Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Finlay

I t hadn't been pretty, to say the least.

The confrontation with my mother had resulted in me leaving Edinburgh earlier than planned, along with a warning to my mother about her behavior. She'd grown increasingly bitter since my father had died, but deliberately cruel was a new low that I wouldn't be able to forget.

In time, I might forgive her, but for now, I had clearly and carefully outlined why she was in the wrong and what my expectations of her were moving forward. I set hard boundaries, limiting her access in my life, and most importantly? I cut her off from my bank account.

If anything, that had seemed the one thing that had upset her more than anything. Not that she'd hurt my friend's feelings or embarrassed a woman that I greatly admired, but the fact that her endless stream of income was coming to an end was enough to send her into a rage.

It had been a difficult lesson for me to learn. It was hard to watch someone you loved make choices that didn't align with your vision of them, like I had with my father. She'd always just been my mum, and I'd been protecting her since Dad had died. In fact, all I'd done was enable her laziness and lack of ingenuity. Mum was still of working age, well-educated, and capable of getting a job—or another rich husband, which was the route she'd likely take now that I'd cut her off. For years now I'd been working myself incessantly, squirreling away every last pound to keep her in the lifestyle she was accustomed to. Over and over she'd reminded me that the Thompson name meant something, and appearances were everything.

One act by her had burned that all to the ground for me.

I no longer cared about our reputation, nor about being at the upper echelon of society. At the end of the day, none of that mattered if you grew cold and callous, which my mother had. I feared I'd follow suit if I allowed her to dominate the trajectory of my life, and though this one moment for me had been the catalyst in dismantling our relationship, in reality this had been building for years now. Frankly, I felt freer than I had in ages, and I'd turned the music up and sang at the top of my lungs the whole way home from Edinburgh.

Home.

That was another interesting thought that had struck me on the drive back. Loren Brae was increasingly beginning to feel like a place that I wanted to grow roots in, and though it was an unusual feeling for me, it wasn't entirely unwanted. I had friends here, a business that I could look after, and there was Orla.

Beautiful, sweet, brilliant Orla.

That photo of her as a little girl had…gutted me. Not necessarily in pity, although there was a lot of that too. But knowing that the little girl had been so destitute, so bereft of a home, of love, had broken something inside me. How did she do it? How did she rise against that? How did she succeed?

And then there was that kiss. Did she have any idea how her kiss had knocked my knees out from under me? Had I not had to deal with my mother, I likely would have scooped her up and taken her back to her room, simply just to hold her for one second longer. She'd closed up on me, I saw it happening in real time when I'd said I'd had to see my mother, and now I needed to find her so that I could explain.

It was early evening when I pulled in front of her wee cottage, having gotten directions from Lia, and light beamed in the window. I'd gambled that she'd be home, knowing she'd likely gone directly to the site when she'd returned from Edinburgh, and had worked through the day. Picking up Orla's neatly folded shawl, plus a small gift bag, I got out of the car and crossed to the front door. The soft evening light brushed against clean stone walls, likely recently power-washed, and a pot of red geraniums stood at the front door.

I knocked with the doorknocker—a wrought iron Scottie dog—and waited as I heard shuffling inside. The door cracked, just an inch, and Orla' s eye peered out at me.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?" Orla opened the door a few inches wider, but didn't step back and welcome me in.

"Delivering the shawl you left."

"Oh, thanks?—"

Orla made to reach for it, but I held it back. No way was she getting this shawl and pushing me out. I'd only just made a chink in her defenses, and I wasn't going to lose the leverage I'd gained.

"I also brought a gift."

"Oh, you don't have to buy me gifts, Finlay." Orla worried her bottom lip.

"It's not for you. It's for Goldie."

Orla narrowed her eyes at me, clearly considering if it would be rude to send me packing, and then sighed. Opening the door wider, she ushered me inside.

"Sorry, it's a bit out of sorts in here. I'm just catching up on some paperwork."

"Ah, yes, the never-ending joys of running a business." I gave Orla space, since I could tell she was feeling self-conscious, and glanced around her place. Even though it was just one room, at least from what I could see, she'd made great use of the space. There was a cozy sitting area with a comfortable-looking love seat, a narrow table covered in ledgers and a laptop pulled close, and soft music pulsed in the background. A candle warmed the space, scented lightly of cinnamon or pumpkin, I couldn't quite tell, and a see-through bookshelf separated her bed from the living area. It was cozy and welcoming, and perfectly neat. Orla took care of her stuff. "Need some help?"

I wandered closer to the piles of notebooks on her table and glanced down. Looked like payroll. She should really have someone handling this for her, considering how many hours she spent on the job.

"Of course not," Orla said, her back up. "I've got it."

"I never said you didn't. I just asked if you wanted some help."

"Why would you help me with business stuff? Don't you do enough of that on your own?" Orla asked, a suspicious note in her voice.

