Oh, boy.
“I’ll try to keep you out of jail. Don’t punch anyone,” he offered.
That made Michael laugh.
“Oh, I’m absolutely punching someone. The first dude that makes mention of my husband’s ass in passing, is going to be eating my boot.”
And it was a big boot.
There was no doubt about that.
“Let them hit you first.”
Michael knew why he was saying it, and he appreciated it, but if he went after someone, they wouldn’t find them again.
He’d police his own crime scene.
For.
Sure.
As they reached the shop where the kilts were made, Finn opened the door for him. Together, they headed inside, and found a younger man waiting to help customers.
“Hey, Aiden,” Finn said, waving to him.
The man headed his way.
“Inspector,” he said. “Are you here for a kilt? Is one of your sisters getting married? I hope not Maisie. I’ve got my eye on her.”
He laughed.
“Son, she’ll chew you up and spit you out. Where’s your dad?”
He laughed.
“He’s taking a late lunch. Mum needed some help at the house. Who is this?”
Finn did the introductions.
“This is Michael Graves, and he’s marrying today. We need a rush on a kilt. What can you do to make that happen?”
The man walked around him.
“I think I can pull something together. He’s bulky but we have some things that will definitely work. You’ll need a ghillie shirt, a sporran, a waist coat, kilt pin, and a fly plaid.”
Michael had no freaking clue what any of that was, but he knew he’d have to trust Finn to handle it. His outfit was in his hands.
The man was Scottish, so it should be a no-brainer, right?
Or so he hoped because he was only getting married once.
“Who is the lad marrying?” he asked as he began measuring the width of Michael’s chest.
“Uh, the lad is standing right here and can actually carry on a conversation,” he added.
Finn laughed.
“My bad, Michael. Let me do the introductions. Aiden, this is Michael Graves, and he’s marrying Graham Lainey.”
