Page 21 of A Scottish Country Escape

‘Your grandmother believed me.’

That was a low blow.

My attention moved from his voice to the sound of my gran’s digital radio humming away from her annexe.

I had to find out what was going on and, while I was certain Dexter Grayling’s author’s imagination was overruling his common sense, that couldn’t explain my grandmother’s odd and surprising behaviour.

‘Paper Roses opens next Friday,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking… it might be a good idea for you to come along to the shop opening. It would be a good opportunity to meet some of the locals.’

Dexter was indignant. ‘Next Friday? That’s a week away. I can’t wait till then! Ms Cassidy, I don’t think you fully appreciate my situation.’

I sat bolt upright on my bed, rattled by his attitude. ‘Shouting at me won’t resolve anything!’

Good grief! If he wanted to make an effort to fit in here, he was going about it the wrong way!

I rolled my eyes at his unenthusiastic grunt down the line.

‘I suggest you walk to the shop on Friday morning,’ I said calmly after a beat. ‘I wouldn’t try to take out any more of the locals, if I were you.’

I could hear him grinding his teeth. ‘Very funny. When’s your Netflix comedy special coming out?’

I stuck my tongue out at my phone. ‘Well?’

‘OK. OK. I’ll be there. It seems I don’t have much choice.’

Chapter Thirteen

It was the day of our official opening and Paper Roses reminded me of a decadent candy-pink and white cupcake.

Both its exterior and interior sparkled, with its newly erected sign and stripy pink-and-white canopy.

Gran, Cate and I had constructed the inaugural window display out of lilac and ballet-slipper-pink notebooks. I’d placed them on top of sheets of tissue paper in the same shades and sprinkled rose petals over and around them.

Arranged beside them were an assortment of rose-gold and silver pens and pencils I’d chosen to stock.

The interior of the shop was now bursting with everything from glittery greetings cards to handmade bookmarks depicting wildlife, as designed by the local artist my gran had suggested.

On the shelves I’d dotted some fancy photo frames, as well as unusual paperweights I’d spotted on the internet, which were made by a glass-blowing artist on the coast. They ranged from extravagant snow globe designs to ones that contained sea creatures and miniature shells.

I’d decided to offer complimentary pink champagne and cupcakes decorated with edible roses to all the locals who came along to the opening.

The cakes had been supplied by our local bakery and rested on cerise platters beside the elegant flutes of popping champagne all neatly arranged on trestle tables just inside the shop.

I’d secreted my iPod underneath the counter and chosen a selection of recognisable classical pieces, such as Vivaldi and Mozart, to play in the background.

I took a breath as I hovered in the doorway, my nerves and excitement tumbling around me.

As if reading my merry-go-round of thoughts, my grandmother edged up to me and gave me a warm hug. ‘Dana and Gareth would be so proud of you, darling.’

‘You think?’

‘I know.’

I smoothed the sides of my hair, which I had piled up on top of my head. I adjusted the collar of my oyster-coloured pussycat-bow blouse. I’d teamed it with my favourite pair of black fitted trousers and, hoping to be swamped with customers, I had slipped on my jewelled ballet pumps, which were very comfy. No heels today!

Grandma looked resplendent in an ankle-length wine-coloured dress with a long matching cardigan. Her hair swung about her jawline in its trademark shimmery bob.

‘Are you ready?’ she asked.