he liked when I was home to temper his sharp edges and bring some joy into his miserable existence.

Okay, that wasn't fair. He wasn't miserable. Just a very dedicated, focused, and determined older brother who insisted on trying to run my life on some misguided notion that he knew more about what I needed than I did.

I think, beyond anything, that was the most infuriating part. The simple fact that Miles refused to recognize or understand that I could be trusted to know what was best for my future. Every time he shot down my dream, it was as though he was calling me stupid or infantile because I hadn't yet had success. Life came easily for Miles, well, easily enough, and he'd been running his own in-demand construction firm for years. There was no room for error in Miles's exacting world of measurements and project budgets, and apparently, he applied that same principle to my life, wherein mistakes were failures instead of lessons.

"I've always been serious about my life, Miles. It's just not the life you want for me."

"I want you to be safe, Willow. I want to not have to worry about you, wonder if you're eating, if you're living in a dump, if you're getting taken advantage of by a shitty boyfriend. I want you home, in a stable job, living a normal life. Find a husband, settle down. Why is that so hard for you to do?"

The anger bubbled.

"So let me get this straight." I eyed a woman's quilted purse and wondered if it was Chanel. "If I come home, find a nine-to-five, marry, and settle into a house with a picket fence down the road from you, you'll be happy?"

"Yes, I will be. What's wrong with that life, Willow? It's safe, it's normal, it's respected. You've never even given it a chance. You might love it."

I considered his point for a moment, giving him the benefit of the doubt because that's who I was as a person, even though my simmering anger wanted me to fly home and nut-punch my older brother until he backed off and realized that I had every right to live my life my way. I pictured myself waking up in a little box of a house—or in reality, a studio apartment, which is all I'd likely be able to afford—making coffee in the morning, talking to my faux plant because I absolutely couldn't be trusted to keep a real plant alive, shivering through an icy morning commute on my way to work. Smiling at my co-workers from the confines of my cubicle, meeting for after-work happy hours, spending endless hours on online dating apps trying to make a real connection with someone who would see me for me, and then counting the years until he'd propose, before I'd dive into wedding planning, and then settle into making babies.

There was nothing inherently wrong with that image. Certainly, I'd probably painted it more negatively than I should have because I hadn't added an exciting career or a sexy boyfriend, all of which could be possibilities if I stayed in Minneapolis. But it wasn't what I wanted right now. I was only twenty-six years old. Maybe in the future, that could be my life—and Miles will feel very self-satisfied. I'll be "safe."

I couldn't help wondering if he was comparing me to my best friend, Melissa, though. She loved that life. She craved stability in a way I never had, and she was thriving, embracing the suburban mom life with a gusto that I admired. And I couldn't be happier for her. The one difference between her and Miles? Melissa knew that I needed something different and accepted that for me.

"I don't think I would, Miles. I wish you could see that. I'm allowed to do what I want with my life. This is my dream, and even if I don't achieve success at the rate you deem to be appropriate, that doesn't mean that I should give up. Ever heard of failing forward? Every mistake I make is just a data point. It's something for me to learn and grow from."

"Like not sleeping with your business partner?"

I winced.

"It's not like I planned that, Miles. We just fell in love."

"Was it love when he stole all your money? Left with the seamstress?"

"Yes, please, let's revisit that. Great fun for us all," I muttered. My brother seemed to think that relentlessly pointing out my past failures would somehow stop me from making any mistakes in the future. Shifting in my seat, I turned my head to look at the line of shops. One of them showcased purses and those woolen capes that I'd seen on more than one person now, and I knew where I'd be heading once I ended the call with my brother.

"Well? I'm just saying…you can't be trusted to know what's best for you."

"Actually, I can. I have all of my mental faculties, which means I do get to be in charge of the decisions that I make. For me. So I took a chance on love and it failed. Spectacularly. But now I've learned—no mixing business with pleasure. It's a tough lesson that millions of other people have likely learned. It's not like I'm some anomaly that is the first ever to go into business with her boyfriend and fail. Everything is so black and white with you, life or death, and it's just not that serious."

"Not that serious? We had to come bail you out, Willow. When does this stop?"

"It stops right now." My anger finally surfaced, and I stood and grabbed my carry-on, unable to sit still. "Right now, Miles. I didn't ask you to come to New York to bail me out. And I'm not asking your opinion on this, either. I get to make my own choices."

"Then you live with the consequences. I'm not flying to Italy this time to fix everything for you."

"Good. Because I won't be in Italy anyway. I'm going to Scotland."

"Scotland? What?"

