— All right, I say, stepping back slightly. I’ll have Martha bring them in, then.
She nods, still focused on her work. I’m already at the door when she finally looks up.
— Alistair?
I stop. My heart picks up a little too fast.
— Yeah?
— Your tie is crooked.
I glance down and see that, sure enough, it’s shifted slightly to the left. I adjust it, a little awkwardly.
— Thanks.
— You’re welcome. The McKenzies can’t afford to look careless, can they? she adds with a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
— No. Appearances matter.
— They always do, she murmurs before turning back to her models.
I leave the room with the uncomfortable feeling we weren’t talking about ties at all.
The presentation goes exactlyas planned. The investors are impressed, the journalists scribble enthusiastic notes, and even my father looks moderately satisfied—which, for him, is the equivalent of wild enthusiasm.
Keira is, as always, brilliant. She explains her vision with clarity and passion, detailing how the renovation of the McKenzie boutique will honor its historical legacy while creating a modern experience for visitors. Her presentation is flawless.
And yet, something nags at me.
It’s only when she unveils the main model that I understand what’s been pulling at my attention from the start. Subtly woven into the walls, the counters, the displays—I recognize familiar patterns. Symbols I’ve seen recently, carved into that old barrel marked with Archibald and Elspeth’s initials.
But that’s not all. Those symbols are intertwined with others—ones I recognize as belonging to the McGregors. Together, they form a harmonious design. Almost imperceptible if you don’t know what to look for, but undeniably there.
Keira didn’t just design a modernized McKenzie boutique. She created a space that honors the shared history of our families. That celebrates the past we’ve only just begun to rediscover.
This isn’t just a professional project for her. It’s something sincere. Authentic. Deeply personal.
Our eyes meet briefly as she wraps up, and I wonder if she can read on my face that I understand what she’s done. Something in her gaze tells me she can.
Applause breaks out around us, snapping me back to reality. My father steps forward, shakes Keira’s hand with rare approval, then turns to me.
— Excellent work, Alistair. Miss McGregor is as talented as you said.
— Thank you, Father, I reply automatically.
— I do have a few suggestions, of course, he adds, turning back to Keira. Nothing major. Perhaps we could discuss them over dinner tonight?
— That would be an honor, Keira answers politely, though I catch the faint tension in her smile.
— Perfect. We’ll expect you at 7:30.
With that, he moves off to speak with one of the investors, leaving us alone in an uncomfortable silence.
— Sorry about that, I say at last. You don’t have to accept.
— He’s your father—and technically my future father-in-law. Refusing would be… strange, wouldn’t it?
— Probably. Still.
