Chapter 21
LENA
“Can you pull that side a little higher?” I called, watching Aiden tug on the end of the banner that ran across the high street. It fluttered in the light breeze, the words brAEBURN ANNUAL SUMMER FESTIVAL on display.
“Banner looks good,” Weston said, coming to stand beside me.
He wore dark designer jeans today, well-fitted but casual, and a deep burgundy polo shirt that not only showed off his forearms but his impressive biceps as well.
The outfit was completed by his Tom Ford sunglasses, and I had to admit that looking at him had me a little hot under the collar.
I was still getting used to Weston without his suits. And every new version of casual Weston I unlocked set off a full-body shudder. “I had Agnes’s knitting circle give it a facelift,” I said before the flush in my cheeks could spread any further. “Same history, fewer holes.”
“You really have thought of everything.” He turned to me, pulling off his sunglasses, hitting me with a soft, unguarded smile. The kind that was usually reserved for when we were alone together, in bed.
“Not everything,” I said, clicking my tongue and consulting my clipboard. “I know there’s something I’ve forgotten. I can feel it.”
His hands fell to my shoulders, squeezing gently, grounding me before my thoughts could race off in ten different directions. “Just relax.”
“I’ll relax when all the setup is finished and people have arrived and it’s clear everyone’s having a good time—”
“Lena,” he growled in that way that always sent a shiver up my spine.
I narrowed my eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing to me, and part of me wanted to resent him weaponizing my weak spots against me—but I also knew he was doing it for my own good.
I released a heavy sigh. “I know, I know. I just want everything to be perfect. As perfect as it would have been if Pete were still at the helm. I want—”
“To do him proud,” Weston said immediately.
I nodded. When I’d originally agreed to help with the festival, it had been to help Weston smooth over his PR crisis.
But now, well…Things were different. Now I genuinely cared about the people in this town.
Not to mention Weston himself. I cared so very much for him—and I knew how important it was to him to get this right.
And that meant the last thing I wanted to do was let Braeburn down.
The committee had worked hard to pull everything together over the past several weeks, and I wanted today to be everything they’d imagined.
“I already know Grandad would be proud,” Weston said, tilting his head to regard all the volunteers still scurrying across the high street.
“Regardless of how the festival turns out, he’d be proud that we’re here, supporting the town he cared about.
I think he’d be grateful for that.” His gaze traveled back to mine.
“Plus, everything is running like clockwork thanks to you. Setup is almost finished. The vendors are arriving. Even the weather is gorgeous.”
And it was! Not that I could take any credit for it, but we’d gotten the perfect mix of sunshine and puffy white clouds rolling over the hills.
Maybe this day really would turn out perfect after all.
Or maybe it would be an unmitigated disaster.
Who could say? Until I knew for sure, my stomach was going to stay uncomfortably fluttery.
I’d always internalized stress right into my stomach, and right now, a whole swarm of butterflies were having a cage match in there, which was annoying, as it hadn’t done this in a while.
Well, not since I vented to Tess in the middle of Let It Dough and set this whole maelstrom off.
“Say haggis, you two!”
I twisted to see Isla standing on the sidewalk, camera held to her face as she snapped a photo of us. Weston tucked his arm around my shoulders. “She’s been following me everywhere,” he murmured.
I chuckled at the perplexed expression on his face. “I told her to get some good shots of you. Cynthia will want them for a PR push, and I knew I was going to be too busy to capture them. Consider her your own personal paparazzo.”
Weston’s eyes narrowed playfully. “She’s rather too good at this whole paparazzo thing. What did she do before she moved back to Scotland?”
I smirked. “Bookkeeping, actually. Photography’s just a hobby—even though she’s fantastic at it. We should consider hiring her every time you need a paparazzo in your corner that knows how to capture your best side.”
His jaw dropped in mock indignation. “What are you saying, woman? That I have a bad side?”
I reached up, catching his jaw in my hand, tilting it from left to right, humming as I playfully inspected him. “I mean—”
“Fibber,” he said, pulling his face free and nipping at my fingers. “Now you’re just talking pish.”
I laughed as he swept me close, our bodies slotting together like they were made to fit, and lowered his head for a kiss.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
I pulled back from Weston’s lips, tilting my head back to see Isla in position, catching the candid moment. She lowered her camera, reviewing the photos. “God, you guys are so cute.” She gave us a little salute. “I’m gonna go see if I can catch some of the caber toss setup. See you later.”
