Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Finlay

I 'd never gotten a chance to speak with Orla about her near-death experience, and I'd been up half the night worrying over it. She'd begged off our conversation, promising me she was fine but exhausted, and had left with Miss Elva and her entourage, dropping Orla off on their way out of town.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me, just a bit, that she'd also seen those men in kilts naked. Perhaps more than a bit, even though Orla was right, it was absolutely none of my business who she chose to get naked with.

Images of stripping her out of her overalls and bending her backward over a work bench had filled my head, my body responding, and despite trying not to think of Orla's pint-sized body under my hands, I hadn't been strong enough to resist. When I had taken my pleasure, it had been with her name on my lips, and I'd woken up feeling a touch guilty this morning. She was an employee of sorts, after all, and I was certain Munroe would frown upon me trying to date her.

Hadn't he been the one to suggest I take her to the gala though?

In a professional capacity, I was certain, and yet I couldn't help but look forward to having an entire night to spend with her. Orla intrigued me. She was a contradictory mix of both wary and confident, seamlessly handling difficult projects and mediating employee relationships, yet standoffish and short when pulled into personal discussions. I wanted to peel back her layers, much like I'd peeled off her clothes in my dream, and discover who she was.

Which, again, was stupid. It wasn't like I had time for relationships. And Orla was most definitely a relationship type of woman.

The day my father had died was the day that I'd learned that everyone had secrets. In every action and word, my father had seemed perfect. The perfect husband, the perfect father, the perfect friend. Everyone had loved him.

He'd died in the arms of his lover, revealing a string of infidelities and ruining the carefully constructed image I'd had of him. The image he'd worked so hard to preserve. Add that with a dried-up bank account and debts owed, and I'd been forced to step forward to care for my mother in the way she was accustomed to so she didn't lose face in society.

In grieving him, not just the father he'd been, but the image I'd constructed of him, I'd become focused on creating security for both me and my mother, which was why I was so driven to succeed professionally. It also left very little room for relationships. Because of this, I'd always found it easier to stay unattached, to put the stakes up front, and to keep things casual with my lovers.

And Orla was anything but casual. She took her work seriously, treated most conversations with an intensity that I couldn't quite understand, and didn't strike me as a no-strings-attached kind of woman. Which meant, once again, that I needed to keep things professional with her. Friends at most.

Never lovers, no matter how much it now seemed I wished for her to unravel beneath my hands. Ever since we saw the unicorn together, I couldn't help recalling the feeling of her in my arms. She was relatively tiny, but strong. She'd fit my body perfectly. I hadn't wanted to let go.

Even now, my fingers clenched at the thought of touching her, and I realized that somewhere along the way, the quick-witted Orla had worked herself into my head.

Speaking of, I needed to stop by the shelter and pay what I had promised Orla as payment for her to attend the gala. It was the weekend, and I hoped they would be open, but I didn't want to delay too long in case they were waiting to buy the supplies for their extension.

After a quick shower and a bite of toast with my cup of tea, I left the wee rental cottage I was staying at and walked to the shelter, enjoying the soft spring morning. I always enjoyed spring, when the sunshine would burn off the crispy fog of morning, and the hint of new garden growth tinged the air. A cherry blossom tree hung her branches over the pavement, blush pink petals fluttering in the breeze, as though nature was throwing a party to welcome the arrival of summer. Loch Mirren was still, the morning light dancing across her surface, the trees that lined the shore mere smudges of paint on her reflection. It was quiet here, in a way that it rarely got in Edinburgh, and I glanced up as three crows swooped low over my head, following my path.

Could I get used to small town life?

Maybe. It certainly had its perks. A built-in friend group, beautiful natural landscapes, and a laid-back atmosphere. I hadn't even worn half the clothes I'd brought with me, finding there was very little need for suits and ties here. The meetings I had were done at the construction site, not in the boardroom, and I was enjoying being more hands-on, even if I had to work late a few nights a week to make sure the spreadsheets tallied up and the project stayed on budget.

I heard the barking before I even arrived at the shelter, and I smiled at the woman with kind eyes and a messy bun of gray hair behind the front desk.

