Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AINSLEY
Two days. In two days this place opens.
I stand behind the counter with Sheila and Ruby, the stylists I’ve hired, running them through the till system while trying not to let my nerves show.
The Lily Room is finally taking shape, my vision materialising into something real and tangible.
The rose-gold feature wall gleams behind the styling stations.
Our saddle stools sit ready in their spots.
The whole space feels bright, sharp, ready to shine.
“Right,” I say, tapping the screen to bring up the payment options. “The card machine’s synced, so you just hit this button for contactless.”
Sheila nods. Early fifties, neatly cut dark hair, calm and capable. The kind of stylist clients trust with both their hair and their secrets. She worked at the old salon before it closed, and I’m hoping most of her clients follow her here. Strategic hire, that one.
Ruby, meanwhile, practically vibrates beside her. Nineteen, freshly qualified, coppery waves tumbling past her shoulders. She’s been bouncing on her toes since she arrived this morning, all flushed cheeks and breathless enthusiasm.
“Got it,” she says. “Contactless. Easy.”
Across the room, a soft metallic scrape draws my attention.
Struan’s crouched by one of the new saddle stools, tightening bolts with an Allen key, sleeves rolled up past his elbows.
He’s been quiet today, the occasional tap of a hammer or clatter of tools a steady reminder he’s there, but otherwise he’s kept to himself.
Good. That’s exactly how I want it.
I’ve worked hard to keep things strictly businesslike between us lately.
Brisk, professional, no room for misinterpretation.
And to his credit, he’s dialled down the charm.
The easy grins are still there when I have to speak to him, but the winks have stopped.
And the flirty remarks. And the lingering gazes.
Well, the lingering gazes have mostly stopped.
Earlier, while I was peeling the protective film off the mirrors—God, that was satisfying—I caught his reflection watching me. Not openly. Not boldly. Just . . . there.
Even so, it made my skin prickle. And I really didn’t like that.
Tomorrow he’ll be finished here, and things will be simpler. No more long days breathing the same air. No more catching that smell of sawdust and soap and male every time he passes within three feet of me. We’ll be neighbours who wave politely over the hedge and nothing more.
“Okay,” I say, flipping open my planner and focusing on the task at hand. “Opening day, Saturday. We’ve got a few pre-booked clients in the morning, then it’ll mostly be walk-ins after that. I want everyone who steps through that door to feel pampered. Fizz, music, nibbles—the works.”
Ruby claps her hands together. “I’m so excited! My first proper hairdressing job, and it’s at a brand-new salon. How lucky is that?”
I can’t help but smile. Her enthusiasm is infectious. “We’re lucky to have you.”
“Are we getting matching tunics?” Her eyes are bright. “Like, with the salon name embroidered on them?”
“No uniforms,” I say. “Wear what makes you feel comfortable—tidy and professional, aye? Nothing too low-cut, and no builders’ bums on display.” I catch Ruby tugging self-consciously at her neckline. “You’re fine. Just . . . keep it classy.”
She grins. “Classy. Got it.”
We move to the waiting bench to run through Saturday’s schedule, making sure we’re all clear on our roles. Everything’s going smoothly, the three of us settling into an easy rhythm, until a soft click-hiss pulls my attention sideways.
Struan’s perched on the saddle stool now, testing the hydraulic lever, long legs braced wide as he pumps it up and down.
The seat rises, then lowers again, and the movement shouldn’t be remotely interesting, except his jeans are pulling taut over strong thighs, and his forearm is flexing with each pump, and—
Oh, for God’s sake.
Heat prickles the back of my neck. I jerk my gaze back to my planner, pulse skittering.
He’s checking a lever, Ainsley. A lever. Not performing a Magic Mike routine. Get a grip on yourself.
“—so Sheila, you’ll coordinate walk-ins if I’m tied up with a booking,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Sound okay?”
Sheila nods, unfazed. “No bother. Done it a thousand times.”
“You okay, boss?” Ruby asks. “You’ve gone a bit pink.”
“Fine. It’s just warm in here. Anyway, Ruby, stay on top of socials. Photos early in the day while everything’s fresh, aye?”
“Of course!” She beams. “We’re going to smash it. Oh, and I’m still doing the deep-conditioner treatments, right?”
“Yes, those are yours.”
I pull out my phone to check on the delivery status of the shampoos and conditioners that were supposed to arrive this morning.
The same shipment I had to argue about on the phone last week, when that patronising arse of a supplier talked over me three times before finally agreeing to dispatch on schedule.
Shipment delayed. New estimated arrival: tomorrow.
My stomach dips. Of course. Of bloody course.
I exhale slowly through my nose. Tomorrow is fine. Tight, but fine. As long as they don’t delay again, or send the wrong products, or—
No. Positive thoughts. No spiralling.
I force a bright smile and explain the situation to Sheila and Ruby. “Bit annoying, but it’ll be here before we open. Let’s just hope that’s our only hiccup.”
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies.” Struan walks over, toolbox in hand.
There’s a smudge of something dark across his forearm—grease, probably, from the stool mechanism.
“That’s the last of the furniture built.
I’ll head to the toilet next and put up that shelf, so let me know if any of you need in before I start. ”
“I’m fine,” Sheila says.
“All good here,” Ruby adds brightly.
I keep my tone brisk. “Aye. We’re fine, thanks.”
