Page 16 of Finlay

It had taken years for my eyes to open. For me to see the truth of what was right in front of me. If it hadn’t been for Uncle Cal dying and offering me a way out, I wasn’t sure I would ever have seen it.

Or at least, ever escaped.

That was why I shouldn’t have been thinking of Finn the way I was. On the surface, he was a lovely man. Agentleman. But I couldn’t forget the casual criticism he’d thrown at me. The insinuation that I didn’t know how to run my business. It was a little thing, and yes, he’d apologised, as had I. My reaction was rude considering Finn was a customer.

It was just that it hadn’t been Finn I’d heard in that moment, but Matt.

Do you really think you have what it takes?

Millions of businesses fail in the first six months. What makes you think you’ll be any different?

Opening your own place is a childish dream. Grow up, Chester, and let it go.

Maybe Finn truly hadn’t meant it to come out the way it did, but he’d still said it. That was enough to have me running for cover. I’d ignored the signs before and paid with my happiness, safety, and security. Never again.

Finn might be the most handsome man I’d ever met, but it meant nothing. In a few days, I’d give him his arrangements and he’d be out of my life.

Exactly where I needed him to be.

Now if my brain could stop obsessing about the thick veins in his hands, I’d be golden. And the less said about the man’s rugged jawline, the better.

The shop had closed two hours ago, but I was still working. More specifically, I was wandering the woodland around my house, searching for wildflowers.

It being September limited my choices, but there was still an abundance if you knew where to look. Grass of Parnassus, Scottish bluebells and, of course, thistles—all of which looked beautiful when pressed and dried.

It was a lengthy process when you used traditional methods, taking two to three weeks to achieve. Fortunately,I’d managed to locate a heated flower press to ensure I got it done in time.

Okay, so I’d spent hours online the night Finn came into the shop and paid an extortionate amount for next day delivery, but it was fine. It didn’t matter that it had cost more than Finn was spending on the arrangement. It was an investment. A tool I could use for future work.

Sure. Because pressed flowers are requested so often.

I ignored that thought. So what if I wanted it to be perfect for Finn? It didn’t matter what red flags the bloke might have. At the end of the day, he’d gone through an unimaginable loss. If dried flowers could ease his pain by even a millimetre, then I’d do whatever it took. I would have done it for anyone.

Way to run a business.

That thought sounded far too like Matt for my liking. I needed to focus on the task at hand: finding the perfect flowers.

The small basket on my arm was already full of a mixture of specimens, but there was one more I wanted to find—Scottish primrose. A beautiful purple flower, they’d look wonderful mixed in with what I had planned.They bloomed briefly, but brightly, just as Sarah and Maria had. It felt fitting to include them.

They only flowered twice a year; once in spring, and once in late summer. September was technically pushing it a bit for ‘summer,’ especially in Scotland, but it had been unseasonably warm this year. I was certain that, if I looked long enough, I’d find some.

The light was fading, and I was just about to call it quits when a cluster of blue-violet caught my eye.Yes.

I hummed to myself in delight as I dropped to my knees. “Oh, these are perfect!”

Using my small pair ofsecateurs, I carefully trimmed four of the flowers from the stems. I only took what I needed, leaving the rest to turn to seed so they could return next year.

I was just dusting off my knees when a twig broke a few feet from me. I froze.It’s probably just an animal.

Another twig. The rustling of leaves. If it was an animal, it was a big one.

And it was heading in my direction.

My heart began to race as I struggled to remember what wild animals there were in this part of Scotland. Nothing capable of eating humans, right? I didn’t think so. But there were definitely Highland cows. They might look cute and fluffy, but not so much if they were charging you down in a stampede.

I took a step backwards, preparing to run, when a very human voice came from the direction of the noise. “Chester?”

My jaw dropped. “Finn?”

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