"I do." I turned to her and grinned. "But I'm scary good at it, which is why Munroe puts me on most of the difficult projects. My brain just seems to love spreadsheets and organizational tasks."

"Sophie claims to love spreadsheets too." Orla's expression now mirrored her suspicious tone.

"Yes, I've heard. I'm guessing they're not your favorite?" I pointed at the sofa. "Mind if I sit?"

"Yes, go ahead. Um, I guess I should offer you tea or something? I don't really have beer, but?—"

"A cup of tea is just grand, thanks." Tea would give her something to do and keep me here longer, which I hoped would ease her nerves enough to talk about what had happened in Edinburgh. I'd done some reading on needy children in Scotland that morning, and even if Orla's experience hadn't been half as bad as what I'd read about, I imagined it had to be a traumatic history to recount—let alone get highlighted in front of hundreds of rich people. The look on her face was still burned into my heart. I never, ever, wanted Orla to feel that way again.

Which was quite a thought about someone that I'd only shared one kiss with.

The thing was? I was a risk taker. Calculated risks, I should say, but a risk taker, nonetheless. I liked to operate on the belief that hard work and dedication would see me through, and because of that, I was more willing to jump when others weren't. I'd lost some of that when my father had died, and we'd learned who he was as a person. So much of my life I'd been working hard to please someone that I found I couldn't respect when I'd learned just who he was. Then I'd worked hard to care for my mother, someone else who had just lost my respect.

But Orla?

I had nothing but admiration for her. Even more so when I got a glimpse at what she'd come from. It made me want to get to know her more deeply, to be vulnerable with her in a way that I wasn't with most, and I could only hope she would allow me to do so. One thing I think I could understand was that many people had let Orla down in this world. I didn't want to be one of them. If I could keep showing up for her, maybe, just maybe, she'd let me in more.

"Is it payroll that's stressing you out? I've got a good service that can help with that."

"Services cost money," Orla said, from where she filled a kettle with water.

"They do, but your time is valuable. At some point you need to delegate some things, or you'll fall behind."

Orla sighed, putting the kettle on, and turned to me. She looked adorably rumpled today, in baggy sweatpants and a loose gray jumper, her hair piled on her head in a messy knot. I wanted to cross the room, pull her into my arms, and bury my face in the crook of her neck.

"I am falling behind. I just don't have the time to hire anyone because I don't have the time to see where I need to hire."

"Ahhh, you need a manager." I rubbed my hands together gleefully. "Right in my wheelhouse. Let's talk it out and I can offer some tips?"

"Finlay." Orla rolled her eyes as she put two mugs on a tray. "I can't afford your advice, or likely the services that Common Gin uses to streamline their business. I'm working on a far different budget here."

"Doesn't matter. There's always an answer. Your time is valuable. So first you need to look at where your time is best spent. What can you do that nobody else can do?" I wanted to keep her distracted with questions so she would keep talking to me.

"Manage the crew, oversee the work, build, payroll, work with the clients." Orla ticked the items off on her fingers.

"And which of those is most important to you?"

"Clients, crew, building."

"That's fine, so we'll list those as your top focused tasks. See the thing is that you have to assign a value to your time. For example, say your time is worth one hundred pounds an hour, well, then you need to start looking at tasks that you are doing that aren't worth that, and begin to find ways to delegate or streamline those tasks."

"Huh." Orla brought the tea over on a small tray and sat next to me. I was grateful it was a love seat because it forced her to be closer to me. "I never thought about it like that."

"You often don't have to think like that until your business grows to a tipping point where you're forced to hire more help or take fewer projects. Which would you like it to be?"

"I don't want to take less projects because I just hired more crew and I know they're depending on me."

"Then you need to hire more help. Let's talk it out. What do you absolutely despise doing?"

Orla nodded to the ledgers.

"Payroll."

"That's easy enough. I can give you some recommendations for affordable services that will make the process easier for you. What's the next biggest time suck?"

"Admin, likely. Answering emails. Speaking with clients. There's a lot of hand-holding and I want to make sure the clients feel heard and we're nailing their vision."

"Would a good customer service manager be able to answer some of those questions? It might not be everything, but at the very least they could run interference and maybe provide a tailored list of questions for you at the end of the day?"

"That…that would be good. A lot of my time is spent responding to texts or emails that ping my phone."

"You're too available."

A hint of a smile came to Orla's lips. "That's the first time I've heard that."

"If you don't mind sharing some numbers, I might be able to create a budget for you based on recommended software programs and potential salaries for an admin person. Would that help?"

Orla leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, and looked at me.

"Are you doing this because you feel bad for me?" Her eyes were wary, her shoulders hunched. She reminded me a touch of a wounded animal.

"Why would I feel bad for you? Other than your taste in Caley Thistle."