He nods once and disappears towards the back of the salon.
The moment he’s out of earshot, Ruby leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “God, he’s fit, isn’t he?”
Sheila hums knowingly. “Och, he’s a charmer, that one. Keeps the tourists busy in summer, if you know what I mean.”
My stomach tightens. “Aye, I got that vibe.”
I picture the blonde runner from the beach last weekend. The one who’d casually touched Struan’s arm and exchanged numbers with him.
I overheard enough of Malcolm and Struan’s conversation yesterday to know that Struan went to her house for an appointment. Seemed pretty keen that his dad did not go with him.
No prizes for guessing why.
It really shouldn’t bother me. In fact, it’s a good thing. Because it reminds me who he is.
There’d been moments at the barbecue—and that night he helped me with my bed—when I’d started letting Struan’s charm slip past my defences. Started softening towards him.
Talk about not learning from my mistakes.
After Danny, I really should know better. Men like that are all sparkle and no substance. They make you feel special right up until you realise you’re not the only one they’re making feel that way.
So yes. It’s a good thing I’ve come to my senses.
I just wish it felt good.
The sign is up.
I stand on the pavement with Mum, Da, and Lily, tilting my head back to take it in.
the lily room, spelled out in elegant rose-gold lettering against a soft blush background, with a delicate water lily to the right of the words.
It’s exactly what I envisioned when I sketched it out months ago, back when this whole thing was just a desperate dream scribbled in a notebook.
“Well?” I crouch down to Lily’s level. “What do you think, baby?”
She scrunches her nose. “Where’s my face?”
“Your face?”
“It’s the Lily Room. Shouldn’t my face be on it?”
I blink. “What? No, that was never the plan. But look—it says Lily, and there’s a pretty water lily. See?”
Lily considers this for approximately half a second. “It’d look better with my face on it.”
Mum stifles a laugh behind her hand. Da doesn’t bother hiding his.
Despite my daughter’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction, I pull out my phone and snap a selfie in front of the sign, angling to catch the lettering behind me. I tap out a quick caption and post it to social media.
Signage installed! It’s official: the Lily Room is ready to bloom
“Right,” I say, pocketing my phone. “Who wants the grand tour?”
Da’s face lights up. Mum and I have been keeping him away from the salon during the renovation.
Officially because we wanted him to see the finished product without “spoilers”.
Unofficially because we were worried he might try to step in and “help”.
Da and tools just do not go together, no matter how good his intentions are.
“Lead the way,” he says.
I head in first, holding Lily’s hand. There’s a moment of quiet as Mum and Da take it in.
“Oh, Ainsley.” Mum presses a hand to her chest. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It really is something, love,” Da agrees, turning slowly, his eyes roaming over every detail. “You should be proud.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. “Thanks, Da.”
Lily, apparently over her signage grievance, lets go of my hand and clambers up onto one of the styling chairs. “Can I have my hair cut here, Mummy?”
“Maybe. If you’re good.”
“I’m always good.”
Mum and I exchange a look, but neither of us contradicts her.
The sound of a drill whirs from the back, and a moment later Struan emerges, wiping his hands on a rag. He gives Lily a high-five then flashes my parents a friendly, lopsided smile. “Afternoon. Here for a look around?”
“We are indeed.” Mum beams at him. “And I must say, Struan, you’ve done a wonderful job. Hasn’t he, Murdo?”
Da nods appreciatively, running his hand along the edge of the waiting bench. “Aye, this is quality work.”
Mum huffs a laugh then says to Struan, “Not that Murdo would know where to begin with something like this. He once tried to put up a shelf and drilled right into the airing cupboard.”
“It was an honest mistake,” Da mutters.
“Ach, anyone can do this stuff with the right tools and a bit of practice.” Struan gestures Da over to the back shelving he’s been working on. “Here, want to see how these fixings work? You can help me out with one, if you like.”
Da hesitates for a second, unused to being invited rather than warned off. Then he ambles after Struan, keen to get involved.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I take a few steps after them and watch as Struan patiently demonstrates something about wall anchors, Da nodding along and asking questions.
Struan doesn’t talk down to him, doesn’t dismiss him the way I’ve seen other tradespeople do.
He just . . . explains. Like Da’s curiosity matters.
Something in my chest loosens, just a fraction.
Stop it.
I clamp the feeling down. Hard. Because so what if he knows how to make my da feel included rather than useless? So what if he’s good with kids? So what if he’s handy with a drill?
None of that changes who he is. A man with charm on tap. Trouble waiting to happen.
I know his type. All too well.
I show Mum and Lily around the salon, pointing out a few of my favourite details. After a while I say, “Right, we should probably let Struan get on. He’s got a lot to finish before tomorrow.”
“Come on, Murdo,” Mum calls. “Let the man work.”
Da reluctantly tears himself away from the shelving demonstration. “Thanks for showing me that, son. Might have to pick your brain again sometime.”
“Anytime,” Struan says easily.
I shepherd my family towards the door, but at the threshold I pause and turn back. Struan’s watching me, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Everything will be finished tomorrow, won’t it?” I ask. The words come out more pointed than I mean them to. Or maybe just as pointed as I mean them to. “Before the opening?”
If he’s bothered by my tone, he doesn’t show it. “Aye, everything’s on schedule. Just finishing touches now.”
I give a brief nod then leave before he can say anything else.