Chapter 17
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.”
“Er... thanks, but it isn’t really public knowledge yet. I take it your maw told you?”
Even though I’ve asked Elspeth to keep it under her hat, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s blabbed to her son.
“Nope.” Aidan tosses up another peanut and again catches it in his mouth with ease. “Heard it from Maisie. She’s going round asking folk to sign a petition opposing your plans.”
“ What? ” The word bursts out of me so sharply that Grace, Callie, and Bruce all glance over at us.
Aidan lifts his hands in mock surrender, his blue eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and apology. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
My pulse drums in my ears as I shove my stool back with a grating screech and march towards the door.
“See you later then!” Aidan calls.
Ignoring him completely, I stride past reception and straight out into the bright afternoon sun. The annoyingly cheerful chirping of birds grates on my taut nerves. It takes me less than two seconds to spot Maisie outside Bannock Stores, clipboard tucked under one arm as she chats away with Tom from the Coffee Bothy. I storm towards her, past brightly painted shop doors that interrupt the monotony of grey stone buildings.
Tom looks up as I approach, his weathered face creasing into a smile. “Afternoon, Ja?—”
“One sec,” I cut him off, my focus laser-locked on Maisie. “What the hell are you doing?”
She doesn’t so much as flinch. Instead she lifts a hand in an airy gesture that’s all calm condescension. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” she says sweetly. “If you could kindly let me finish this conversation, I’d very much appreciate it. Thank you.”
That stops me in my tracks. For about half a second. Then my hands ball into fists at my sides. Is there anything more infuriating than being dismissed like an impatient child? I’d never do something like that—my recent treatment of Tom notwithstanding.
She turns back to Tom as though I’m about as threatening as Bruce rolling over for a belly rub.
“So,” Maisie resumes smoothly, her tone all poised professionalism, as if she isn’t actively trying to sabotage my life right now, “as I was saying, if you’re concerned about excess noise or antisocial behaviour, or just how drastically this beer garden could change the character of Bannock, I’d really appreciate your signature.” She holds out the clipboard to Tom, who—annoyingly—accepts it.
Before Maisie can hand him her pen too, I snatch it from her fingers.
“Actually,” I tell Tom through gritted teeth, fighting to keep some semblance of politeness in my voice, “you might want to hold off on that. Feel free to forget everything you’ve just heard because it’s not remotely true.”
Maisie’s green eyes flash dangerously in the sunlight. “Jamie, this is a private conversation between Tom and me, so if you don’t mind...”
“The council haven’t even released the plans yet,” I explain to Tom, ignoring Maisie entirely. “Once they do—and once everyone knows the actual details —there’ll be plenty of time to raise objections if needed. But signing some half-baked petition now isn’t going to help anyone.” I wave vaguely at Maisie like she’s a nuisance fly buzzing around on a summer day. “This is just... scaremongering nonsense.”
Maisie’s glare could melt glaciers.
Tom clearly decides he wants nothing more to do with either of us and makes his excuses before beating a quick retreat to his café.
Now it’s just Maisie and me standing toe-to-toe on the main street, surrounded by quaint painted shopfronts and an annoying amount of picturesque charm for what feels like an all-out war zone.
“You and I need to chat,” I say grimly, jerking my chin towards her clipboard like it’s a weapon she hasn’t quite holstered yet. “What the hell is this?”
“A petition.” She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin defiantly, her whole posture daring me to argue further—which is exactly what I plan to do. “And clearly you already know what it’s for.”
“Oh, come on. ” A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It feels dangerous having her this close again. The memory of her hand on a rather intimate spot flashes uninvited through my mind before I chase it away gain. Focus on what matters: winning this argument and stopping her from ruining all my hard work with that bloody clipboard.
“You don’t actually care about Bannock’s ‘character,’” I say accusingly. “You’re worried about how the beer garden might affect business at the Pheasant.”
Her lips curve into a slow smile that somehow manages to look both smug and infuriatingly attractive all at once. It sets my teeth on edge.
“How did you even know about my plans anyway?” I demand, taking a step closer.
Maisie shrugs like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “It’s a small town. Word gets around.”
Someone at the council must have blabbed. Either that or one of the contractors I’ve been speaking to let something slip over a pint at the Pheasant. Bugger.
“Anyway,” she continues nonchalantly, brushing nonexistent dust off her jumper as though we’re discussing something far less incendiary than weeks of planning going up in flames, “it was a cute idea, Jamie—even kind of ambitious for someone who usually sits behind his laptop all day—but there’s no chance it’ll happen.” She leans forward and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Best save yourself some embarrassment and give up now.”
