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“Right then,” Iona says, “I’ll see if Aidan and Callie can distract Bruce from those tantalising smells. But seriously, Jamie, good work here. You’ve done a cracking job with everything.” With a quick smile, she leads Bruce off towards her brother, who’s currently hurrying after her adorable, pint-sized whirlwind of a niece.
Right, what now? With Cat handling those orders, maybe I should do a quick circuit of the tables and check everyone is happy? But before I can so much as take a step, Ally, my eldest brother, waves me over. Honestly, would it kill my family to cut me some slack today? I’ve got a whole crowd of customers to keep smiling. Still, I head his way to find out what he wants.
Ally lounges on a tartan blanket with Ru, his fourteen-month-old son, planted beside him. My nephew’s face is painted like a tiger, although the stripes are a bit smudged now. Wide-eyed with wonder, Ru watches Callie’s antics with a sort of adoration lighting up his wee round face.
Callie totters across the lawn with an air of determined mischief, her tiny feet surprisingly fast for someone so new to walking. Every wobble looks like it’s about to end in disaster, yet somehow she powers on unscathed. And then she spots Bruce, coming over with Iona. Her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning and she charges towards him, arms wide open. “Boose!”
Ru isn’t walking yet—or talking either—but he’s utterly enchanted by Callie. The tilt of his chubby wee face as he follows her every move says it all: he thinks she put the stars in the sky.
“Jamie, come sit for a moment.” Ally pats the rug beside him.
“I’m kind of rushed off my feet here.”
“It’ll only take a minute.” He fixes me with one of those big-brother looks that isn’t really a request at all. “You’ve got time for your eldest brother and your only nephew, don’t you?”
“All right, fine.” I plonk myself down and hold a hand up to Ru for a high five. “How’s it going, wee man?”
Ru studies me intently for a moment before offering a cautious slap against my palm. Then he goes back to watching Callie.
“So, what’s up?” I ask Ally.
“I just wanted to say . . . I’m impressed by what you’ve done here. Really impressed.”
The compliment—coming from him—warms my chest in a way I’m not sure how to handle, so naturally, my first instinct is to brush it off with humour. “Jesus,” I mutter. “Becoming a da has made you soft.”
Ally growls. “I was trying to be nice.”
“Aha! There’s the moody git I know and love.” I wink. “Good to have you back.”
He shakes his head. “Seriously, though, it really is impressive what you’ve done here—even if you do still have a bit of work to do on your personality.” He ruffles my hair like I’m twelve. “But listen, even if it makes you squirm to hear it, I’m proud of you, Jamie. I really am. I remember waiting in the hospital after the crash, scared out of my mind for you, and now look at you. Look at what you’ve built. Well done.”
My chest tightens at the mention of the crash, but I push the feeling aside. Today is too good to let those memories in.
“Cheers, Ally. Anyway, I really best get on.”
I get back to my feet and dive straight back into it. Orders need taking, glasses need clearing, and conversations need just enough charm from me to keep everyone happily buzzing along. It’s a rhythm now: check the tables, crack a joke here, share a quick smile there, mentally triage what needs sorting next. I’ve never worked this hard in my life, not even close, but because I built this place with my own two hands, I honestly don’t mind the graft so much.
As the afternoon slips towards evening, the families peel away one by one. Ally and Emily head off with Ru slumped fast asleep against his da’s shoulder, his tiger face paint even more smeared now but still very cute. Aidan follows soon after with Grace and Callie, who somehow still has energy left. The garden doesn’t quieten down, however. Rather, it shifts gears, filling up with childless couples and lively groups of friends, all fresh-faced and ready for a good time. Conversations grow louder; laughter rings out sharper.
On the stage Neil straps on his accordion while Eileen tunes her fiddle beside him. Scott, sporting an impressive amount of facial hair—even by Bannock standards—adjusts the height of a cymbal from behind his drum kit. They’re not big names or anything (not outside our part of Scotland anyway), but they’re local legends, the sort of band that can get any crowd tapping their feet and nodding their heads within seconds of playing their first note.
Meanwhile, Kyle is already charming small groups into sampling the distillery’s various whiskies, guiding them through each dram with the reverence of a priest delivering a sermon.
Even though I’m running on empty at this point, there’s something magical about witnessing the vibe shift without the buzz fading.
“Jamie!” Lewis calls from behind the barbecue station, where he’s still flipping burgers.
I let out an exaggerated groan then make my way toward him. “If you’re about to tell me we’ve run out of sausages again—”
“No,” he interrupts, shooting me a rare grin as he gestures around us. “I just wanted to say . . . you’ve impressed me today.”
I blink at him like he’s sprouted antlers on top of that ridiculous apron he’s wearing (which reads licensed to grill in big black letters).
“Sorry,” I say dryly. “What was that? Could you repeat it? Louder this time?”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t take it back. “Don’t make me regret saying it.” He nods towards the crowd instead. “Look at this place—it’s packed! Folk are raving about everything: the food, the drinks, the atmosphere. I didn’t think you’d actually see this through when you first suggested the idea. Thought you’d lose interest or cock something up halfway through.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “You really know how to deliver a compliment.”
