Some Like it Scottish, page 26
The girls had two days left of the retreat—today and tomorrow, and then they were flying home. Her bachelors were supposed to spend one more night. The plan had been to have everyone paired up by now, with these two days scheduled to give them more time to get to know one another better. But that plan was history. She sighed. She would have to double down on her efforts in Alaska to recoup what she’d lost by trying to make a go of it here in Scotland.
Kit applied Harper’s makeup to her poor face. Maybe if she drank a gallon of water, it would wash away the evidence of last night’s tears. But makeup and hydrating wouldn’t help her pathetic heart. But she wouldn’t think on it again. Ramsay was ancient history as far as she was concerned.
There was a quiet knock on the door and Harper’s gentle voice. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’m coming.” Kit gave herself one more look and plastered a smile on her face.
Only two of her clients had made it home last night. They trooped with her and Harper to Quilting Central. The others would hopefully be along soon. Kit wasn’t looking forward to explaining the missing American girls to the quilters of Gandiegow. Deydie would probably blame Kit for corrupting the fishermen.
By the front door of Quilting Central, Lochie was in a full-on lip-lock with Morgan.
“Break it up, you two,” Harper said. “I don’t want to have to turn the fire hose on you.”
Lochie pulled away. “I’ll be back for lunch, lass.” He gave her a quick kiss and was gone.
“I hope that wasn’t code,” Kit said pointedly.
Morgan didn’t answer in words, only gave her a shy grin as she opened the door and went inside.
Kit stopped Harper. “Do I look okay?”
Harper put an arm around her shoulders. “Just remember that you’re a force to be reckoned with and you’ll be fine.”
Kit leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder. “I was hoping that my reflection had lied.”
“You’re my big sister and I love you.” Harper squeezed her. “But you look like the devil this morning. Get in there and show them what true grit is. It’s a woman rising up from the ashes and becoming stronger.”
“You sound like a Hallmark movie. But thanks for the effort.”
Kit didn’t need to worry how she looked because she was barely noticed. A going-away party for Rhona, their retired teacher, was in full swing when they went inside. But Rhona’s send-off to Dundee wasn’t the only thing going on.
The building was abuzz with what had happened last night between Moira and Andrew. Amy gave Kit and Harper the heads-up as soon as they were inside. Even her clients were talking about it. Half of them thought it was terribly romantic of Andrew to propose like he did. The other half were in Moira’s camp, agreeing they would be taken aback, too.
Moira was nowhere to be seen. She must’ve understood what kind of stir this would cause in their small community. Poor Moira. And poor Andrew.
The door to Quilting Central opened and the whole room went quiet. Kit glanced back over her shoulder to see the reason. Poor Andrew stood awkwardly in the doorway, until his eyes landed on her. With each step toward her, his pained face relaxed a little more.
Andrew sat down next to her. “We need to talk.”
The whole room seemed to lean in closer so they wouldn’t miss a word.
Kit turned off her machine. “Let’s go to the restaurant for a scone and a cup of tea.” She tilted her head toward the room, indicating the prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.
As soon as they were on the other side of the door away from the quilters, Andrew started. “You were right.”
Kit kept quiet; it wouldn’t do any good to rub it in.
“I should’ve listened to you.”
“Why don’t you tell me your version of what happened? Everyone has a slightly different story,” she said kindly.
He told her about talking to Kenneth, Moira’s father, and waiting around on the porch for Moira to show up. Kit almost stumbled when he mentioned Ramsay was there, too.
“Oh?” She stared straight ahead. Her cheeks, though, were on fire. “What did he say?”
“He tried to talk me out of proposing.”
Of course he did.
Andrew stopped just inside the restaurant’s door and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve ruined it with Moira. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Kit laid a hand on his arm. “All is not lost. Let’s sit down and talk.”
He gave her a weak smile. “I wish I’d listened to you.”
She tried to fortify him with a nod.
After Claire brought them their tea and scones, Andrew seemed to have no appetite.
“What am I going to do?” he said. “I’ve lost her.”
“You haven’t lost anything. You just scared her.”
He shook his head.
“I know you care about Moira or else you wouldn’t have done what you did. But what I need to know is if you’re really the right kind of man for her. I understand shy women. They need someone to appreciate them for who they are. They don’t want to be changed or pushed past their comfort zone.” Moira was one of the shyest women Kit had ever met and that was saying something.
Andrew scooted his chair closer. “Finding Moira a man who can appreciate her isn’t the problem. I’m that man! How do we make her love me back?”
Kit crossed her arms and studied Andrew. He truly was a man in love. Where there was love, there was hope. “Are you willing to try something different?”
“Anything.”
“Forget the current screwed-up dating scene. Have you thought about courting her? I could facilitate.”
She knew she’d just complicated things for herself. She was leaving soon. But in this day and age, there were ways to be present without her physically being here in Gandiegow.
Andrew’s eyebrows were pinched together. “Courting?”
