Page 76 of Of Heather and Thistle
She fed Byrdie, then pieced together a quick meal from her limited groceries. Her thoughts wandered back to Flynn as she ate at the ragged kitchen table. How he’d worked so effortlessly, been both professional and charming, and made her feel more at ease in just a few hours than she’d felt in weeks. It wasn’t just his looks—though those certainly didn’t hurt. It was his warmth, his humor, and how he genuinely cared about her and the house. Her thoughts drifted again. What would Ivy think of him?
Heather snorted softly at the thought. Ivy would probably try to sweep him off his feet the moment she laid eyes onhim. But would Flynn be charmed by Ivy’s larger-than-life charisma? Or was he the kind of man who noticed quieter things? She shook her head, pushing the thought away. Flynn was here to work on the house, and she was here to figure out her life—not to get distracted by a man, no matter how much he smiled at her or teased her in a way that made her stomach flip. Still, as she cleaned up her plate and headed upstairs to her room, she couldn’t help but glance at her reflection in the mirror. She tucked a curl behind her ear, then caught herself. What was she even doing?
It wasn’t like Flynn was looking at her that way. Not really. Sure, he was charming. Sure, he teased her like it was his full time job. But that didn’t mean anything.
Did it?
She leaned closer to the mirror, studying herself: the freckles she never quite liked, the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the way her curls never seemed to behave.
The thought slipped in uninvited, and Heather hated it instantly.
Ivy wouldn’t stand here second-guessing whether a man found her interesting. She’d just know.
Heather shook her head to clear the thought. She wasn’t here to be noticed. She was here to rebuild something—her life, her future, her family’s home.
And if Flynn noticed her along the way? Well, that was his problem, not hers.
Chapter 20
That night, Heather sank into bed with an unusual sense of calm.
Despite the occasional creak of the old house settling and the groan of wind against the windows, she felt… safe. Maybe it was the progress she’d made sorting through her family’s things. Or maybe it was knowing she wasn’t tackling this massive project alone.
Either way, she drifted off more quickly than she had in days, with Byrdie curled contentedly at her feet.
Heather woke to sunlight streaming through the thin curtains. She sat up, blinking at the sky—a bright, cloudless blue.
Dew glistened on the grass and Glenoran looked vibrant. Alive.
It was, as Flynn might say, a braw day.
She stretched, feeling surprisingly refreshed, then dressed, tied her hair back, and headed downstairs. The house felt lighter, as if it, too, had woken up with a new sense ofpurpose.
After feeding Byrdie and grabbing a quick breakfast, she stepped outside, savoring the crisp air and the sun’s warmth.
Flynn’s truck rumbled up just as she finished her coffee. Grinning, he hopped out and shielded his eyes from the light.
“Morning, sunshine,” he called. “Not a cloud in sight. Perfect day to get started on that roof.”
Heather laughed, walking toward him. “I was just thinking the same thing. Did you order this weather, or is Scotland finally playing nice?”
“Pulled a few strings,” Flynn teased, leaning casually against the truck. “Had to make sure you didn’t get scared off by another torrential downpour.”
As he spoke, two more vehicles pulled in behind him, and a small crew piled out, greeting them warmly. Flynn wasted no time getting them organized. “We’ll start by stripping off the damaged slates and checking the structure,” he explained. “If it’s solid—great. If not, we’ll reinforce it before laying down the new materials. It’ll be a long day, but with this weather, we’ll make good progress.”
Heather nodded, taking it all in. “Sounds like you’ve got it under control.”
Flynn smirked. “I like to think so. But don’t think you’re getting off easy. There’s still plenty for you to do inside.”
“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “My glamorous job of sorting through decades of dusty treasures and junk.”
Flynn chuckled. “Hey, you might uncover something good. A priceless artifact, maybe. Or at least something that doesn’t smell like mildew.”
“Fingers crossed,” she replied, but she couldn’t help smiling. As the crew got to work, Heather returned inside, diving backinto the mountain of furniture, books, and trinkets. Some things felt worth saving. Others… not so much.
She started with a stack of old books—some with her mother’s name scrawled inside— the classic loops a familiar balm to her frayed nerves.
She kept going, sorting through old portraits and forgotten knickknacks, though her attention often strayed to the window.
