Chapter 31

Willow

It had been two weeks since Graham had punched Ramsay at the pub, causing Agnes to grow all flustered, and me to grow more miserable. I'd hated seeing Ramsay hurt.

Even though he'd ripped my heart out.

I loved the stupid man.

I couldn't believe it myself, to be honest, that I'd fallen for this grumpy, taciturn man, who was surprisingly thoughtful and interesting when I'd managed to break down his walls.

Or so I'd thought.

I still didn't understand why he'd pushed me away the day after the fire. Sure, I would have been angry too. If Miles had lit a match to my business, I'd be furious. But I was different than Ramsay. I would have turned to him, leaned on him for support, and built it back up together. Instead, he'd shut me out and made me feel unwanted, untalented, and unnecessary to his future.

"I was just humoring you because Sophie had asked me to. I've told you from the beginning that I work best alone."

My ex's betrayal had nothing on those words.

Sophie kept telling me not to give up on him. She said he was just an idiot man unable to process his emotions correctly in the moment. The question was—did I need to put up with that from someone I wanted a future relationship with? If Ramsay couldn't grow or change and learn to be an actual partner, there was no point in considering a future with him anyway. I just had to heal my broken heart and learn how to exist in a small town where I'd likely run into him at the pub once in a while. In time, maybe it would sting less.

He"d looked awful.

I'd hated that for him.

Usually so robust and confident, instead Ramsay's eyes had an almost feral look to them when he'd spotted me at the pub, his hair messy, his face gaunt. He'd been punishing himself and Loren Brae with his anger for the better part of a week, and more than one person had been pleased with Graham's punch.

But not me.

It had taken everything in my power to not run out and hug Ramsay when he'd gotten hurt, to fix him, to fix us. It's what I normally would have done. But I'd held strong, thanks to Agnes lecturing me about protecting my boundaries, and I'd forced myself to turn back to the bar and order another drink when Graham returned.

Now, I tried to push those thoughts away as I arrived at my grandparents' cottage on the outer end of Loch Mirren, about a half hour drive from Loren Brae. I'd finally been able to make time to see them and had borrowed Sophie's car to visit. I won't lie, it was harrowing driving on the other side of the road, but I was proud of myself for managing to arrive incident-free at their doorstep.

Instantly, I was greeted with memories of my youth when I stopped in front of their cottage. Set across the street from the loch, the house was a cute two-story stone cottage backed up to rolling, green hills with an abundant garden full of flowers and vegetables. My gran loved pottering in the garden, and my grandpa had indulged her whims through the years, building small greenhouses for year-round herbs and veggies, and creating trails through the land. I remembered running through the flowers as a child, feeling like I was lost in the Secret Garden, one of my favorite childhood books.

"Willow! Just look at yourself. All grown up." My gran and grandpa crowded the front door and tears pricked my eyes. It had been years since I'd seen them in person, only over Zoom calls, and this felt like coming home. We stood in the doorway in an awkward three-person hug, and the scents of cinnamon and apples drifted from the house.

"Come in, come in. I just have some apple fritters from a recipe I was fussing around with coming out of the oven." My gran, a round woman with wild curls and a stack of necklaces at her neck, motioned me back to the kitchen. I inhaled the scents of her cooking, stopping at a hallway of photos, and smiled at a photo of my mother holding me as a baby.

She'd been so happy.

It was one thing I'd always noted in every photo I had of her, plus the memories that I held close to my heart. Her laugh. Always smiling, always laughing. It was something that I'd tried to emulate my whole life, and whether it was because of her, or because of who I was at my core, I'd always tried to be everyone's sunshine.

It just hadn't been enough for Ramsay.

Shrugging off thoughts of him, I let my grandparents fuss over me, putting together a little tea tray of sweets and mini sandwiches.

"This is a proper tea, I'm so lucky," I gushed, appreciating the Scottish tradition of a three-tiered tea tray with miniature food. I mean, I don't know what other people think, but I love tiny food presented well. It was just so cute.

"This is the first proper day of sunshine we've had in a while. I thought we could take our tea down by the edge of the garden. Near the rose bushes?" my gran asked. "Would you mind carrying the tray out?"

"Of course." I picked up the tray of mini sandwiches, and hummed as I left the back door, and wandered down the stone path that ran between opulent rose bushes, and several lilac trees that would likely be in bloom in a few weeks. It was quiet out here, the soft tinkling of running water in a bird bath, the light breeze rustling a few branches. The garden was still dormant, ready for spring, and I tilted my face to the sun.

It was time for rebirth.

Rounding the bushes, I skidded to a stop and almost dropped the tea tray.

"Ramsay," I gasped.

"Here, let me." Ramsay strode forward, gently removing the tray from my fingers, and put it on the table.

I stood, frozen, my world tilting.

Ramsay looked, well, he looked incredible.