“I know. People don’t use the word very often anymore.” Text-messaged hookups were in vogue and the thought of them turned Kit’s stomach. Her generation was confused about what real dating was. Real dating involved face-to-face communication, standing strong, showing your feelings even with the possibility of rejection.
A painful lesson I learned last night. She had given herself to Ramsay—body and soul—but he had rejected her. This experience would make her stronger and she would not be sorry for it. At least she’d tried.
She shook off her own heartache. She was going to take Andrew and Moira back to a simpler time—when there were constructs to dating, when things were clearer. “But I have a feeling that Moira, if she isn’t too gun-shy now, will be interested in the idea of a real courtship.”
Andrew scooted his chair toward Kit. “What would I have to do?” For the first time since last night, he looked hopeful.
“To begin with, you’re going to have to cool your jets.” Kit patted his hand kindly. “Next, you’re going to have to write Moira a letter of apology.”
“For being an unmitigated arse?”
Kit laughed. “Exactly.” She got serious quickly, though. “Be mindful in your letter not to scare her off any further. Do not spout your undying love.”
“I understand.”
“If she accepts your apology, then I’ll speak with Moira about a proper courtship. No more proposals on the porch. You will have to take it slow. One step at a time. No getting overzealous again, skipping the holding hands phase and going straight to a handfasting. My hope is that you’ll be able to woo her to the place where she can hear your feelings without being overwhelmed.” Kit wouldn’t tell him that she was pretty certain that Moira loved him, too. But like a graceful doe, she had to be coaxed out into the open to be comfortable exploring those feelings.
Andrew took Kit’s hand, squeezing it. “Thank you. I’ll do whatever you say, whatever I have to do to win Moira.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kit saw three people wander into the restaurant. Three wellies-wearing someones she knew well. The brothers Armstrong.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. As Ramsay barreled toward them, Andrew took his hand away.
Ramsay didn’t look his playful self. He looked like a pissed-off dog whose bone had been stolen by another. “Are ye out proposing to every woman in town, Father?”
Andrew stood. “Kit was just giving me some helpful advice.”
Ramsay postured like he might do something foolish.
Kit stepped in his path. “Don’t.” But Ramsay wasn’t her problem anymore. If he wanted to call out the local pastor, then fine. It had nothing to do with her.
She dropped her hand. “Never mind. Do what you want.” She stepped around him and went for the door. Before she left, though, she turned back to Andrew. “Bring the letter to Quilting Central. I’ll deliver it to Moira.”
He nodded.
She tried not to look at Ramsay, but her worthless willpower glanced at him anyway, looking for signs of life—for signs that he pined after his lost kitten the way she pined after him.
But he was still glowering at the Episcopal priest. Just as she was turning away, Ramsay shifted and speared her with his gaze.
“We have things to discuss,” he growled.
“I don’t think so.” She had a business to run. She didn’t have time to be an emotional wreck.
She left without saying more. She would not cry over Ramsay again. She couldn’t.
She lifted her head high and headed for Quilting Central, striding down the boardwalk at a clip. Life had been so much simpler when she was only worrying about other people’s love lives . . . instead of her own.
* * *
Ramsay watched her go, the light inside him seeming to go with her. “Ye’re lucky ye let go of her when ye did.” The pastor would’ve had a hard time turning his Bible pages with a broken hand come Sunday morning.
Ross slapped Ramsay on the back. “Stop threatening Andrew. And pick up the tab for his breakfast for being such an arse.”
He snatched up the bill. “Sorry, Andrew.”
“It’s already forgotten.” But Andrew had a look on his face that said he completely understood.
Ramsay needed to collect the bachelors for their boat ride. “Claire, can I have a box of scones to go?”
Claire nodded and loaded up his food.
Ramsay wouldn’t bemoan the fact that he was living his dream of starting his own tourist business, but he really wanted to get things straightened out with Kit.
Andrew had been the perfect example of what could happen if a man let his emotions get the best of him—he could do something stupid. Ramsay wouldn’t hurry off after Kit. He would take his time. He needed to plan it out to the last detail. If he did that, nothing could go wrong.
Ramsay stared at the door again. Gawd, he didn’t deserve her. He’d tried to sabotage her and had teased her within an inch of her life. How he’d ever gotten her to look his way, let alone give him the honor of going to bed with him, heaven only knew. No, he didn’t deserve her, but God willing, he’d spend the rest of his life trying to.
There were so many decisions to make. Where would they live? How soon could they book the church? Would he have time today to make it to Inverness to get a ring?
“I’ll meet up with you later,” John said. “There’s something I need to do.”
As John left, Ramsay noticed his other brother giving him a goofy grin. “What?” he said to Ross.
“Oh, I was just thinking what a close call it was for you. It’s best you made nice with the priest,” Ross said, as if he had wisdom beyond his years.
They were back to talking about Andrew? “Why’s that?”
Ross laughed. “He could refuse to marry ye when you walk the matchmaker down the aisle.”
“Shut up.”
