Page 41 of Wild Scottish Beauty

I pulled my mind away from the image of Willow under my hands and narrowed my eyes at her.

“Is it kiltmaking you’re wanting to go into, hen?”

“Hen?” Willow looked at me, clearly delighted. “Did you just call me hen?”

“Aye?” Granted it wasn’t super common to call a woman hen, but it wasn’t all that unheard of around Scotland either. I’d learned from Graham and Lachlan to put it on a bit for the tourists, and it was true, they just ate up any stereotypical saying we had. I didn’t much mind it, if I was honest. I liked keeping some stereotypes alive, if only because it partnered so nicely with keeping the history of our kilts alive.

“Should I cluck for you then?”

My eyes strayed to her pretty lips, and I imagined them pursed, making a clucking sound, and had to take a deep breath to settle myself. This was getting a bit ridiculous, and I had work to do, not sit here and ogle the intern all day.

“You can bark for all I care, so long as the work getsdone. First appointment is in a half hour. Typically, we like to offer tea or whisky, or champagne if that’s their taste.”

“Where’s that?” Willow craned her neck to look around the shop and I stood, motioning her to follow. Her hand brushed mine as she stood, her skin warm against mine, and I bit my lip.

“I like to give my clients time to consider what they want. We don’t push, we don’t rush, this is meant to be an experience. I lock the door after they arrive so nobody else can interrupt. For some, this may be the only kilt they purchase in their lifetime. It’s an important and monumental day, and here at Ramsay Kilts we treat it as such.”

“Really? Some people only buy one in their life?”

“If they don’t outgrow it. A well-made kilt should last. Most men will get their family’s tartan as a gift when they turn eighteen.”

“Surely you’re not the same size you were at eighteen?” The way Willow surveyed my shoulders made me stand a little taller.

“Kilts have some flexibility to be let out as you mature.”

“I wish more clothes were designed like that.” An indiscernible look crossed Willow’s face.

“It’s the nature of people to change and grow. We design for that.”

“Ah, a bit of life wisdom woven into the kilt.” Willow held up her notebook. “So, what’s next? Welcome the client, get them drinks, then what?”

“Typically, I leave them alone.”

“What?” Willow laughed, a siren’s song to my heart, and I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Aye. I give them time. No pressure. No rushing. Pullthe chairs up by the fire, cozy in with some fabric samples, take some time browsing. Only after about three-fourths of a cup of a tea do I wander back out and start answering their questions.”

“Three-fourths of a cup of tea.” Willow scribbled in her notebook, squinching her nose as she looked back up at me. “Does that translate to a specific amount of time for us non-Scots?”

“Figure it out.”

“Got it. No rushing, no harassing, no pushing. A gentle welcoming appointment.”

“Don’t touch the music.”

“No music changes.”

“Don’t come in my workroom.”

“Don’t—”

“And don’t?—”

“Wait, why can’t I come in your workroom? I put my purse back there. Where am I supposed to go while the clients are ruminating on their fabric choice? Am I supposed to stand in the corner and turn my back to the room?”

“If you must.”

“Ramsay.” Willow rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Also, is there a bathroom? An employee locker? Where are you brewing this tea?”

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