Page 1 of Wild Scottish Rose

CHAPTER ONE

Shona

“IsaidI wanted calla lilies.”

I tensed as the bride’s voice cut through the din of chatter where my team, as well as the venue staff, were setting up the reception area for the wedding that evening. Turning, I pasted a polite smile on my face as the bride, Kennedy Williams of Dallas, Texas, bore down on me. Her pretty face was screwed up in anger, and her eyes were alight with battle.

Life is going to be difficult for Kennedy if she gets this angry over flowers.

“I’m certain that you didn’t. But I’ll just double-check the order form if you’d like confirmation?” I pulled up my phone and flipped through the orders that I had neatly organized in a file, even though I was well aware thatMissKennedy Williams had ordered white roses for hercenterpieces. The arrangements were simple and beautiful, as instructed on the order form, and I’d chosen roses at varying stages of bloom to add depth to the centerpieces. Even though white roses were the most common order I received from brides, I still enjoyed working with the flower. It was one of my favorites, after all. Even more exciting? An opportunity to decorate at Òran Mór, a fabulous reception venue in Glasgow housed in a renovated church. It was my first time traveling this far for a wedding, and I was hoping to enjoy seeing some of the city after we finished setting up.

Life in Loren Brae was lovely, and while I didn’t mind small-town life, it was still nice to get to the city on occasion for some excitement. Andshopping. My heart did a little dance thinking about the money I’d carefully saved to buy some extravagant lingerie. It was a secret passion of mine because much of my life was spent mucking in the dirt, and it was useless to buy pretty clothes that would just get ruined. Now, my earlier excitement at working with the incredible team at Òran Mór, and the prospect of a shopping trip, dimmed. Already I could see my chance to shop being pulled away from me as I mentally readied myself to change all the arrangements right before the reception. It would be a mad dash, and I’d have to call in some favors from local florists, but it could be done if needed.

“White roses?” Kennedy sneered as I pulled up her order. “How positively boring. I definitely ordered the lilies.”

“No,” I began, turning my phone to show her the screen.

“Lilies? Aren’t lilies for funerals?” a voice interrupted us, and a shiver danced across the back of my neck.

“What?” A look of confusion crossed Kennedy’s face and she whirled on the man who approached us.

I suppose “approached” was too casual a word for how this man strode confidently across the hall, outfitted in a perfectly fit tuxedo, with a tartan bow and matching pocket square. He moved like a panther, his eyes darting across the room, and seeming to take in every detail at once. When they landed on me, his assessment stopped, and a smile landed on his lips. Close-cropped dark hair, lively blue eyes, and broad shoulders completed the package and I found myself desperately wishing I’d dressed up today.

Which was silly, really, considering that dressing up didn’t make sense with the amount of manual labor it took to decorate an entire reception hall with flowers. It wasn’t just putting vases of flowers on the tables—there were garlands to be hung, vines to be entwined, and lighting to be added. Frankly, I wasn’t even sure I owned anything that this class of man would find appealing. Either way, jeans, a T-shirt, and trainers were the smart choice for my line of work. And that was me. Sensible to my core.

What was it about this man that instantly made menotwant to be sensible?

“Lilies are traditionally used for funerals. You wouldn’t want people to think that your marriage is a death, would you?” The man turned to Kennedy, who looked up at him with annoyance on her face.

“Damn it, Owen. Why do you always come in and screw things up when I’m just trying to get things handled?” Kennedy demanded.

“Kennedy, if I may? It does say here on your form that you ordered the roses. See?” I brandished my phone, hopingto head off an argument between these two, but neither bothered to glance my way.

“See? The pretty flower lady says you ordered roses. Frankly, I’m surprised at that choice as well,” Owen said. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Kennedy a wry smile.

“What’s wrong with roses?” Kennedy demanded, immediately jumping ship from the lily train to roses. Relief passed through me. If she was going to defend roses, then maybe I’d be off the hook and could get back to decorating. Easing back a step, hoping to leave them to their argument, I caught the eye of my assistant who hovered nearby with a vase in hand and a questioning look on her face. I gave her a subtle nod, and she continued to set up while I waited to hear the outcome of this discussion.

“Nothing, of course, as these vases are perfection in their own right.” Owen slid me a grin, and I’m pretty sure my insides melted. His American accent held a hint of the South and somewhere else, but I wasn’t sufficiently well-versed in accents to place it. I wanted to inch closer, to be drawn into his hemisphere, just to listen to him talk.

Never had I met a man with so much charisma before.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who felt this way, as I caught more than one of the event staff giving him appreciative looks.

“It’s just that…” Owen continued, tapping a finger against his lips. “We’re in Scotland, right? I’m surprised you didn’t go with something more traditional to the venue.”

My stomach dropped. If I had to run out and find thistles, I would, even if it meant cutting them from theside of the road.

“You’re right,” Kennedy gasped and gripped his arm. “What was I thinking? What should I add in?”

“Haggis, naturally.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I pressed my lips together to hold back a burst of laughter. Surely the bride had to know that haggis was a dish, not a flower. My eyes widened as Kennedy whirled on me.

“Shona. I need you to get wild haggis for the centerpieces.” Kennedy snapped her fingers at me, her eyes bright with determination, and I blinked at her as I tried to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t embarrass the bride. She didn’t seem like the type to be able to laugh at a joke at her own expense.

“Well—”

“In fact, you’ll probably want haggis added to the bridal bouquet as well. Oh, and the boutonnieres for the men. Maybe the bartenders could make a haggis drink?”

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