
The Rescue (Thistle Down Farm #2)
1. Rabbie
1
Rabbie
Being the new owner of Sweet Treats isn’t easy, and I’m starting to feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Before I became the owner of Sweet Treats, I’d been the baker for over ten years. It was my first job, and I’ve been here ever since.
When it came to Mrs. Graham retiring I couldn’t let someone else buy the business. Sweet Treats was my life, and it was also my home. When I moved out of my Nan’s house, Mrs. Graham was kind enough to let me live in the wee flat above the cafe.
Not much had gone right in my life as a wee lad, but I was proud of the little life I had built, and I had Mrs. Graham and Sweet Treats to thank for that. There was no doubt in my mind, I wanted to buy the business.
When Mrs. Graham owned Sweet Treats; she only sold baked goods that were made that morning, and once they were all gone, she would close for the day. Before her retirement, she let me take on a management role to prepare me for taking over the business. I had a vision to expand the business, it started with keeping the cafe open for the whole day, serving tea, coffee and food like sandwiches, and of course my famous scones.
Then I started to expand selling baked goods outside of the cafe with Mac wanting a few hot pies to sell at The Drunken Duck, and then it just snowballed from there. Now a lot of local businesses want my baked goods. I’ve always been told my baking is the best in the Highlands, but I struggle to accept the praise. I’m not one for gloating or letting my ego get the best of me. Although I will take pride in my scones, they are my best sellers.
I’ve been the owner for just over a year now, and my business is growing bigger, even bigger than I imagined. Since I bought Sweet Treats, I’ve hired a few local young people to help me in the cafe serving customers, while I can be in the kitchen baking. Nellie and David are lifesavers, I don’t know how I would cope without them. Recently, the orders have gotten so out of control that deliveries and orders have been getting mixed up, and the local business owners are starting to get frustrated with me.
This is where I lack the skills in being a business owner. I’ve been taking orders over the phone, and I’ll write it down on the whiteboard in the kitchen, but this obviously has its flaws, things accidentally get rubbed off, or I would write the wrong orders down in a rush.
This system clearly isn’t working for me anymore, and I needed to change that. What I needed was a website with an order form that people can fill out, and I can access them on my computer. I needed to hire someone who could create one for me, because I’m just a baker; I don’t know the first thing about websites.
When Dylan told me about her friend, Crystal, who was coming to visit at the end of summer, and who happened to be a graphic and website designer, it seemed like a no-brainer for me to hire her to create the website for me.
So I asked Dylan for Crystal’s email address and I emailed her straight away, and we corresponded over the summer. I met her briefly at The Drunken Duck a few days ago when she arrived, but she was busy catching up with Dylan and I didn’t want to talk business when they hadn’t seen each other in so long.
I scheduled a meeting with her today at Sweet Treats after we closed for the day so we can talk business. I look down at my watch, she’s late. Very late. Maybe she changed her mind. I stand to rise from my seat when she comes bursting through the door like a bull in a china shop.
I didn’t really take her in when we met briefly a few days before. It’s only when a gust of wind from outside blew her hair around her face that I truly took her in. She’s small and petite, with long red hair that looks like copper. She frantically brushes it away, looking flustered. Her piercing green eyes are cat shaped and her skin is dotted with little brown freckles.
“Crap, I’m so sorry I’m a little late,” she spluttered in her thick American accent.
I raised my eyebrow at her. “A little? You’re over forty-five minutes late. Get lost, did you?”
I’m not very good at wearing my big boss pants, I never pictured myself being one, so it’s hard for me to carry some authority.
She flattens her hair out of her moss green eyes and frowns at me. “I’m sorry, I had to walk here from Thistle Down Farm. The Scottish weather isn’t very nice to walk in, and it’s blowing a gale out there.”
Now I feel like a prick for being short with her, “You walked here? Why didn’t you say I could’ve given you a ride or met you at Thistle Down.”
“Cam did say I could borrow his car, but the thought of driving on the wrong side of the road scares the shit out of me,” she laughs nervously.
Her honesty is refreshing, and I can’t help but stare at her. She has an aurora about her that’s captivating. We both stand there with an awkwardness between us now. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the wind, and she rubs her hands together to warm them up.
“You must be freezing, let me make you a cup of tea. Please take a seat,” I motion to the cosy sofa in the corner of the cafe.
She smiles softly at me, and takes off her jacket. She piques my interest. Her style is different to most of the women in the village, or any woman I know for that matter. She’s definitely not dressed for the wild Scottish weather. She drapes her oversized black leather jacket over the back of the chair, and I get a glimpse of her ivory legs in tiny denim shorts. Who wears denim shorts in Scotland, in this weather?
I try not to stare long enough, because I don’t want her to think I’m one of those guys. I want to be taken seriously as a new business owner, and because I don’t want to come across as inappropriate and unprofessional.
But I stare long enough to see that she’s rocking black leather cowboy boots that come up to her knees. I smile to myself because I get the impression that this woman isn’t afraid to be herself. I busied myself by making a pot of tea for us both, and added some cookies to the tray.
“Cool tee.” I say trying to break the ice between us. If she’s going to be working for me I should try to get to know her a little bit.
I put the tray down on the coffee table and sit across from her in the armchair. She looks down at the old country band t-shirt that she’s wearing, and smiles up at me.
“Thanks,” she leans forward and takes a cookie as I pour her a cup of tea.
“I didn’t think girls liked country music, I thought it was mostly pop music you liked,” I say as I pass her the cup of tea. As soon as the words came out of my mouth I cringed, I never stereotype people but I guess our little encounter has made me a little nervous and it felt like a good icebreaker. Her green eyes are slightly intimidating, I try to come across as cool and relaxed.