Anger surges hot through my veins—the kind of burn that makes me want to do something reckless—and before I can stop myself I’m stepping even closer until we’re practically nose-to-nose.
“The beer garden will open,” I say.
This close up her eyes are dizzyingly distracting—and absolutely deadly.
“Oh yeah?” Her voice drops to a mocking whisper. “Well, after you kicked me out of your car in the middle of a rainstorm, I say, bring it on! I’m more than happy to fight you. Also, what sort of man is so insecure that he has a wee tantrum when someone jokes that their gamer friend is really an old guy called Big Davie?”
I frown. “Wait?—”
But she doesn’t wait—she’s already talking over me. “We live in a democracy. A free country,” she announces dramatically with enough conviction to rival someone delivering their closing argument in court. “And I have every right to tell people what you’re up to. So, goodbye.”
She turns on her heel and stalks off, leaving me standing there like a right eejit. She thinks that’s why I kicked her out of the car? Christ, I’d barely even registered half of what she was saying by that point—I’d been too busy gripping the wheel and trying to keep the panic at bay as the rain hammered against the windscreen and memories threatened to overwhelm me.
Shit, even though I never talk about this stuff with anyone, I really should clear this up, as painful as this is going to be. I need to explain things to her.
“Maisie!” I take a step after her.
She whirls around like she’s ready to go ten rounds in a boxing ring. “What? Unless this is an announcement that you’re moving out of Bannock altogether—which honestly would solve a lot of my problems—I can’t imagine there’s anything you could say that would improve my afternoon. So, if you’re planning to offer me some half-arsed excuse for your behaviour, don’t bother. I’ve no interest in hearing it. Why don’t you stick to what you’re good at? Oh wait, what are you good at? Winding people up and generally being an arse? Nah, don’t do that. Just... piss off!”
The words I had been going to say die in my throat. Instead my temper flares back up—hot and irrational but impossible to ignore. Sod it. If she wants a fight, fine. Let’s have one.
“If you had any decency at all,” I spit, marching closer until there’s barely a foot of space between us, “you’d hold off on this petition nonsense until the council releases the actual plans. You don’t even know what you’re objecting to yet! You’re asking people to sign something based on rumours at best and outright lies at worst—and that’s not fair, and you bloody well know it.”
Maisie draws in a sharp breath like I’ve slapped her, then blows it out again with an exaggerated huff that sends stray wisps of navy-blue hair flying around her face. For one maddening moment she doesn’t reply. She just stands there glaring daggers at me while I glare right back at her.
“Fine!” she finally snaps, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “I’ll hold fire for a few days if it’ll stop you moaning, but don’t think for a second this changes anything. The moment the plans go public, I’ll be back out here collecting signatures faster than a bairn running to the ice cream van.”
She spins away again before I can respond, so I don’t get a chance to argue more or even to grudgingly thank her. Worse still, I’m really struggling to come up with an ice cream-related comeback to shout after her. Something about her being a flake? Nah, that’s naff. Oh, she needs to chill out? No, way too obvious. And... I’ve left it too long. If I say something now, it’ll seem like I’m trying way too hard.
I head back to the hotel. When I pass the bakery, Morag emerges, wiping floury hands on an apron that looks like it’s seen better days.
“Jamie, I must say, I was really disappointed to hear about this beer garden idea.” She doesn’t bother with pleasantries because apparently we’ve skipped straight to public scolding . “The last thing this town needs is folk getting rowdy outside our windows at night when we’re all trying to sleep.”
“What exactly has Maisie been saying to you?” I splutter. “The whole point of a beer garden is it’s a place to sit outside during the day when the sun is out. We’re not going to be conducting late-night raves there. Maisie’s made it sound like I’m planning something totally different from what I’m actually trying to do. All I want is to create a wee spot where folk can relax, have a natter, and soak up a bit of sun on a nice day.”
“Oh,” Morag says after an awkward pause where I’m pretty sure half my brain cells shrivel from stress alone. “Well... actually, that doesn’t sound so bad.” She sounds almost reluctant admitting it.
“Right?” I run both hands through my hair, probably making it stick up in a way that suggests I’ve lost the plot entirely. “So maybe people should wait until they’ve seen the full plans before deciding whether they object or not, eh?” I shoot her a grin in an attempt to take the sting out of my words. Getting tetchy with folk isn’t going to make launching this beer garden any easier.
Back at the hotel, I find Lewis and Emily chatting in the office.