"You know, our mother's home? Maybe I just need some time to take a pilgrimage to find my roots." I knew that would set him off, because there was nothing Miles hated more than an unplanned and unstructured vacation. He was the type to research everything in advance and have an itinerary for the whole week. "I'm just going to wander, I think. See where the wind takes me."

"You've got to be kidding. At least tell me you're staying with Gran."

"I'm not."

"What about Ramsay?"

"What about him? He's your best friend, not mine. I haven't seen Ramsay since I was a freshman in high school." Ramsay, my brother's gorgeous best friend, had been over on a break from university. All of my friends instantly fell in love with the tall, strapping Scotsman with the delicious accent. Had I harbored a crush on him? Just a bit. Was I ever going to tell my brother that? Nope. Not a chance.

"Call him. He'll take care of you."

"Miles! For the last time, I don't need taking care of. I'm an adult. Stop it."

"From the way I see it?—"

"I don't care how you see it. My gut says this is the right choice for me. I have to listen to that."

"Do you though? Your little flashes of ‘knowing' haven't exactly landed you in great situations in the past."

"Every situation is a learning opportunity. You know what? I'm done with this conversation. Especially because all you've done is point out my faults. And that's not okay or fair. Tell Dad I'll call him when I get in. And for the last time, back off, or you'll lose me forever."

"Lose you? God, Threads, you're always so dramatic?—"

I ended the call on his words, rolling out the tension that had knotted my shoulders, and wheeled my bag toward the little airport store where I'd spied the capes. Perhaps some shopping would be just the therapy I needed, even though I didn't have the budget for anything other than looking. While my salary with MacAlpine Castle was a generous one, my first paycheck was still a ways out, and all I had was the emergency ration that my father had pressed into my hands when I'd told him I was leaving.

If this all worked out, I was going to bring my dad over to Scotland, his first real vacation in years, and show him my fabulous new life.

Miles could stay home.

Sticking my nose in the air, I sailed into the shop and beamed at the woman behind the counter who welcomed me in a lovely Irish accent. I swear, it was like listening to wind chimes singing in the wind, the way the Rs rolled over her words. It was one of the things that I'd loved about New York City, aside from the fashion and the hustle and bustle. Being surrounded by so many different accents and cultures had reminded me just how big the world was and how there were still so many places for me to explore.

Other shoppers came in the store, needing assistance, and I turned to the rack holding the wool capes. Lifting a corner, I ran my hand over the fabric, enjoying the weight of it, and flipping it over to see the craftsmanship. Well-made, and with a price that reflected it, I realized after a discrete glance at the tag. I'd have to draw up a design once I was in Scotland. The cape appealed to me, as someone who fluctuated between sizes, because it would be forgiving of weight gain or loss and still look stylish.

Being a plus-sized woman and wanting to look fashionable was sometimes a challenge. Not as much as it had once been, but it was partly what had driven me into the fashion industry. I wanted to design clothes that looked good on my tall, strong, Midwestern body. Built for plowing fields and surviving a famine, I'd always joked to people, even though I probably was not likely wrong. I fluctuated between size sixteen and twenty, depending on the label, and took great care to track down brands that supported that sizing. It made shopping a touch more difficult at times, but I loved the direction that the fashion industry was going where inclusivity was becoming more common. It just made sense, in my mind, to offer a larger range of sizes. Why cut off an entire market of people who had the money and were willing to spend it on quality made clothing?

Already, the anger from Miles's phone call had dissipated, now that I was in my happy place surrounded by clothes, and I breathed out a sigh of relief as I returned to my baseline of cheerful and breezy. Reminding myself that Miles being overbearing was nothing unusual and came from a place of love, I checked the time on my phone and left the shop, looking for a spot to grab a coffee where I could jot down some sketches. Though I really had no idea what, specifically, I'd be designing with the kiltmaker, I loved tartan prints and had already compiled a folder of ideas that ranged from a basic kilt to a fun tartan bralette, which I likely knew would be instantly vetoed.

But that was what sketchbooks were for—dreams.

And unlike Miles, I was full of them.

I wasn't going to listen to his doubts though. I had been approached for this gig. Found. Contrary to what Miles believed about me, I had talent, and this window to explore and grow was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"We'd like to offer you an opportunity to come work with our kiltmaker to design an exclusive line of merchandise for our visitors. You had some great tartan pieces in your last line, and your background says you have ties to Scotland." Sophie's words rang in my head.

And if I was honest, I already felt somehow tied to Loren Brae and Sophie's MacAlpine Castle. Even if I had no idea why.