Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Finlay

I hadn't told anyone about my encounter in the outbuilding.

I was new to Loren Brae, new on the construction site, and was still feeling things out. I often found it best to get the lay of the land first, because if I needed to implement change, it was better I did so with an understanding of the dynamics of what I was stepping into rather than coming in like a wrecking ball. Nuance mattered, particularly on buildouts, because many who worked on our construction sites also lived in the towns we built in. Small towns were their own puzzles to be solved, and I approached each project with a careful curiosity, knowing that we weren't just providing jobs for the construction workers, but also that the business we were growing would benefit the community .

I never wanted to give anyone a reason to dislike me, or the Common Gin brand. Reputation mattered, and Munroe knew that I cared just as deeply about his company as he did. He was a great boss, and he took care of his employees. I was proud of the work we did, the jobs we provided, and the community we had created. We even had a line of craft mocktails in the works for those who didn't drink alcohol.

The music of a busy construction site greeted my ears when I arrived the next morning, handsaws whirring, hammers slapping against wood, a morning radio show recapping the match from the night before. The air was still brisk, sharp enough that I cradled my hands around my thermos of coffee, and I took a moment to examine the building from the outside.

I could just see it. The finished project. Granted, I'd seen the mock-ups, which were stunning in their own right, but I loved nothing more than watching something that was once in disrepair come to life. I imagined this must be how gardeners felt, coaxing a seed to bloom, and being on a buildout was my favorite aspect of my job. Spreadsheets, finances, and profit and loss ledgers were a touch less appealing, but I thrived equally on-site as I did behind my computer. The nice thing about Munroe was that he didn't force me to solely take meetings and be on the phone at all times, as he knew as well as I did that I needed to get out of the office to remain a cheerful human being. Because of that, he'd structured his operations team to share their duties, and we were in constant contact as we shifted our roles to accommodate for what the company needed. It worked well, this balance of responsibilities that Munroe had created, and it pleased me that I'd been picked to be on-site for the Loren Brae project.

I'd needed a break from Edinburgh for a while.

As much as I loved my mother, she'd become overbearing to the point of neurotic since my father had passed away. After his death, a heart attack taking him in his lover's bed, we'd discovered just what kind of man my father had really been. I'd sensed hints of it through the years, but the unraveling of his lies had undone my mother and now she focused all her attention on me, desperate to control my very existence, because her own foundation had shattered.

Yes, some time in Loren Brae would suit us both. Even now, my phone pinged, and I glanced down to see a reminder from my mother about securing a date for the upcoming gala. It was the one engagement that I couldn't get out of, as not only was she a co-chair, but Common Gin had heavily sponsored the event. I didn't see the need for a date, but I might just take one to shut my mother up.

Orla strode around the side of the building, in green canvas overalls today, her hair plaited down her back. She carried a heavy stack of timber at her shoulder, and I jumped forward, wanting to help.

"Here, let me get that for you."

Orla turned, somehow managing to look at me without swinging the wood around and knocking my head off, showing she was well used to being on a construction site. I mean, of course she was. She owned her own construction business. Her eyes took a lazy meander over my outfit, stopping at my shoes, and she sniffed. I glanced down.

What was wrong with my shoes? They were steel-toed boots, proper foot attire for a construction zone, and I'd purchased them recently after my old ones had taken the brunt of a tar spill.

"I'm just fine, thanks. Is there something you needed, Mr. Thompson?" Orla waited patiently, as though the weight of the timber on her shoulder wasn't a bother, and I felt awkward for stopping her and making her hold the bundle longer.

"Is there anything that you need help with today?" I moved over and held the door for her, propping it open, and then followed her to where she put the wood down next to a stack of boards. She took off her gloves and tucked them in a pocket before turning to me.

"What do you know about building?" Orla arched an eyebrow at me.

"I know that's a hammer." I pointed to a tool tucked at her belt. Orla looked down, her lips pursed in disdain, and I suppressed a grin. It was easy to poke at her a bit, knowing she'd give the banter back, and I hoped to build a better relationship with her after we'd gotten off on the wrong foot.

