CHAPTER ONE
AINSLEY
“It smells like stinky socks in here!” Lily wrinkles her nose dramatically, her voice echoing off the bare walls of the empty salon.
“It just needs some fresh air,” I tell her, flipping through my planner while Malcolm Walker jots something in his notepad.
“And new everything.” Lily spins in a circle, her arms held out wide. “Can we paint it orange?”
“We’re painting it blush pink and soft white, remember? You said you liked that.”
“No. I like orange better now.”
Of course she does. Four-year-olds are more fickle than a Highland forecast. “Pink is more sophisticated,” I suggest.
“What’s ’fisticated mean?”
“Sophisticated,” I correct. “It means fancy.”
“Oh.” Another spin. “Can I be fancy?”
“You already are.”
Malcolm chuckles and looks up from his notes. “She’s a wee character, that one. My granddaughter, Isla, is the same. Seven going on seventeen, she is.”
Lily’s trainers squeak as she trots over to the front window, her brown pigtails bouncing. “Look! Someone painted thewindow so people can’t see us.” She smooshes her cheeks with both hands and blows a raspberry.
“Lily!”
“What? No one can see me, Mummy.”
Malcolm chuckles. “The whitewash—the paint—is just so we can get on with the refurb in peace, Lily. Once it’s done, I’ll scrub it off for the grand reveal.”
“Oh!” Lily turns around. “So we’re keeping the salon secret till it’s ready?”
“Exactly.” I smile. “Now, how about you play quietly for a few minutes? Malcolm and I need to talk over everything that has to be done before opening day, okay?”
“Okay, Mummy.” She strolls over to one of the old styling chairs and climbs up onto it. While she hums away to herself and spins around, Malcolm and I go over the plans again, confirming measurements and timelines.
As he talks, my gaze drifts around the room: the scuffed skirting boards, the cracked tiles by the back basin, the ghostly outlines where mirrors once hung. I picture it as itwillbe: fresh paint, new stations gleaming, sunlight spilling through clear glass instead of whitewash.
A bubble of nerves rises in my chest, mixed with something that feels suspiciously like excitement. This is my fresh start. No—I glance over at Lily, who’s now holding her fingers like scissors and pretending to give herself a trim—ourfresh start.
“Right,” Malcolm says, pulling me back. He’s scanning his notepad, pencil tapping lightly against the paper. “This should all be straightforward enough. My son, Struan, will be handling most of the work. He’ll get started first thing Monday.”
“Oh, your son’s doing the renovation?” Hadn’t realised that. Please let him be competent. A reliable tradesman who’ll get the job done without drama.
“Aye, he’s brilliant. Been working with me at Walker Builds since he left school. Actually, you’re on Ardview Road, aren’t you? Number twelve?”
“That’s right. Well, I will be soon. I’m collecting the keys today.”
“Ach, you’ll be next door to him, then. He’s at number fourteen.”
“Handy,” I say with a small laugh. “At least I’ll know where to find him if anything goes wrong.”
“Shouldn’t be any problems,” Malcolm assures me. “But aye, between the refurb and living next door to him, you’ll be sick of the sight of him by the time this place opens.” He winks at me.
“Mummy!” Lily jumps down from the chair. “Can we go see the new house now? I want to see my room!”