"What?" Orla's eyes rounded and she whirled to see her jersey hanging on a hook by the door. "They're a great football team."

"If you like losing."

"We're Scottish, it's a rite of passage," Orla grumbled, and I threw back my head and laughed.

"True enough."

"Seriously though…why are you trying to help? Is it because of what happened? I'm fine, you know. It isn't a big deal."

Exposing someone's past in a room with two hundred people was certainly not nothing, but I kept my tone light.

"Do you not like when people offer to help?"

"I can't say it's my favorite, no."

"But we're friends. And I love this stuff. Indulge me." I held my hand out to the table and waited until Orla sighed and leaned forward, plopping a book into my hand.

"I can't believe this is exciting for you."

"Never have I been more turned on. A beautiful woman and business ledgers? I'm in paradise here, Orla."

Orla's cheeks flushed, the curse of a redhead, I supposed, but I loved seeing it because I knew she was affected by my words. She smiled into her tea, not meeting my eyes, and I bit back a grin. I knew I had to take this slow with her, so I'd savor what moments I could that brought a smile to her face.

An hour later, I had a tidy list of to-dos for Orla to look over. She'd largely kept quiet, working on her own tasks, but did answer any questions I had as I reviewed some of her larger pain points. It was cozy, working in this space, and I was deeply relaxed by the time I handed her my list.

"This is just a start. But I didn't want to overwhelm you." I leaned close to the notepad as she looked it over, her shoulder brushing mine. "See here? I've separated things by top recommendations as well as by potential budget as well as heavy lifting needed to execute the task. That way you can evaluate which one you want to tackle first based on budget or time restraints."

"This is smart." Orla nibbled her lower lip as she read the list, nodding in agreement. "And really useful. Thanks, Fin."

"Of course. Once you've gotten through this, I'll have a look and offer you the next level of recommendations."

"I'll pay you a consulting fee, of course." Orla looked up at me as I brushed a finger across her cheek, tucking a piece of hair back behind her ear.

"Nope."

"Why not?" Orla demanded.

"Because I don't want to introduce that type of element into our relationship."

"We don't have a relationship, Fin." Orla glared at me, leaning back and away from me. Luckily it wasn't far, being a love seat and all.

"Don't we?"

"We most definitely do not." Orla emphasized each word.

"We see each other most days. We enjoy each other's company. We're attracted to each other. And we've kissed. The kind of kiss that will keep me up for many a night aching for more."

Orla's perfect pink mouth rounded into an O.

"Or maybe it wasn't as good a kiss for you? Should we try once again?"

"What? No, it was great. I mean, wait…" Orla waved her hands in front of her face, fanning her skin. "My brain is short-circuiting."

"Is it because of my masculine presence? I do tend to overwhelm the ladies with my charisma." I flexed an arm muscle and Orla made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

"Should we try again? See if we both think it is just as good?"

"For what purpose?" Orla asked.

"For enjoyment? For fun?"

"Fun?" Orla arched a brow at me.

"Don't you find kissing to be fun?"

"I don't know that I've given it much thought, but yes, I guess kissing is fun."

"Well, you've finished work for the day, haven't you? That would mean time for fun."

"My after-work projects are crochet and listening to serial killer podcasts."

"Ah yes, I remember. You hold spikey instruments and learn about how people kill each other. A laugh a minute, I'm sure."

"Cheeky, aren't you?" Orla narrowed her eyes at me.

"Cute. Endearing. Sexy. Handsome…I'll also accept those descriptors."

"Fine, just one. It's best to get it out of our systems and then I can rid you of this notion that we're in a relationship."

"I wholeheartedly agree with this plan." I didn't want to point out the flaw in her logic that kissing someone again rarely disavowed a relationship, as then I'd talk myself out of a kiss, which would just be plain stupid after thinking about it constantly since I'd left her.

I moved slowly, inching slightly forward, and cradled her face in my hands.

"Impossibly beautiful. Your eyes look like mini universes. Incredible, up close, the depth they have."

"I don't need pretty words, Fin."

Oh yes, she most certainly did. Because I suspected that nobody had taken care with her before.

"Luminous skin. I love when it flushes pink after I've said something that excites you. Like now." I brushed a thumb across her bottom lip, and Orla's eyelashes feathered across her cheeks. "A perfectly pink mouth, with lips made for mine."

Her breath came out of her lips in a soft whoosh, warm and wet against my finger, and I couldn't hold back anymore. Leaning forward, I captured her lips with my own, sinking into the kiss as the world stilled around me.

I'd been right to think Loren Brae might become my home. All lingering doubt left my mind as Orla's kiss ignited me, a need to possess growing inside of me. Angling her head, I deepened the kiss, needing a taste of her. She surprised me, like she had the other night, by meeting me head on, her hands threading through my hair.

It drove me a little wild when a woman grabbed my hair like that .