Sunlight speared through the window, catching her eyes, and she blinked at me, her dark lashes fanning against her cheeks, and I had this sudden urge to pick her up and carry her away, to protect her from what harm life could bring her. It was so unusual for me to think such a thing that it took me a moment to realize she was speaking to me.

"Och, I'd say it's best you stick to your fancy office, and I'll stick to my job, no?" Orla held out a hand to indicate her sawdust-filled "office."

"This is my office for the next six months," I said automatically, trying to shove away the protective feelings that had whirled up inside me, unbidden, for this tiny powerhouse.

By all accounts, Orla did not need protecting. And certainly not from the likes of me. If I'd been any less confident in who I was as a person, my ego would be taking a hit by the indication that I was less manly for not working in the trades. Luckily, I knew who I was and what I brought to the table. I wasn't someone who needed to prove my manliness to anyone.

"I suppose that's true enough," Orla admitted. "Is there anything you want to go over with me?"

"Actually, there is." I gestured with my cup of coffee to the hallway. "I wanted to discuss the storage room, as we'll need to separate the botanicals. Has that been drawn into the plans?"

"I believe so, but it depends on the quantity and method of storing them."

My eyes caught on a wee badge on her collar, and I leaned a touch closer to see.

"Is that a goldfish?"

A faint wash of pink swept across Orla's cheeks, and instantly I was charmed. I'd yet to see her unsteady, even when I was in the middle of a meltdown yesterday, so this response intrigued me.

"Aye," Orla said, shifting and glancing away.

"Does it mean anything special? Or is that the logo for your company?"

"What in the world would a goldfish have to do with a construction company?" Orla's gaze whipped back to mine, and she regarded me as though I was daft.

"People have chosen stranger mascots, I'm sure. "

"Name one."

"Freddo," I said, and Orla's mouth dropped open.

"What's wrong with Freddo then?"

"I mean, he's a frog. What does a frog have to do with chocolate?"

"The bars are in the shape of a frog." Orla crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Aye, that's true enough. But why? Why would anyone want to eat a chocolate frog? If I see a wee frog in the wild, it's not like I point at it and think that I want a chocolate version of it. They're not particularly cute or appetizing looking, are they?"

Orla's mouth opened and closed as she considered my words.

"Some people eat real frogs. Not the chocolate ones. So they probably think a chocolate frog would be lovely."

"Aye, that's true enough, though not particularly to my taste, I'll admit. Still, if I was launching a chocolate company, I'm not sure a frog would be my first choice of mascot."

"Maybe you're just bad at choosing mascots then. Because Freddo is iconic, isn't he? Seems they knew the way of it."

I laughed. "You're likely right. Then your goldfish is Clarke Construction's mascot?"

"Och, no." Annoyance swept over Orla's pretty face, seeing how she'd been nudged into explaining herself more. Pulling details out of this woman was difficult, but I supposed I was much the same. I could understand wanting to keep a wall up. It's why I spent a lot of time asking questions of other people. Not only did it allow me to gather information, but people always enjoyed talking about themselves. Except Orla, it seemed. "I have a wee goldfish at home, all right?"

"What's his name?"

" Her name is Goldie Hawn."

"A fashionable name for a wee fish."

"She's a diva."

"Blows bubbles when she doesn't get her way?"

Orla's lips quirked, and I considered it a win. While I hadn't made her outright laugh yet, I now understood this was a challenge I'd undertake.

The clouds moved, and sunlight shifted again, highlighting her gorgeous blue eyes. She blinked, her dark lashes feathering across her cheeks, and the moment drew out…and I realized I was outright staring at her.

"Sometimes she even gives me the fin."

I chuckled, imagining a fish flipping Orla off.

You should ask Orla to the gala.

Munroe's words drifted back to me and while I'd first rejected the notion, now it didn't seem so out there. She was working with Munroe's company, wasn't she? Orla might enjoy a fancy night out with posh food at a charity gala.

"Orla, there's a charity ball soon that my mum is on me to bring a date. Fancy going with me?"

Orla's mouth dropped open and she narrowed her eyes at me, instantly making me realize I must have overstepped.

"You need a date because of your mum?"