She takes a bite of her cookie, and smirks at me. “Sugar, I’m not like most girls,” she winks at me. I choke on my tea and a coughing fit ensues from her insinuating comment. The flirtatious innuendo lingers between us, her green eyes twinkling at me. After composing myself and Crystal looking thoroughly amused, I turn the conversation towards business.
“Dylan said you can create a website for my business?”
“Sure, whatever you need,” her tone sounds flirtatious.
I shift in my seat and tell myself that I’m being ridiculous, there’s no way she could be flirting with me. This woman is way out of my league, plus I need to keep things professional for many reasons.
“Perfect, just name your price and timeline. I’m sure you have to get back to your family or boyfriend back in Boston for the holidays, so I’m happy to pay a premium for you to get it done.”
I notice a small frown on her brow, and worry I’ve said something wrong.
“Boyfriend? No, I don’t do boyfriends,” her tone is flat and serious. She shoves the rest of the cookie in her mouth and brushes the crumbs off her shirt.
I try to remain professional, but this piques my curiosity because someone as attractive as her shouldn’t be single. Before I can stop myself I’m asking her why.
“How so?”
“Because I don’t do relationships, people always end up hating each other in the end anyway. So I’m saving myself the time and pain. I like to keep things casual, it’s less messy that way.”
Well, I wasn’t expecting her to be so honest about why she doesn’t do relationships.
“Each to their own, I guess.”
“What about you?” she asks, her auburn hair falls over her shoulder as she tilts her head.
“Me? I’m happy.” I try to deflect the conversation off me, and why I don’t date.
I don’t talk about my personal life, especially with people I just met. Hell, I hardly talk about this type of stuff with my closest friends, and I’d like to keep it that way.
“So when do you think you can get the website done?” I ask, my tone comes off a little abrupt.
She puts her tea cup on the table in front of us and straightens up in her chair. A small frown forms between her cat shaped eyes.
“Just write down what you need on your website and I should be able to get it done for you soon and out of your hair.”
“Thanks, you’re really helping me out. I wouldn’t even know where to start with making a website. If you weren’t here in Crossmackie I’d have to find someone from the city, and that would take me away from the cafe.” I try to lighten the mood.
She gives me a half-hearted smile. “I’ll be working from the cafe if you don’t mind me taking a table most days, Cam’s little cottage is very cramped.”
“No, not a problem, I will reserve a table every day for you. Any preferences?”
She scans the cafe with her bottom lip between her teeth, and points to my favourite table nestled in the corner next to the window. A cosy little nook out of the way, but close enough to the window to get a view to the outside and watch people go by.
“Good choice,” I smile.
She smiles back, and I feel some of the tension between us ease. She’s undeniably beautiful. Her confidence is charming and intimidating at the same time. She clearly isn’t afraid to be herself, and I find that refreshing. I look down at her cowboy boots and smile.
“You don’t sound like Dylan, it’s funny because I thought all Americans sounded the same. You’re different.” I try to make it sound like banter.
She narrows her eyes at me, and I can’t help sense that I’ve hit a nerve.
Her face flushes and turns into a soft pink. “Different? Cause I’m some country bumpkin from the south?”
“Country pumpkin? Never heard of one of them before.”
A small hint of a smile forms on her lips before a huge laugh erupts from her mouth, and I laugh nervously not knowing how we got here.
“Not pumpkin, BUMP-KIN,” she says every syllable slowly so I can understand.
I still don’t get it.
“What’s a bumpkin?” I frown.
She looks at me with her head tilted to the side and the corners of her mouth tip up.
“It’s a stereotype for someone from the south.”
“Ah, well, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I like your accent.” I run my hand through my hair, and her green eyes track my movement.
Her southern accent is soft and smooth, like honey. I could listen to her talk for hours and never get bored of it.
“Well, you’re the only one who seems to like it.” She shrugs her shoulders and her copper hair falls over them. It glimmers in the low light, it looks like the embers of a campfire, so vibrant and rich. The distraction of her hair has me jumbling over my next words.
“S-so, you’re from the south?” I try my hardest not to make it obvious that her hair had me transfixed for a second. She doesn’t seem to notice my trance.
“Unfortunately, Tennessee. I haven’t been back for a long time though. Boston is more like my home now.”
With the look on her face and her short, sharp tone, I get an inkling that where she is from is a touchy subject. I have to remind myself that this is a business relationship and decide it is best not to pry. She stands from the sofa and grabs her leather jacket.
I stand to meet her eyes, suddenly feeling nervous. “Crystal, I hope I haven’t offended you.”
She smiles at me softly, “No, it’s okay. You can take the girl out of the south, but you can’t take the south out of the girl.”
A sigh of relief escapes my lips, I’d hate to start off on the wrong foot, seeing as we will be working closely together until she finishes the website.
“I have to go. I’m meeting Dylan at The Drunken Duck; we’re having a girl’s night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She flips her leather jacket over her shoulders and I get a whiff of her sweet vanilla scent. It nearly knocks me off my feet. I was too distracted when she first walked in, but now she’s standing so close to me her beautiful scent fills my nose. She smells like a cosy day, wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa with a cup of tea.
I try to keep my face straight and not lean into her delicious scent. She once again breaks my trance. Jesus, I need to get it together. I’ve just met this woman and I’m already captivated by her.
I take a step back, creating some distance between us. “I’ll see you tomorrow, if you need a ride, please call me. You have my number.”
“Thanks.” She turns and leaves, her cowboy boots clicking on the wooden floor.