Page 15 of Some Like It Scot
Her smile grew to crinkle her eyes. “Mirren MacKerrow, and this is my bookshop.” She gestured inside before leading the way over the threshold.
For a book lover, bookshops held a similar ambience no matter where you were in the world. The shelves of spines, the scents of paper and baked goods—but in this case an added mild fragrance of fish blended into the overall atmosphere.
Again, unexpected.
“There’s a bit of everything here, as you’ll find with most of the shops in Glenkirk. Small, but we have a mind of how to use our space.” She waved toward the room. “Take a look around, Katie, and I’ll fetch us some tea.”
Mirren slipped through a door in the back and left me to the wonderful quiet of the room.
The back of the shop boasted rows of books with a sweet little window seat along one part of the back wall and a cozy sitting area around a potbellied stove at the other back corner. To my left stood a counter with various baked goods on display and a couple of small tables directly in front of it. But to my right, a section of rain gear, fishing poles, and other fishy sorts of things waited.
My attention fell on a row of rain boots.
As if approving of my approach toward the boots, my shoes added a squeak along with the familiar squish.
“Ah, you’ll be needin’ some wellies, will ya noo?” Mirren appeared from the back room and gestured toward my feet. “I’m brewin’ a fresh pot so we can warm you from your soggy socks up through the rest of you.”
It was almost impossible not to keep smiling at the woman. Not only did her turn of phrase and accent make me think of my grandpa, but she glowed with a welcome and friendliness that put my whole body at ease.
“That is so kind of you.”
“Pshh!” She waved away my words and returned her attention to my shoes. “Some fresh wool socks would set you right too, you ken?”
How could a simple phrase like “you ken” squeeze my heart in twenty places? Grandpa was surely grinning down from heaven as I stepped into the world he loved so much... and felt such an immediate kinship to.
“Pulling on a pair of those soft warm socks over my cold toes sounds like one of the best things I’ve heard all day.” I pointed towardmy shoes and wiggled my wet toes. “I’m afraid I didn’t come prepared for Scotland in the footwear department.”
“We’ll take care of that.” She nodded, then scanned me from toes to head as she reached for a pair of socks nearby. “And aren’t you a tall one? You’d barely fit through the door of my cottage. My boys have to bend their necks, and you’re nearly as tall as the shortest of the lot.”
“You should have seen me in the Philippines. I nearly bowed every time I walked through a doorway.”
A warm chuckle erupted from the woman as she handed me the socks, adding another charm to the list. She fit within these storied walls and the quaint shop. Her red cardigan over a simple dress. Her reading glasses topping her head. The resident twinkle in those pale blue eyes.
Everything fit together in a perfect sort of homey way.
“I suppose you’re one of the media people who’ve come to Craighill for the next few weeks?”
“I am. I write for a travel magazine calledWorld on a Page.”
“So you travel for your job?” She lowered her glasses from her head to study me. “And write about what you see?”
“And any adventures or misadventures I experience along the way.”
Her chuckle warmed the room again. “From that twinkle in your eye, I’d say you’re keen on finding a few adventures.”
“Or they’re keen on finding me.”
We rummaged through the few pairs of wellies and, to no one’s surprise who has lived my life, the only ones close enough to fit my size 101/2feet were a bright yellow pair covered in hand-painted vegetables.
“Well now. I’ve hoped to sell those for a good three years.”
I nodded down at my newly adorned feet. “I wonder what took so long.”
“I cannae say. They’ve been my favorite pair.” She offered a wink and then shuffled to the counter. “How do you find the folks at Craighill?”
I and my bright yellow wellies turned toward the books, measuring my response. “Surprised to find the Lennoxes are English instead of Scottish since the house is on Mull. But Mrs. Lennox has been pleasant enough.” No need to mention the macaw. “And the house is fantastic.”
“Aye, ’tis so.” Mirren nodded her appreciation. “A lovely house. Historic. Over four hundred years old and in need of some repair. The upkeep for a house the likes of Craighill is no small feat.”
