We position the board against the back of the unit, which is lying horizontal on the floor. I brace it while Da starts securing it with panel pins—quick, precise taps of the hammer.
“By the way,” I say, “I’ll be heading out later to give Lindsey McVey a quote for a new bathroom.”
“Lindsey McVey...” Da pauses, thinking. “That the lady who just got divorced?”
“Aye. Bumped into her at the pub last week, then again at the beach when she was out for a jog. She’s bought a new place and needs some work done.”
“I can come with you,” he offers, reaching for another pin.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’ve got that fence repair to do.”
He grunts. “Aye, well, make sure you get a decent price for it.”
“Don’t I always?”
As Da drives in another pin, my eyes flick to the counter. The web designer is pointing at something on Ainsley’s laptop, his shoulder practically brushing hers as he leans in.
Does he really need to standthatclose?
Ainsley shifts back a touch and gives a polite little nod, but I get the impression she’s done listening. Or maybe that’s just me hoping.
“—and if you ever need help with anything else,” the lad goes on, lowering his voice into what he probably thinks is a smoothregister, “website stuff, social media strategy, whatever—I’m always happy to help.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Ainsley replies, crisp and polished.
“Actually, I was wondering...” He hesitates, then pushes on. “Do you have a personal Instagram account? Maybe we could follow one another?”
My jaw tightens.
“Thanks for all your help, but I really am quite busy just now.” Translation: jog on, Romeo.
A flicker of satisfaction warms my chest.
Steady on, Walker. You don’t get to be smug. You’ve no claim on her.
The lad deflates. “Aye, sure. Well, good luck with the opening.”
The bell above the door chimes as he leaves, and Da gives the backboard one last tap before nodding. Together we lift the finished unit, stand it upright, and carry it to its spot against the wall.
“Ainsley?” Da calls over. “Come take a look at this, would you?”
She crosses the salon, heels clicking on the new vinyl plank flooring.
“What do you think?” Da asks. “More to the left?”
“No, that looks good there.” She steps closer to the unit, and as she does, that warm vanilla-and-spice scent of hers drifts over. My stupid pulse reacts. She raps her knuckles lightly against the new backboard and nods with approval. “The new panel’s a big step up from that bit of cardboard it came with.” She smiles at Da. “It was a clever idea replacing it.”
“Och, it was Struan’s idea, actually.”
Ainsley’s gaze flicks to mine, and her warmth drains instantly. “Mmm. Well, good job,” she says flatly.
She turns back to Da. “I’m about to put the kettle on. Fancy a cuppa, Malcolm?”
“Aye, please.”
“Struan?” she all but sighs.
“Er . . . no, thanks.”