This part of the garden was almost fully enclosed from the rest of the backyard by clusters of rose bushes and one beautiful willow tree. In front of the tree sat a lovely wrought iron bench, and a matching bistro style table with two chairs. There, a basket piled with fabric had been placed, and Ramsay stood next to the table, his muscular arms crossed over his chest.

I drank in the sight of him, and tears filled my eyes when I realized what I was seeing.

He'd made our tartan.

The one we'd designed together that night, when we'd laughed and argued, picking out colors and patterns until we got it exactly right.

He wore a proper kilt in our pattern, along with matching vest and suitcoat, along with a sporran, boots, and thick wool socks.

I'd been right. The tartan we'd created together was perfect.

Helpless not to, I met his eyes and saw nothing but pain and sadness there.

"You made it," I said, my voice watery.

"I had to. I stopped all production on any other tartan until I could get this made."

"It's good."

"It's perfect," Ramsay said, stepping slightly forward and grabbing something from the table. "Just like you."

I swallowed, hope blooming, but not wanting to be led astray once more.

Ramsay fastened something around his waist and tears spilled over.

It was a fanny pack.

A unicorn one at that.

"Why are you here, Ramsay?"

"Because I screwed up. Royally. And I needed to get my head on straight so I could apologize properly."

"It's fine," I said automatically, shrugging it off as was my habit.

"No, it's not fine. Not in the slightest." Ramsay stepped forward. "Can I show you something, darling?"

"Sure." I stepped forward as he motioned me toward the willow tree. He kept a careful distance, not touching me, and I ducked my head as he pushed some branches aside.

My heart twisted.

There on the trunk of the tree, in a scratchy childlike script, was my mother's name.

Welig.

"Your gran told me this is where your mother had carved her name. I wanted to bring you here, in front of this carving, to say I'm so, so sorry. And I want to promise you, and her, that I will never take you for granted or push you aside like I did after the fire."

Tears spilled over, and my chest tightened as I reached out and ran my fingers over the carving. A tingle of energy raced through my palms at the touch, and I closed my hand around it, as though I could keep that magick with me forever. And maybe I could. Her blood was as much of mine and I of hers, and we were forever connected, our roots entangled in this earth.

I shuddered in a breath and turned to look up at Ramsay, his expression pained at my tears.

"You really hurt me, Ramsay. You made me feel like…nothing. Like less than nothing."

"I know it. And all I can say is that I'm a fecking eejit. Truly. I was just so angry and the only thing I could land on was that I needed to do everything alone."

"But why? Why do you have to do everything alone, Ramsay? You run a veritable kilt empire. You have employees. You don't do it all on your own." I crossed my arms over my chest, lest I dive for him and wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest and howl like I wanted to.

"I know, I know. Guess what I've learned recently? Emotions aren't logical." A ghost of a smile crossed Ramsay's lips. "I was gutted when Andrew betrayed me. Absolutely gutted. I'd looked up to my brother my whole life. When he stole from me, from my parents, and took off—it just changed me. Because if my own brother could do that to me? Well, anyone could. Och, it hardened me. I was determined to succeed, but I needed to do as much of it myself, you ken? It took me a long time to take on help, and even then, it was tough. Poor Sheila's been through it with me, I'll tell you that much."

"I don't doubt it," I murmured.

"Miles has been a good friend to me," Ramsay continued, his face set in hard lines as he worked through what he needed to say. Again, this man didn't talk a lot, but when he did, it just all poured out of him. "A really good friend. In some ways, he replaced the relationship that I had with Andrew, and his friendship is important to me. When you arrived and he asked me to look out for you, I took that responsibility seriously."

"I'm not yours, or his, responsibility." I rolled my eyes. "Do you have some misguided notion that women just flounder about in the world needing male protection?"

"It's not like that, Willow. We know you're capable of taking care of yourself, but when your people love you, they want to look after you."

My breath caught.

He'd just said that he loved me. I wasn't even sure if he realized what he'd said.

"And so I hated that I looked at you as more than just my friend's sister," Ramsay barreled on, clearly needing to work through his speech while I was basically unraveling inside. "Every time you laughed, every time I caught the scent of your hair, every time you bent over in front of me, I hated myself for wanting to dive into you. It was like I'd been living in black and white, and you were this explosion of color in my life. All of a sudden, I was feeling feelings that I didn't want to, I was thinking things I wasn't supposed to be thinking, and I found myself looking forward to every moment that I got to spend with you."

"Ramsay," I whispered.

"You're like this tartan, you ken?" Ramsay held up a piece of the fabric. "You weaved yourself into my life, Willow, and when I thought it was something that I didn't want or wouldn't like, it turns out that I'm stronger with you there. Together, we were creating something incredible, and I'm so very sorry that I hurt that, hurt you, and made you think you were anything less than incredible. Not only are you the sunshine to my rain, but you're so very talented, and I loved working by your side. I hate that I might have made you second-guess yourself, in any capacity, because of my cruel words."

