Page 3 of Wild Scottish Rose

Every weekend, well, when I wasn’t booked for a wedding that is, I packed my van up with whatever seasonal vegetables and herbs I had growing in my garden and set up shop at the local farmers market. At first, I’d started small with a few bushels of snap peas, carrots, and small bags of fresh herbs. I enjoyed the community and comradery of the markets, and it forced me to join the land of the living on occasion and actually talk to people in real life. Some days, Ifelt like I could disappear into the gardens, wandering the land and conversing with my plants, and the people of Loren Brae would refer to me fondly as the garden witch who people caught glimpses of on rare occasions.

A shiver went through me, and I curled my fingers, digging my nails into my palm.

Garden witch. Green Witch. Hedge witch.

The words flitted through my brain, like luminous fireflies, ready to extinguish if I tried to catch them.Things…had been happening lately that I couldn’t quite explain.

“Shona? Are you all right then?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and gave Agnes a small smile.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. Wool gathering, I suppose. I’ve been thinking about giving up the weddings, and it’s making me feel like a failure.”

“I thought you loved the weddings?” Concern crossed Agnes’s face. “Did something happen to change your mind?”

Owen’s face flashed in my mind. I’d never gotten the chance to apologize to him for being rude, not that he seemed to much mind, as he’d given me a cheeky wink when I’d delivered the boutonnieres to the suite for the groomsmen. I wanted to be annoyed by him, and yet his easy confidence made it hard not to also find him a wee bit charming. Kennedy, predictably, had a few more meltdowns on the way to the altar, none of which had landed in my lap, and I’d been able to escape once she was safely down the aisle. Even so, the stress of the day had lingered with me, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was muchhappier digging in my garden than I was catering to fussy brides.

IfIwas ever to get married, I would just cut a mismatched bouquet of wildflowers and call it a day.

“I think I’m learning that just because Icando something, doesn’t mean that Ishould.” I shrugged, giving Agnes a bemused look. “I think I’d be happiest selling a few bunches of posies at my market stall, even though there is more money in weddings. I’m not sure that the stress is worth the trade-off, you ken?”

“Aye.” Agnes sighed, checking the light. “Well, you’ve just shined this cottage up. Surely, you’ll get enough renters through to make up for the lost income from weddings, don’t you think?”

“That’s the hope, at least. It’s not like I’m skint, I can do just fine without the weddings. My needs are minimal.” It was true, too. Aside from luxurious underwear, that is. Otherwise, I had a serviceable wardrobe perfect for mucking in the gardens, new radiators in my house, and enough money left over to refurbish the cottage. So long as my trusty van held up, I’d be right as rain.

“Plus, it sounds like Lia might be sourcing from you more as the restaurant grows.”

Grasshopper, the new restaurant at MacAlpine Castle, offered farm-to-table elevated comfort food. Lia, the head chef who’d moved to Loren Brae from Boston, had increased her orders of various fresh herbs and vegetables that I could provide. It was enough to keep my small greenhouse busy, and I was grateful to her for using local produce in her meals.

“She is, and I’m happy for it. It’s much easier for me topop by with a few baskets from the garden each day than it is to deal with countless emails from worried brides about flowers. Granted, not all were difficult to deal with, but…” I held my hands in the air. “I just don’t like being on a computer.”

“You could hire staff, you know. An assistant to run interference and you just do the centerpieces.” Agnes held the camera to her eye and snapped a few photos. “Reckon you could start a fire?”

“I put some kindling in earlier, thinking it might be good for photos.”

“That’s grand, it will look right cozy then.”

I busied myself to the task of lighting the fire, and the tension in my neck unknotted, dissolving as easily as the shreds of newspaper in the fireplace. It was as though the fire consumed my worries over running the wedding side of my business, and as each scrap burned, the weight of responsibility lifted from my shoulders. Watching as the flames began to dance merrily in the fireplace, I felt the decision settle neatly in my core, and I exhaled a sigh of relief.

“I don’t want to hire staff.” I glanced up at Agnes who was squatting to get a better angle of the bookshelves. She looked up at me over her camera. “It’s the right decision. Maybe if a particularly special occasion calls for it. But otherwise, I think I’m done.”

“In that case, I’m pleased to hear it. Maybe I’ll actually be able to steal you away for a night out once in a while.” Agnes grinned at me, and the last of my worries over this decision slipped away. She was right. I shouldn’t be giving what little free time I had to strangers on the weekends when I could be spending more time with my nearest anddearest. It had been ages since I’d gone for a pint at the pub with Agnes.

“Should we go to the pub after this?”

I glanced at the sleeting rain outside, knowing that I likely had a million things to do, but now that I’d made the decision to close the wedding side of my business, it felt right to go enjoy myself.

After I’d tamped down the small fire, turned the lights off, and made a beeline for the house, I was ready for some celebration. I couldn’t wait to see if anyone would book the cottage. I’d close the calendar for new bookings for my wedding business tomorrow. Endings and beginnings, I supposed, should be marked. What better way than with a meal at the pub with a good friend?

“I’ll need to clean up.” I gestured to my messy hair, and Agnes nodded. Turning, she looked around my cluttered living room.

“I’ll just see if I can find a space to sit?” It was more of a question than a statement, and I sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I walked to the small table in a cozy nook by the kitchen. Piled high with notepads, mason jars, and books, there was barely room for her to sit with her laptop.

“You might be right about hiring help,” I grumbled, as I cleared the table. Granted, it wasn’t like I’d been any tidier when I’d been less busy. I’d already enlisted the help of a cleaning service for changeovers for cottage bookings, but I hadn’t thought to do so for myself. Now, as I looked around, I realized things had perhaps gotten a touch out of control.

The cottage was built like a T, with the main entry,living area, and kitchen all one room, and then two bedrooms branching out from either side of a narrow hallway on the opposite side of the cottage. A stone fireplace dominated one wall of the cottage, with a rough-hewn wood mantel, and a rose-patterned couch pulled close. The kitchen had rustic wood cabinets painted in soft white, a small island with a butcher block top, and a round garden table with a pretty mosaic top that I had loved so much I’d dragged it inside and promptly covered it with too much clutter. Mismatched lamps cast warm hues around the room, lighting up the wood beams in the ceiling, and shading areas that could likely use a good dusting.

I sighed.

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