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Well, no, thank you. I’m not here for Sass’s bounce physics or Lochie’s sad sausage. I’m here to hurl fireballs in trolls’ faces.
Mercifully, Jamie drops the notion instantly.
LochNLoad
Fair enough! If you’re not keen, we won’t do that.
I blink at my screen, surprised by how quickly he backs off. The Jamie who abandoned me in the rain yesterday feels worlds apart from this considerate guy who immediately drops a topic at the first sign of reluctance. Honestly, it’d be so much easier to hate him if he were some creep who couldn’t take no for an answer, like half the blokes online. Why does he have to show glimmers of goodness and make me feel guilty about my deception?
LochNLoad
You know what? Even if it’s not a date, this is a cracking spot. It’s nice to chill in the sun for once rather than slay monsters in some dark demonic fortress. Oh, and to get to chat without risking an ogre caving my skull in mid-sentence!
Actually, remember I told you I’ve been tasked with making the place I work more successful? This is totally the vibe I’m going for. Sunshine and good company.
I reread Jamie’s last message, the cheerful emojis mocking me from the screen. The realisation hits me so hard it’s like I’ve stepped on a rake and the handle has smacked me right between the eyes. Sunshine, good company—and that bloody massive garden behind the Bannock Hotel.
Oh shit. Jamie is working on a beer garden.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JAMIE
The snug is dead this afternoon. Obviously, my goal is to address that, but right now it suits me just fine. My laptop is propped open on the bar, and I’m fiddling with table-and-chair arrangements for the beer garden. Our application is in with the council, so it’s mostly a waiting game now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep tinkering. Small tables or long communal ones—or maybe a mix of both? Should I swap out some chairs for benches to squeeze in a few more arses?
After a few more minutes of rearranging virtual furniture, I sit back and rake a hand through my hair, scrutinising the beer garden mock-up. Not bad. Not bad at all. It’s been ages since I put this much effort into anything at the hotel. Most of the time I just coast through, barely exerting myself. Something has definitely changed. Even Lewis has noticed I’m more invested in the business.
Bruce, meanwhile, is on his bed, dead to the world, legs flung out like he’s just collapsed after a marathon. A marathon of what, though? Wagging? Sniffing things? Making every human he passes on his walk tell him he’s a good boy?
Chuckling softly at the sight of him, I turn my attention back to my screen and toy with the idea of dragging one of the tables closer to the flowerbeds. This project has been a really welcome distraction, keeping me from stewing too much over how I made a complete arse of things with Maisie the other day. Normally, in Bannock, something like that would be all over town by now, but for some reason Maisie’s kept schtum about it.
It’s strange, really. She works in a busy pub and so is surrounded by folk who’d love a juicy story like how I booted her out of my car in the middle of a downpour. One well-placed comment and she could’ve had the whole town sharpening their pitchforks for me. But no, it’s like she hasn’t said a word to anyone. I don’t know why she’s spared me that humiliation. Maybe because she’s worried, if she opens her mouth, I’ll tell people about her hand’s accidental cock inspection? I’d never do that. It was obviously a mistake, and she was utterly mortified by it. It’d be cruel to embarrass her even more.
Whatever her reason, I owe Maisie for her silence. I’d really rather not have the whole town gossiping about that incident and guessing at my reasons.
A familiar figure makes his way into the snug, breaking my train of thought. It’s Aidan Stewart, my brother Ally’s oldest mate, and behind him comes Grace, his partner, with their wee girl, Callie, balanced on her hip.
“Hiya, Callie.” I give her a quick wave from behind the bar, but she barely notices me.
“Boose!” she squeals, pointing at the dog with an excited jab of her tiny finger.
Bruce snorts awake, lifting his head, and Callie—on a mission now—wriggles in her maw’s arms. Laughing softly, Grace places her on the floor and steadies her as she wobbles her way over to Bruce, who’s already up and stretching, tail wagging.
“Boose!” Callie cries again, reaching out for him.
“Gentle hands, sweetheart, remember?” Grace says.
Whether Callie understands is debatable—she plants both hands on Bruce’s head and proceeds to pet him like she’s kneading dough. He takes it like a champ, though, his tail thump-thumping on the floor.
Aidan watches his two lassies for a moment then joins me at the bar. “All right, Jamie?” He leans over and swipes a packet of peanuts.
“Oi, only I’m allowed to do that!”
He shrugs, rips the packet open with zero shame, then flicks a peanut high into the air and catches it neatly in his mouth.
I’ll give it to him. It’s impressive. And he’s never exactly been shy of helping himself around here. I suppose that stems from the fact that, growing up, the hotel was practically a second home to him and his sister, Iona. But with Lewis watching the budget like a hawk, I’d rather not be giving away bar snacks at the moment, especially since a few packets of salt and vinegar crisps may have mysteriously vanished while I was busy creating my digital seating plan.
Aidan tips a few more nuts into his mouth then says, “We’re just popping in to see maw, but I hear you’re thinking of opening a beer garden. Great shout. Could be a big hit come summer.”