"Good morning, it's a braw day, isn't it?"

"It is at that," I agreed, leaning an arm on the counter.

"Are you here to meet the pups then?"

"No, I'd just like to make a donation."

"Och, well, now. That's just grand, isn't it? We certainly appreciate every quid we can get. There's a box there." The lady nodded to a small donation box on the counter with a slit in the top.

"Uh, it's a touch more…sizeable than that. Do you have a card reader? If not, can I get your bank details? I'll transfer it over."

"Brilliant. We absolutely could use it." The woman beamed at me like I'd just told her I'd managed to end world hunger and picked up a small portable card reader. "How much would you like to donate then?"

"One thousand pounds."

The card reader jostled in her hands, and she peered at me over the counter.

"Did I hear that correctly?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Och, that's brilliant. Just brilliant. We'll be able to get our extension after all." A suspicious sheen glimmered in the woman's eyes, and I immediately felt awkward, never certain how to navigate a woman's tears.

"Yes, I hear it's needed. What are you planning then?"

"Let me give you a tour. I can show you where we're building out and you can meet some of the residents."

"Oh, I'm sure you're busy." Based on the cacophony of barking in the back room, her presence was desperately needed.

"Not too busy for our hero here."

I hesitated as I held my card up, looking around the small front room. If one thousand pounds could be life-changing for this shelter, maybe I should add more just in case they ran into any problems in the construction or needed more food for the dogs. If this donation was enough to bring tears, surely, they were in need of more? I thought of my well-padded savings account, just in case of a rainy day, and looked down at the threadbare sofa in the waiting room. Though I regularly gave to charities, it was usually from afar, not in the lobby of the organization that I was donating to. Now, seeing her excitement, I was helpless to not want to give more. Leaning forward, I dropped my voice, having heard other people in the back .

"Can you double that?"

"Excuse me?" The woman gaped at me.

"I'd like to double that if you promise to keep it a secret."

"I-I…but of course. If you're certain?" The woman's mouth worked, her eyes alight with excitement.

"Yes, I'm certain. Will that be enough for your immediate needs or is there more?"

"Let me…let me just check." The woman put the card reader down and walked over to a small desk. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a binder and flipped through the pages, walking back over to me. "If you're speaking specifically about the extension, this is the quoted budget for labor, materials, and how long it would take to get done. That doesn't include the ongoing food or vet care needed for the additional animals that will fill the space of course. But we do regular fundraisers and have volunteers, so I'm sure we'll make do."

I scanned the budget, seeing how Orla had donated all of her time for free, and guilt made my stomach clench. Here she was already working herself to the bone for us and she was still donating her free time to helping this shelter?

Yeah, I could do more. I also noted the budget was extremely lean, which meant Orla was likely also shouldering some of the costs of this build. Not only was she talented, but she was generous. She…fit Loren Brae so well. She's making a difference.

Now it wasn't only guilt that sat beneath my breastbone, it was shame. I could be doing more with my life than simply building a nest egg. And this could be my first step.

"Here's what I'd like to do," I said, sliding the binder back to her. "I'd like to cover this budget and then also set up a recurring monthly donation that will help with food for the dogs. Is that something you can arrange for?"

"I…I, yes, I mean yes, of course we can. That's…thank you, sir. Thank you," the woman gushed, jotting down the numbers I mentioned before patting her hands on her cheeks to dash her tears. "I need to get the paperwork set up for the recurring donation if you can just wait?—"

"Finlay? What's going on?" Orla's voice behind had me turning. She'd come in from the back room, and her look sharpened at the tears on the older woman's face. "Barbara, what's wrong? What did you do, Fin?"

It was the first time she'd shortened my name, and the brush of familiarity made my insides warm.

"Och, Orla, he's a hero this one. I'm telling you, an absolute gem. He's paid off the extension, so he has."

"Ahem." I cleared my throat. Barbara had instantly violated my terms of not telling anyone about my donation. Her eyes widened and her face looked stricken.