When she crawled into my lap, straddling me, I let her, just happy to have her closer to me. I brought one arm around her back, supporting her, and traced my hand down her side. She was tiny, but so very strong, and her thighs gripped me as she rocked back and forth, lost in the kiss.

I wanted to spear upward, to drive myself into her, to take us both over the edge that we clearly so craved.

But I also knew that if we went that route, quick to bed, she'd also likely move me quickly out the door. If Orla hadn't had a lot of relationships in her life, then keeping things casual was likely the most emotionally safe route for her. I didn't want to be someone she dismissed quickly.

I wanted her, in every way, in my life.

And to do so, I had to make sure she didn't push me out.

As much as it killed me, I broke the kiss and pulled her to my body, simply holding her.

"What are you doing?" Orla's voice was breathy at my ear.

"It's called a hug, Orla."

"Why are you hugging me?"

"Because it feels nice."

"But other things were feeling nicer." To prove her point, Orla rubbed against where I'd grown hard in my trousers. I groaned, turning to press a kiss to her hair. "Keep doing that, darling, and I'll be embarrassed to walk out of here."

"We could?—"

"Wheesht. Just try this for a moment." It wasn't surprising that a hug might seem more intimate to Orla than sex. Hugs were a vulnerable place to be with someone you cared for and required a level of trust. Orla stayed tense in my arms, and I continued to lightly stroke her back, holding her in place, until I could feel her body begin to relax against mine. Only when the tension had eased from her, molding her into a loose pile over me, did I turn my head so I could brush a soft kiss over her lips.

"See? Not so bad, is it?"

"You told me you brought a present for Goldie."

Changing the subject, I noted, but allowed it. I considered my time here tonight a win. I'd become sharply clear on what I wanted for the future, and Orla didn't seem to hold resentment against me for my mother's behavior.

"So I did. You'll have to introduce me." I toyed with a lock of her hair that had tumbled out of her scrunchie. "I want you to know the only reason I left you on the steps was to confront my mother. She needed to know that her behavior was unacceptable. I've cut her off, just so you know."

"Fin!" Orla tried to rear back, but I held her tight until she grumbled and nestled into my arms again. "You don't have to cut your mother out because of me."

"I put up boundaries, for many reasons, one of which was for her cruelty. It was time for me to protect my own mental health, as well as that of the people that I care about. No longer will I cater blindly to someone who doesn't truly love me."

"Oh, Fin. I'm sorry. That must be such a hard line to draw."

"We'll see how it goes. She didn't take it well, but her own actions caused this. "

"But is she your only family? Don't you want to hang on to that?"

I met Orla's eyes, bringing my hand up to hold her cheek.

"Wouldn't you say we get to make our own families? If we choose to?"

"Aye, I'd agree with that."

Orla surprised me by leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to my lips, both a promise and a reassurance. She might not be thinking what I was thinking, about our future, but she clearly sensed something more was there. I would take what I could get for now.

"Now, are you ready to introduce me to Goldie?"

"It depends on the gift. If it's shite, she might not want to meet you."

"I would never bring a shite gift for Queen Goldie." I held a hand to my chest in mock distress.

"Well, in that case, let's see it."

"Bag is right there." I kept Orla on my lap as she leaned over and picked up the small gift bag. She took her time opening it, carefully unfolding the tissue, and I realized she was savoring the moment, as well as the paper. She'd use it all again, I realized, much unlike how my mother ripped open presents and tossed the wrapping away. This simple realization made me want to give Orla the world.

"A pirate ship?" Orla held it up to the light.

"Aye. It floats on top and she can bump it to get fish flakes out. It's meant to be a wee way to stimulate them, or so the shop owner assured me."

"She'll love this." Orla grinned at me like I'd just gifted her with a diamond and sprung up off my lap. "Let's see what she thinks."

I crossed to the bookshelf with Orla and smiled at a wee goldfish doing circles in a large bowl with clean water, colorful gemstones on the bottom, and a few pieces of greenery to hide in.

"Look, Goldie. Your own ship." Orla tapped the glass and the fish did a wild spin around the bowl. I smiled as Orla took out a jar of fish flakes and added them to the boat. "Goldie, this is Fin."

"Pleased to meet you, Your Highness." I gave the fish a subtle bow and Orla chuckled as she plopped the ship on top of the water.

"Oh look." Orla grabbed my arm as Goldie instantly investigated the ship, bumping it with her head. When a few flakes drifted out, she ate them and raced a circle around the bowl before bumping it again. "Oh, Fin. She really likes it."

Orla gave me an adoring look and I all but preened under her happiness. Had I known a simple toy for her fish would make her so happy, I would have bought the whole damn store. Orla deserved joy, and I now knew two things.

The first was that I wanted her in my life.

And the second? That I was determined to keep showing up for her, because keeping a smile on her face was now my new favorite life goal.