Page 21 of Wild Scottish Fortune

“Aren’t you cold in just a tank top?” Lia wondered.

“I don’t like to wear anything too bulky when I’m taking measurements. Then once I get to work, I won’t notice much else until I get my design down.”

I clenched my jaw, hanging back a bit, as Lia turned a circle, hands on her hips.

“They did a good job with this room.”

“Isn’t it great? I mean, I’m excited for Orla’s design for the new shop, but this isn’t a bad substitute for now, is it?”

The walls of the room were the lovely thick stone mirrored through much of the castle, and the ceiling arched over Palladian windows that overlooked the walled garden below. I caught a glimpse of Archie stalking down the garden, a rake in hand, the dogs at his feet.

In the center of the room stood a small, elevated platform, with a line of standing mirrors across from it. Across the room, alongside the far wall, were several long tables pushed together to create a massive worktop for Willow. Rolls of fabric, several sewing machines, and various boxes crowded the space, and Bob Marley’s music drifted lightly in the background.

“Reggae?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at Willow.

“My mood changes. Today’s a reggae day because I needed the sunshine as it’s been misty and cold much of the day. I was promised spring, but I don’t think we’re quite there yet.”

I laughed. This was the warmest spring we’d had for a while.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Orla. I was promised spring!” Willow glowered at me, lightly stomping her foot as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“You’ll get it, I’m sure. For about two days. Enjoy the sun when it arrives.” It was true enough, I supposed. I was so used to the mercurial changes of Scottish weather that I didn’t much think about rain or sun anymore, as you’d likely get patches of it several times in a day, particularly as winter shifted to summer. Layers were the key to surviving the seasons in Scotland.

“That’s it. Ruffles for the both of you.”

I grimaced, and Willow laughed, clapping her hands together like she was the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Come to me, my pretties…”

“Cut it out or I’m out of here,” Lia said, pulling her jumper over her head and dropping it across the back of a green velvet chair.

Did we have to get naked? Is that what was happening here? I’d never undressed in front of a group of women before and instantly became awkward and unsure of myself. I couldn’t just…stand naked on a podium…could I? In front of people? And all those mirrors?

My horror must have shown on my face because Willow dropped the act.

“Orla, have you ever been to a fitting before?” Willow asked, cluing in to my actual discomfort versus Lia’s pretend annoyance.

“No.” I shook my head. “I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Ah, okay. Let me walk you through it.” Willow came close and touched my arm, the contact making me jerk slightly. It was barely noticeable, I was sure of it, but it wasn’t unusual for me. I wasn’t used to people casually touching me, so I always responded oddly, I supposed, when it happened. “Are you wearing a T-shirt under your sweater? Erm, your … jumper?”

“Aye.”

“That’ll be fine then. I just need you to take your sweater off and then I can get close enough measurements. I’ll have you stand on the podium in front of me, and I’ll take your measurements here.” Willow tapped at my shoulder. “May I touch your side?”

“Yes.” She must have sensed my nerves, because she asked, and I realized that was likely what made her a good designer.

“I’ll take measurements around the bust.” Willow tapped lightly by my ribs, waist, and hips. “And through here. Then I’ll measure the length of your leg, or what we call the inseam. That way I can tell how long to make the skirt.”

“Do you need our shoes to go with it?” Lia asked. “So you know the length?”

Willow turned, grinning at Lia.

“I’m assuming you’ll be in those boots or similar?”

“You betcha.” Lia nodded, her face set in a stubborn expression.

“Same for you, Orla?”

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