"Och, I'm sorry. I promise I won't say a thing to anyone else. It's just…she's the builder, the one who provided us with this budget. Surely, it's okay for her to know the budget's been met and we can proceed with construction?" Barbara pleaded with me, clearly upset that she'd broken her promise to me. Orla rounded the counter and looked down at the woman's notes before raising surprised eyes to me.

"This is much more than discussed. And a recurring donation?"

"It was needed." I shrugged a shoulder, uncomfortable now .

"Please don't be upset with me, I promise I won't say a word of it to anyone else. It's just Orla will be the one ordering the materials and…" Barbara wrung her hands.

"I'm not upset," I promised her. "That's just fine that Orla knows. She's excellent at her job, you couldn't have hired better."

Both women beamed at me, twin rays of sunshine, and I shifted, feeling uneasy under their adoration.

"I need to get this paperwork set up," Barbara said.

"Why don't I show you around and you can see where we're going to build while Barbara finishes up?" Orla said, moving out from behind the counter.

"Sure, that'll be grand." I didn't want to be this close to Orla, not when I'd had such a deliciously naughty dream about her the night before. Here she was in faded denim and a worn jumper that did nothing for her shape. And yet all I could think about was running my hands beneath that loose jumper and feeling her skin heat under my touch.

Damn it. I needed to keep it professional.

Orla's hair was plaited back again, a few tendrils loose around her face, and she looked at ease here in a way that she didn't on-site. Maybe it was because she was off duty and this was a space she could relax in, but she walked more slowly and her face was relaxed, serene almost.

This is her happy place.

Another facet of Orla I hadn't yet uncovered.

"Are you ready for chaos? It's puppy playtime before we open for adoption. Helps get some of their energy out." Orla looked me up and down and sniffed.

"What's that look for?" I glanced down at my cuffed denims and polished boots.

"You might get a bit dirty. Dogs are messy." The way she said it was as if I couldn't handle a few stray pieces of dog hair on my clothes.

"That's just fine. These are comfy clothes."

"Of course they are." Orla rolled her eyes, and I shook my head at her, bemused.

"Why do you find that so hard to believe?"

"You're just a bit posh, Finlay. Nothing wrong with that, but I'd just say that your work clothes and mine are a touch different."

I glanced between her worn clothes and mine and shrugged.

"I'm only half the time on-site. The rest I'm in an office. I think it's called balance."

"It's okay to be posh, Fin."

There it was again, my name shortened at her lips, and I warmed to the familiarity.

"I'm not posh."

"Says the man with a gold watch on his wrist."

"What's wrong with my watch?" It had been a gift from my grandfather when I turned eighteen.

"Nothing at all." Orla smirked, pursing her lips together.

I wanted to kiss her.

The thought struck, sucking the air from my body, and I instinctively leaned forward, closing the distance between us, all thought leaving my mind so focused was I on her lips.

Orla pushed the door open at her back, breaking the moment, and pandemonium greeted us.

Loud barks erupted at our entrance, and furry bodies flew everywhere, racing around the room as we entered, and Orla quickly shut the door behind us. A girl, looking to be in her late teens, monitored the dogs from the far end of the room, and a laugh escaped me at the absolute chaos that greeted us.

Dogs of all sizes, shapes, and ages ranged across the floor. A few of the smaller ones chased each other in circles around the room, while three older dogs lay against the wall, observing the chaos. One dog, which looked to be a lab mix of sorts, with dark brown fur and a few grays on his snout, nudged a puppy gently that tumbled into his face.

"Who's this guy?" I asked, deciding to start with the older dogs since the puppies were too chaotic to try and catch at the moment. Crouching next to the brown lab, I shifted so I could sit next to him and held my hand out gently, allowing him to sniff me first.

"This distinguished gentleman is named Harris, and I might just be in love."

"Kicking those hunky highlanders to the curb already?" I couldn't help but mention the strapping lads in the pub that, apparently, Orla had seen naked.

"They were never mine to keep." Orla sighed dramatically and threw the back of her palm against her head before kissing the top of Harris's head. "Harris is the only man for me."