She slipped away into the crowd of committee members and townsfolk carrying food dishes and giftwares to the various stalls. I had to admit I was still in awe over how well this came together—and how fast.
“She’s right,” Weston said, drawing my attention again. “You are cute.”
“Cute?”
“Gorgeous,” he amended. “Sexy. An alluring siren calling my name.” He leaned in to kiss me again, but I laughed and dodged his lips, checking my watch.
“I’ve gotta run and make sure the beer tent has enough ice.”
“I’m sure someone else has thought of that,” he said, tightening his hold on me in a way that made my chest clench. I wanted to toss my clipboard aside, wind my arms around his neck, and let him kiss me into oblivion. But I knew nothing would get done that way.
I was still his assistant. Still efficient and exceptionally good at my job.
“I think Tam and Mrs. Crawford are all over that by now,” he continued.
I patted his chest. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”
He smirked, releasing me. “Don’t forget you’re judging the cheese scone competition first,” I reminded him as I backed away.
“Aye,” he said. “Though I’d rather be judging all the ways I can get you to moan my name.”
“Weston!” I hissed.
He shot me a cocky, shit-eating grin before Locke and Alistair appeared from the crowd, calling his name.
“Okay, the turnout is amazing,” Isla said, holding a half-eaten Scotch egg in one hand and her camera in the other. “I mean, I’ve only been to a couple of these things so far, but the town is packed.”
I clutched my clipboard to my chest as I watched the crowds pass on the sidewalks, letting out a relieved breath even as the fluttery nerves snowballed around my stomach. Why hadn’t it calmed down yet? “You think so?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “You did an amazing job with outreach to the nearby communities.”
“Well, I think your social media blitz really helped,” I said, pressing my hand to my gut. “And all the amazing pictures you take. I mean, who doesn’t want to come down here and try one of Liam McGregor’s steak pies when they look good enough to eat off the screen?”
She flushed. “I’d say most of the credit for that goes to Liam, not me. But look at these.” She stuffed the rest of the Scotch egg in her mouth, bringing up a series of photos on her camera.
I looked over her shoulder. Weston, mid-laugh. Weston, his arm around Jo’s shoulder as they supervised the caber toss. Weston and Tam with a pint. Weston staring down at me, his hands cradling my jaw.
“The man is ridiculously photogenic.” She scanned through a few more photos, and I had two thoughts. One, Cynthia was going to eat those up. And two, Weston belonged on the cover of GQ. “You both are.” She flipped to some photos of the two of us. “Like a photographer’s dream clients.”
“We clean up okay,” I admitted with a soft smile.
Her lips twisted as she looked at me. “How’s Weston doing, by the way? I figured today might be difficult. I know there’s a lot going on to keep him occupied, but it’s also a day where everything seems to be tied to Pete.”
“He’s holding it together,” I said. There’d been a moment first thing this morning, before we’d left Lochbrae, where he’d realized he’d never been to the festival without his Grandad before, and that had made him stop cold in the middle of the driveway.
“I think he’s more proud than anything right now.
But I’m sure it’s also tough. He’s not really big on sharing when he’s struggling with something. ”
“Men,” Isla said, playfully rolling her eyes.
“Men,” I agreed. My watch buzzed, and I glanced down at it. “Oh, crap!”
“What?”
“I forgot about judging the haggis competition.” I tucked my clipboard under my arm. “I better get over there.”
Isla strung her camera around her neck. “I should come too. Something tells me this’ll make for a great photo.”
“How long have you been into the photography thing?” I asked as we made our way down the high street toward the judging tent.
“Oh, years,” she said. “I love being outdoors, and the views are often just too good to pass up. Mom and I were in Washington State, and I can barely remember a weekend where we didn’t go hiking when I was growing up. The landscape is different here, but it’s just as beautiful.”
“If you didn’t already have the inn to run, I’d say you should set up a photo studio.”
Isla laughed. “Maybe when I retire and I’m too arthritic to hike, I’ll convert one of the rooms in the Deerhound into a portrait studio.”
“Or a little gallery,” I said. “You could show off the best of Braeburn.”
“That’s the dream.”