But Ross was right. Ramsay would have to watch himself. Things were finally falling into place, and he didn’t want to mess it up. Everything will have to be perfect to make Kit mine.
* * *
John caught up to Kit as she reached for the door to Quilting Central. “Can I talk to ye for a minute?”
“Sure.” Hopefully, he didn’t want to talk about Ramsay. Kit didn’t think she was up for that.
He pointed to the bench next to the door. “You were missed at breakfast this morning.” He sat beside her.
She nodded, not willing to talk about why she couldn’t stay at their house any longer.
John rested his arms on his legs, his hands clasped, and looked out at the sea. “I wanted to talk to you about your business. I’m hoping the Armstrongs are still in your good graces and we can continue to taxi you around for the rest of your trip.”
Ugh, this was awkward for both of them, but Kit understood that he was looking out for his family, especially with another baby on the way. She laid a hand on his arm. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll have any more business here in Scotland. It’s been pretty much a disaster since day one.” On both a professional and a personal level. “Things have not gone as planned. I’m going to have to cut my losses.” And run.
John straightened and turned to her. “When are you leaving?”
“Day after tomorrow. I’ll fly home with the girls.”
John frowned. “Does my brother know ye’re leaving so soon?”
He didn’t have to explain which brother. She couldn’t speak; she shook her head. No.
He stood and stared at her for a long moment.
The conversation seemed to be over, so she stood as well. “I’m sorry. I had hoped for a long and enduring partnership, one that would have been good for the community as well as my business.”
He waved off her comment, and then rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been like one of the family to us. We’ll all be sorry to see you go.” He dropped his hand and walked away.
The gravity of what he said hit her. They had been like family to her, too. It wasn’t just her Scotland-based business that she’d lost. As the seconds wore on, she felt the weight of the losses piling up.
For the next hour, Kit sat behind her sewing machine, staring at Bethia, who was instructing, but not hearing a word and not sewing a single stitch. She was relieved when Andrew showed up. Better to think about his problems than her own.
He handed her an envelope. “Thank you for doing this.”
“I’m not making any promises.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “But I’ll give it my best shot. I’ll be in touch, one way or the other.”
Andrew nodded stoically and walked her out, but then they parted ways. When Kit got to Moira’s house, she knocked quietly, knowing her father was ill.
Moira answered the door, not looking much better than Kit had this morning.
“May I come in?”
Moira stepped aside. “Let’s sit in the kitchen. My da’s asleep in the parlor.”
Kit followed her into a small kitchen with a tiny round table.
Without asking, Moira set a mug in front of Kit and poured from a Victorian teapot.
“How are you holding up?” Kit asked.
Moira inhaled. “Then you and everyone else knows—”
“That Andrew was an overzealous lunkhead? Yes, we know.” Kit dropped a teaspoon of sugar in her teacup.
“I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.”
Kit handed her the letter. “Someone would like to apologize.”
Moira gazed at it, and for a moment, Kit wondered if she would open it. She looked up at her expectantly.
“I have e-mails to check. Go ahead and read it. Afterward, I’d like to have a minute of your time.” Kit pulled out her phone, turning away from Moira, giving her some privacy.
After a few minutes, Moira refolded the note, slipped it into its envelope, and set it in her lap, her hand still covering it.
Kit put her phone away. “Did the lunkhead bungle that, too? Or did he do a good enough job that you would be willing to hear what I propose?”
Propose was the wrong choice of words. Moira flinched.
Kit rubbed the handle of her teacup. “Or would you rather see Davey again? He likes you.”
Another little flinch.
Kit leaned on the table. “Of course, in this day and age, a lot of women are choosing to remain single. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.” It’s what Kit was going to do.
Moira shook her head. For a moment, Kit worried that Andrew might be out of luck.
But then Moira held the envelope to her chest, speaking quietly. “I’ll hear what ye have to say. About Andrew, that is.”
Kit explained to her about the possibility of Andrew courting her, and how Kit would oversee the process.
Moira listened quietly. “I would be comfortable with that.”
“At any time, you can back out of the deal.” None of Kit’s clients would ever be coerced into a relationship. “I want to assure you that you have the power to walk and no one will say a word.”
“I thank ye for that.” Moira had a shy smile on her face. “But I doubt it will come to that.”
Kit rose. “Normally I would say let’s let things cool off for a couple of days. But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to set up a mini-date—say, tea at the restaurant this afternoon. I need to put you on the fast track because I’m leaving soon.”
Moira’s face blanched. She reached out to Kit.
Kit touched her hand. “I’ll be here every step of the way. We can Skype or FaceTime. I promise to keep Andrew in line until you feel comfortable enough to keep him in line yourself.”
Moira looked relieved, a small grin emerging. “Deydie says that every woman needs to know how to handle a broom.”
Kit gave her a hug. “That old quilter makes a lot of sense. Maybe I should add that advice to my website. I better get back to Quilting Central, though. I’ll leave it up to you to share with the town what we’ve devised. Or not. It’s up to you.”