"You're a lucky man, Harris." I wanted to ask more about the men from yesterday but knew it wasn't my place to do so. She had every right to a private life, didn't she?

A grin flashed across Orla's face before she buried her face in the dog's neck, stroking his ears slightly.

"He's just the best. Calm. Gentle. Loving. I hate that he's in here. "

Her eyes were filled with adoration and the way the dog twisted to look up at her, swiping his tongue over her face, assured me this was a mutual adoration.

I jumped when a puppy tumbled into my lap, followed by two others, and they wrestled each other around my legs, clearly unconcerned for any of my body parts as they nipped and growled at each other. One puppy, a fuzzy white one with a black mark on his ear, grabbed the lace of my shoe in his mouth and tugged.

"Hey there. Tough wee lad, aren't you?" I booped his nose and he abandoned the lace for my finger, his sharp teeth sinking into my skin. "Och, that's a fierce bite, mister!"

"Are you okay?" Orla reached over Harris and grabbed my hand, bending her face low to my palm. I froze. Her hands were surprisingly soft for a builder, and warmth trailed across my palm as she examined the bite. Her warm breath heated my skin, and I shifted, feeling my body respond to her closeness.

"It's fine. Just a wee scratch." I needed to break contact before I embarrassed myself in front of her. Instead, I tussled with the puppies in front of me to distract myself from thoughts that were taking me down an entirely different route.

Her hair smelled like wood chips and lemon.

It was an unusual combination, but one that suited her perfectly, and I tried not to imagine her in the shower, lathering a lemony soap onto her supple body.

A sharp yip drew my attention to two puppies who had moved from playing into a more serious battle. Reaching over, I tugged them gently apart, taking the fiercely growling one into my palms and leveling him up to my face.

"Sir. You're going to need to tone it down." I admonished the puppy gently and Orla chuckled next to me as the puppy tried to paw my nose.

"Yes, lecturing him sternly will certainly get through to him."

"It certainly worked with me."

"Och, tough parents?"

I glanced at Orla as she made a strangled noise, like she was upset with herself for asking, and her eyes widened as she quickly looked away, shaking her head slightly as though she was berating herself. Was it because she didn't want to get to know me on a personal level? Or because she thought she'd crossed a line? Either way, I was even more intrigued about her now, so I decided to ignore her odd look and focused my gaze back on the puppy that was currently falling asleep in my arms.

"My father preferred things done his way. Rules were meant to be followed, and his word was law."

"And that knocked all the silliness out of you?"

"Something like that." I curled the now sleeping puppy into my side and looked out across the room as I thought about my childhood. Had I ever been a silly child? I didn't remember being so. As an only child, my parents' expectations had weighed heavily on my young shoulders, and I'd always been more prone to my studies than play. Maybe that was part of what had upset me so much about my father's lies. All those years of me working hard and following the rules, never one to indulge in games, and my father had been playing games all along. With my mother's heart. With his family's livelihood. Apparently, he'd had a need for the adrenaline rush, and because of it, he'd come down harder on me. It was almost as if he'd been punishing himself through me, and it had made me a reserved child. I'd had to actively work against that inclination to become more personable in the business world, but it had taken years for me to do so.

So, no, I hadn't been much for silliness in my youth. I tried to make up for it now, when I had a moment to spare, but old habits die hard, and more often than not I used my downtime for work.

Rarely did I do something so frivolous as to spend a morning away with puppies in my lap.

Orla didn't ask more, even though I would have shared about my life if she had done so. Instead, we fell into companionable silence, her wrapped around sweet Harris, and me with a growing pile of puppies in my lap, as more wandered over and clambered onto my legs for a sleep.

"So much for these posh trousers escaping unscathed." I pretended to sigh heavily in disappointment.

Orla made a tsking noise.

"Such a shame, really. I hear dog hair doesn't come off."

"Nope, going to have to bin these clothes now."

Orla rolled her eyes, but then, in a surprise move, she punched my arm lightly.

Much like she had awkwardly the other day.

Her cheeks pinkened and she looked away.

Well, well. Wasn't that interesting? Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the only one affected by being in each other's company.

Very interesting indeed.