"Ramsay." I gulped, stepping forward.

Ramsay held up a hand and took a deep breath, still on a roll.

"When I saw you disappear into the burning building, I almost lost my mind. I was furious with you. Furious. Bloody hell, what were you thinking? You could have died, Willow. Died because of my brother. It would have been one more thing he tried to take from me. Do you know how angry I was? How scared I was?"

"It wasn't easy watching you go into the burning building either," I reminded him gently, feeling like I was approaching a big bristling bear. I laid a hand on his arm. "How do you think that made me feel?"

"I didn't think about it. I wasn't thinking. At all. And the next day, I let anger take over, and I just couldn't think straight, so I hurt the most important person in the world to me. And for that, I'd like to spend the rest of my days making it up to you."

"Oh, Ramsay." Tears just flowed down my face.

"I love you, Willow. And I'm so sorry that I hurt you. Will you give me another chance to prove to you that I'm not a complete eejit?"

"Of course, I will. I would have ten minutes ago if you'd let me get a word in." I laughed, wiping the tears from my eyes. "I love you too, you big grump. You hurt me, but I can understand now why you reacted the way you did. Emotions were high. But I just need you to know that you can rely on me, Ramsay. You don't have to do it alone anymore, if you don't want to."

"I don't. I really don't. I can't imagine building my shop back and not having you by my side."

"I love you." I looked up at him and then his lips were on mine, relief and joy flooding me. I wanted to stay here, forever locked in this moment with him, but a throat cleared behind us.

"I have one more surprise," Ramsay said as he pulled back, holding my face in his hands. "And I hope this doesn't make you angry."

"Oh, no."

Turning, I found Miles and my father standing a few feet away, both with those expressions men wear when they're disgruntled about overseeing too much emotion, but were happy, nonetheless.

"Dad!" I shrieked, launching myself at my father.

"Threads, I've missed you." Dad hugged me close, and my tears just continued to fall.

"Oh sure, I get nothing?" Miles complained and I turned, giving him a hug.

"I'm not sure you deserve anything, you jerk," I said, even though I pulled him tighter against me. Stepping back, I wiped my tears as my grandparents came forward and joined them. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Ramsay flew us out," Miles said. "Said he'd screwed up and wanted to grovel in front of an audience."

"Good job, by the way." My dad nodded his approval.

"Epic job." I laughed, dashing tears with the back of my palm.

"There's just one more thing to do," Ramsay said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box. My heart clenched. "Willow, this is for you."

Oh my God, was he proposing? I wasn't ready for that, but I wanted to be with him. My thoughts tumbled over each other, and my hand shook as I eased the box open.

Inside sat a simple brass key on a bed of velvet.

"What is this?" I asked, looking up at him.

"I'd like for you to be my partner. This is the key to the new door at the shop, and I'm asking if you'll join me, as an equal partner, in my business. I think we can weave a beautiful future together."

He knew. Ramsay knew I wasn't ready for marriage, that I needed to have confidence in securing a future and a career for myself first. He'd known how upset I'd been with the way things had turned out with my last relationship, and how important it was for me to find my foundation in my design career. Just like I understood how difficult it was for him to trust someone as a partner again. For both of us, this was a huge, and deeply meaningful, step.

"I'd love nothing more," I said, beaming up at him. "So long as we can mass produce those unicorn fanny packs."

"Don't say fanny in front of your gran." Ramsay's eyes widened, a horrified look on his face as he glanced at my grandparents.

"And why ever not, Ramsay? I've got a fanny, don't I?"

Ramsay's face flushed bright pink, and I threw my head back and laughed, while my brother looked between us.

"What's a fanny?"

"Och, lad, if you don't know by now, well, it sounds like your dating life needs to improve." Ramsay clasped a hand on my brother's shoulder, while I hugged the key to my heart.

"Shut it," Miles growled.

"And, for the record, I just want to say—your sister never needed looking after. Not only is she incredibly talented, but she's strong, fearless, and has a great head on her shoulders. You should be proud of her."

I blinked tears away as Miles turned to me.

"He's right, Threads. I guess, hell, I don't know…" Miles combed a hand through his hair. "Losing Mom made me want to keep everyone close. Like that was the only way I knew how to keep them safe."

Now the tears did spill over, and I walked over to my brother, giving him a hug.

"I get that. You just didn't have to be such a butthole about it," I said, poking him in the side.

"Noted," Miles said, wincing.

"I'm proud of you too, Threads. Your mother would have been as well," my dad said, nodding toward the tree. "This was her favorite tree. It's nice we can be here, all together again."

"Can you feel her?" I asked, walking back to put my hand out to touch the bark.

"I don't need to," my dad said, holding his hand to his heart. "She's always here with me."

"I know," I whispered, tracing her name with my finger. "That's love, isn't it? Something intangible woven into the fabric of our souls."