"She's relentless." Mentally, I kicked myself. Not quite the way a woman wanted to be asked out. Embarrassment rushed through me. Usually, I handled these situations much better, but there was something about Orla that put me off my game.

"Um," Orla said, and I knew she was about to say no.

"I'll pay you," I rushed out.

Pay her? You idiot. Seriously, had I just offered to pay her to be my date?

"Pay me?" Orla squeaked. The pink on her cheeks heightened.

"Yes, of course. Common Gin is a major sponsor as well. So, it would certainly fall within a business scope. No reason not to be reimbursed for your time."

"Let me get this straight. You want to pay me to be your fake date to a gala so your mum will leave you alone? But also to represent the company?"

Och, I'd bungled this.

"Aye?" Even I didn't sound convinced, but I was already knee-deep in this, so I might as well keep going. "Just think, you'll get to dress up and eat tiny food passed around by snooty waiters."

"I don't have a dress." Instantly, Orla's face changed. She was now the one who was embarrassed . Lovely, just lovely. Not only had I insulted the woman by offering to pay her for a date, but I'd made her uncomfortable about not having a dress.

"Neither does Lia," I said, throwing Munroe's wife neatly under the bus. "She was grumbling all about it. Munroe's assured me that there is a dress budget."

Liar, liar.

Orla's eyes shifted over my shoulder, and she shook her head lightly, as though arguing with someone behind me. I turned, but the space was empty and when I looked back her expression was smoothed.

"To be clear…you'll buy me a dress, pay for my time, and I get free dinner?"

"I can't promise that the dinner will be fabulous, but yes to the other things."

"How much?" Orla demanded, her eyes taking on a calculating look.

"Two hundred and fifty pounds." I named what I thought would be a nice price for a date but not insulting.

"Make it five hundred and I'm in. The animal shelter is saving for supplies for its extension."

She was going to use the money for an animal shelter? I felt even worse.

"What animal shelter?"

"The local shelter. I volunteer there a lot because I can't have a dog. They need more space and I've offered to build the extension for them, but they still have to acquire the supplies even if I can get it for them at cost, you ken?"

Great, now I felt like a right shite about what I'd just fumbled my way into. I'd just wanted her as my date because I enjoyed bantering back and forth with her, and she intrigued me. Yet somehow, I'd managed to make her think I needed to please my mum and that I paid for companionship. Could I be any more awkward?

"Why can't you have a dog?"

"I told you yesterday while you were trying not to cry outside the outbuilding."

Right, okay, I guess things could get more awkward.

"I was not crying," I insisted. Had I been crying? I couldn't quite remember .

Orla's expression softened.

"One of these days, you'll need to tell me what happened in there."

"I ate something bad for lunch. Fish. It was a bit off."

Wow, I was just full of mistruths today, wasn't I? It wasn't like me to fumble out so many excuses and now I needed to retreat. Or do something to make up for it.

"Uh-huh," Orla said, clearly not believing me.

"Listen, since it is for charity and I happen to like dogs, irrespective of their messy fur, I'll donate one thousand pounds to your shelter. In turn, I'd love for you to be my date to the gala, and I'll see about Munroe arranging a dress shopping date for you and Lia. Does that suit? You've met Lia, right?"

"Aye, she's great. A thousand pounds, eh? That would be just enough to get the shelter what they need. I can't possibly say no to that. Sure, Mr. Thompson. I'll be your date."

I pinched my nose and sighed.

"Can you please call me Finlay?"

"Is it a requirement of my fake date?" Orla arched a brow at me.

"Yes," I said, not caring if it was or not.

"Fine, Finlay . The dogs will thank you."

With that, Orla turned and pulled out her tape measure and carpenter's pencil, dismissing me.

"I'll send you the details regarding the dress and all that." Munroe had given the both of us each other's numbers in case of any issues that would arise on-site, but I'd yet to message Orla with any questions. Apparently, now I had to arrange a personal shopper. Retreat was my only option at this point.

"Great, thanks." Orla was already marking the wood and making notes in a wee notebook, and I stepped out, feeling as awkward as a teenager who'd spoken to his crush for the first time.

How the hell was I going to find a personal shopper?

Annoyed, I went back outside and took out my phone.

"Hi, Willow? Yes, I need your help."