Page 25 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

I scrambled around in my bag under the counter for my purse.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Mum. “You need to take care of your cash for this place.”

Dad laughed. “Sophie is hardly scraping by, love. After that auction guy did so well selling those tea sets of Helena’s, she has a good bit of money to fall back on now.”

Mum was still struggling to get her head round how valuable those sets of crockery had been. Over the last couple of weeks, I’d suggested the two of them book themselves on a luxury cruise and use the money I gave them from the sales proceeds, but my mum had been so used to budgeting and being careful with their finances over the years, I guessed it was a hard mindset for her to escape from.

I brushed away Mum’s protests. “You and Dad are doing me a big favour helping me like this. I’m buying lunch. End of.”

Once Mum requested a brie, grape and salad sandwich and Dad put in his order for his favourite – a bacon, lettuce and tomato – I snatched my sunglasses in hopeful anticipation.

I’d already decided to also treat the three of us to one of the baker’s infamous Briar Glen Danish Pastries with a blueberry topping. We could enjoy one of those each with our afternoon cuppa. Mum had brought with her a few flasks of tea and some fruit to keep us going.

I was all messy ponytail, an old baggy T-shirt and denims, but felt like I was accomplishing something again.

What I’d experienced with Castle Marrian still stung, but I found I was now able to push the feelings of resentment and anger more and more to one side. And I still didn’t regret leaving. I knew that – despite my initial fear that I’d jumped in head-first and done the wrong thing – with each day that passed, I was becoming more certain that I had made the right decision.

I stepped out of the shop and inhaled, dispelling the smell of fairy liquid and polish.

“Excuse me?”

There was an apprehensive-looking woman loitering outside.

There was something about her slight smile and conker-brown, shoulder-skimming hair that was vaguely familiar. She pushed both her hands into her cardigan pockets. “I’m so sorry to bother you. You’re Sophie Harkness, right? The new owner?”

As if to emphasise the point, she raised a finger and pointed over my shoulder at the shop.

“Yes, that’s right. Sorry, do I know you from somewhere?”

A rosy tinge spread across her freckled cheeks. “You might not remember me. I’m Cass Dunlop. I worked for Daphne Cotter when this was A Bloom with a View.”

My memory fixed on pictures of her in the florist’s workroom, deftly arranging a bouquet and sliding me a brief smile when I came to speak to Mrs Cotter. “Oh yes. Sorry. Hi! How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” she managed, focusing her dark eyes on the pavement for a few seconds. “I’m actually looking for another job now that A Bloom with a View has closed down. I used to help out Daphne when she was busy and needing an extra pair of hands.”

She gulped a mouthful of air and fiddled with the strap of her shoulder bag. “I hope you don’t think I’m being forward, but I wondered if you were looking for any staff?” Her almond-shaped eyes were eager, searching my face.

“I will be,” I replied. “It will be for a couple of part-time posts to begin with, just until I see how things go.”

Her tight shoulders relaxed under the crocheted cardigan. “I am a trained florist, as you might have worked out, but there isn’t much call at the moment round here for my skills.” She scooped a hunk of loose, shiny straight hair back behind one ear. “I’m hard-working and trustworthy, Ms Harkness, and Mrs Cotter said she would be more than happy to supply a reference.”

Warming to her theme, she continued, “I’ve got a little boy called Hudson. He’s five and starts school in August.”

As shoppers weaved around us, Cass carried on with her informal job interview. “We live locally in one of the houses up by St Jacob’s Church.”

I began to speak, but enthusiastic Cass was on a roll. “A local, part-time job like this would be ideal for me, especially with Hudson.” She explained about her husband Jamie having his own building business. “He works such ridiculous hours and is away a lot, so…” Her voice dried up as she continued to stare at me out of desperate, dark eyes. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I’m so sorry. I always do that when I’m nervous.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her with a smile. She seemed so eager and there was something gentle yet capable about her demeanour. Having a trained florist working in the shop could be very handy too. My ideas accelerated, with visions of crockery displays in the window accompanied by seasonal flowers. “I’m not yet at the stage where I’m ready to open, as you can see.” I gestured behind me to the open shop door. Mum could be seen wiping down its glass panels from the inside and Dad was tightening up one of the shelf screws.

“I reckon I should be in a position to open in about four to six weeks at the latest, though.”

Cass was nodding fiercely at everything I was saying.

“Tell you what, why don’t you ping over your CV and reference from Mrs Cotter?”

I darted back into the shop and located one of my old Castle Marrian business cards lurking at the bottom of my bag. I took a pen and underlined my private email address and mobile number on it, before scoring through my old contact details at the hotel and where it said “Wedding Planner” under my name.

I stepped back outside and handed it to her. “Here. Email me at that address and feel free to ring me if you have any questions.”