Page 100 of Wild Scottish Rose

“I can have more than one reason for wanting to do this.”

“I’m in.”

Rounding the hood of the van, I grabbed her and dipped her in a dramatic kiss, that had her laughing by the time I brought her back to standing. We pushed inside the door, a small bell signaling our entrance, and a man turned from where he was hanging a kilt up.

“I’m going to toss that bell in the loch.”

Tall, with a foreboding build that made him look like he should be in a job with strenuous labor, the man crossed thick arms across his chest as he narrowed his eyes at us. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, and tattoos on the forearms made me think he’d like to hang out with Gnorman and his biker gang one day.

“I don’t blame you,” Shona agreed, smiling up at the brooding man. “Nevertheless, it must be helpful to signal that people have arrived.”

“I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”

“It’s good to see you, Ramsay.” Shona grinned when Ramsay only nodded once, as close to affection as he seemed likely to show. “I can’t tell you how happy we are that you’ve decided to open a branch here.” Shona turned to me, grabbing my hand and drawing me closer. “Ramsay owns a very successful chain of kilt shops all around Scotland, but he’s just recently opened a shop here. He grew up one village over and we’d see each other from time to time at various functions. Ramsay, this is Owen.”

“Hello,” Ramsay said.

I waited for more, but that was it. Brevity must be histhing. His eyes narrowed at something over my shoulder, and I turned to see a car had pulled up next to ours. Muttering under his breath, Ramsay stormed to the door and flipped the lock, turning the sign in the window toClosed. As if on cue, the phone began to ring.

“Bloody hell,” Ramsay muttered.

I took in the shop while he handled the call with the curt gruffness that a part of me wished I could carry off when I was sick of small talk. The shop itself was impressive, with dark wood floors, grey stone walls, and stunning kilts hung on wood hooks and railings that matched the color of the floor. Rock music played, but low enough to not be jarring, and a small platform stood in front of a trio of mirrors.

“He’s one of the best kiltmakers in Scotland,” Shona promised me.

Ramsay slammed the phone down, writing something into a paper calendar on his desk, and then glanced up.

“Have you decided on a pattern yet or would you like to have a look?” Ramsay gestured to two tartan armchairs in deep green with a stack of sample books on a small table between them.

“We’ll just have a quick look,” Shona said, hurrying me toward the chair. The phone began to ring again.

“Bloody hell. All day long.” Ramsay picked up the phone, slammed it back down, and then left it off the hook.

I instantly wanted to put him in a movie.

“I struggle with dealing with customers as well,” Shona said, casually, as she flipped through the book of samples. “It’s why I’m done with weddings.”

“Aye. Don’t blame you. I just don’t have the time.”Ramsay came around the desk and stood in front of us, his thick arms crossed over his chest once more. I wondered if he had any idea how menacing he looked.

“You could hire someone,” I suggested. “Might take the load off.”

Ramsay stroked his beard.

“Might do. It’s inevitable. I just wanted a little peace and quiet to myself for once.”

“I might know a few people who could help. Then you could go hide in your workshop and not scare people away from the shop.” Shona grinned when one side of his lips quirked up in an almost smile, acknowledging her dig.

“I’ll admit that customer service is not my strong suit,” Ramsay conceded.

“Well, let’s crack on with it then and get out of your hair.”

“Take your time.” Ramsay waved a hand in the air and went through a door in the back of the shop. “I’ll just put some tea on.”

Shona laughed when I lifted my eyebrows at her. By the time we’d settled on a dark green, blue, and red pattern—turns out there was a Williams pattern after all—we’d learned that Ramsay’s most recent shopgirl had quit, and he wasn’t too keen on interviewing anyone else at the moment. The man did warm up after a while, though I still wouldn’t categorize him as particularly chatty. Once we’d finished, Shona promised to send some names over, and we left, Ramsay flipping the sign back to open once we were gone.

“That’s one way to run a business.” I laughed.

“He doesn’t need the money. He’s wildly successful. So I imagine he’s just frustrated by constant demands on histime. He’s always loved the traditions of making kilts and what they symbolize to Scotland. But we can’t love all aspects of our business, can we?”

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