“You’ll never believe what Maisie’s been up to!” The words burst out of me before I’ve even crossed the threshold. I jab a thumb over my shoulder. “She’s going around town with a bloody petition. A petition! Getting folk to sign it before they’ve even seen the plans for the beer garden. Can you believe it?”
Lewis and Emily exchange a look, then Emily slides out a chair and pats the seat. “Why don’t you sit down before you pop a blood vessel and fill us in?”
“Not happening. Sitting won’t help.” The energy coursing through me feels like it’ll explode if I don’t keep moving. My legs carry me back and forth across the office like they’ve got minds of their own. “Maisie is unbelievable! She’s out there gathering signatures like she’s some kind of crusader for justice—which, by the way, she isn’t. She doesn’t even know what she’s talking about. And now half the town thinks we’re planning a bloody nightclub or something in the beer garden!”
I regale them with every maddening detail—her smug smile, her ridiculous “democracy” speech, her complete refusal to listen to reason. Naturally, they’re on my side and concerned by this development, but I seem to lose them a little when I say, “Honestly, who even behaves like that? At the very least, you’d think people would hear someone out before tearing their idea to shreds, wouldn’t you?”
Emily’s lips twitch, and Lewis arches a brow at her like they’re having a silent conversation.
“What?” I bark. My heart’s still hammering from the encounter with Maisie. “What’s with the telepathic eyebrow dance? And can I point out how bloody weird it is for work colleagues to have their own silent language? Do Ally and Iona know about this?”
Lewis holds up his hands. “Whoa there, tiger. We’re not the enemy here.” He leans back in his chair with a hint of a smirk. “But tell me this, doesn’t any of this sound familiar? Maybe, oh, I don’t know, like that report Emily and I put together for Ally a couple of years ago?”
I frown at him, completely lost. “What report? What are you on about?”
“You can’t have forgotten! Back when Ally was still manager, Emily and I worked on a report, laying out plans to modernise and improve the hotel. Before I could present it to Ally, though, you grabbed a hold of it and showed it to him.”
“I did?” It rings a vague bell, and to be fair, it does kind of sound like me.
“You tore my ideas to shreds in front of him before I could present them properly! Maybe this mess with Maisie is karma coming back to bite you.”
“Nah, if I really did that?—”
“You did.”
“—I’m sure it was all in good, cheeky fun, like anyone would expect a wee brother to act. Maisie, on the other hand? She’s out for blood.”
“You know, Jamie,” Emily says with a measured tone, “just because you’re having fun doesn’t mean everyone else is. I recall Lewis being pretty ticked off about that at the time.”
“Wow, will you two please focus on the real issue? This isn’t the bash-Jamie show. It’s the bash-Maisie show!”
“Why don’t we arrange a meeting with Maisie and Bryce?” Emily suggests diplomatically. “Sit down with them, listen to their concerns... it doesn’t have to be a fight.”
“Nope,” I say. “Maisie’s made it clear she wants to play dirty, so this is war. The beer garden will open, it will be successful, and she is going down .”
It’s been ages since I’ve felt this fired up about anything in the real world. It’s like the buzz I used to get before a rugby match, only these days it usually takes a brutal boss battle to get my blood pumping. The beer garden is the first thing I’ve properly cared about in forever, and now Maisie is trying to sabotage it? It’s no wonder I’m fuming.
“You’re really fired up about this,” Emily observes.
“Of course I am!” I go back to pacing, then an idea hits me and I whirl on Lewis so fast he actually leans back in his chair. “Your girlfriend is good friends with Maisie! Ask Iona to have a word with her and tell her not to derail our business ideas.”
Lewis folds his arms across his chest. “I’m not going to ask Iona to take sides. That’s not fair.”
“Fine.” I whip my phone out. “Cat is friends with Maisie too. I’ll message her and tell her to?—”
Lewis stands and plucks the phone from my hands. “You’re not messaging Cat either. Emily’s right: you’re getting yourself worked up. Why don’t you go play your video game and kill some monsters or something? Clear your head because, if you try to deal with this as you are now, you’ll just make a mess of things.”
“I don’t think killing virtual monsters is going to cut it today.”
“Well, I’m off to the gym soon. You’re welcome to tag along, but I know it’s not really your thing.”
I mull over this offer for a moment. “Aye, I’ll come.”
“Really?” He looks so surprised it’s kind of insulting.
“Aye. I think I need to do something physical. Punching something—or someone—would be ideal, but I’m willing to give lifting heavy stuff a shot. A bit of exercise, then I’ll set to work undoing the damage that Maisie’s done.”
“All right.” Lewis gives me a brotherly clap on the back. “Let’s go work off some of this anger before you do something daft.”