Page 36 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

I’d made sure each cottage also contained a price list for Katie’s ceramics and my artwork, should guests wish to purchase any of the items on display.

All six cottages shared a spectacular view of rainbow-coloured boats and a stretch of honey sand. The finishing touches were the ceramic nameplates Katie had made for each cottage, which I had painted in glossy, bright colours, with an image of the bird drawn in the bottom left corner.

‘Hey, you. Sorry I’m a bit late.’

Katie was dressed in a flowing red maxi skirt, which she’d matched with a simple short-sleeved black silk top. Her brown curls were pulled away from her creamy complexion by a vermilion headband. She reddened. ‘Me and your brother have decided to try for a baby.’

‘Oh, wow! I mean, a little too much info, but I’d love to be an auntie.’

She blushed deeper.

‘Is that why you’re late? No, on second thoughts, don’t answer that.’

She laughed and didn’t deny it.

‘Anyway, you look lovely.’ I grinned, giving an appreciative nod to her snazzy ankle boots.

‘Like a potter who means business?’

‘Exactly that.’

Katie marvelled at the cottages and promised she’d take the hundreds of photographs so that we could upload them and send them to Mum and Dad.

Even the office had benefited from a fresh coat of vanilla paint. I’d dotted some plants around and bought plain lime-green cushions for the black chairs. I’d also mentioned to Katie about using the ledge space in the window for a random selection of some of our art. It was now occupied by a couple of my A5-sized textile pictures of the beach and the castle, and a fruit bowl and sugar bowl that Katie had created, in contrasting shades of buttercup and royal blue.

A journalist from the local paper was expected later on this morning to cover our opening and give us a bit of free publicity, so we hovered around, drinking in all our efforts. Then we realised that time was racing past, so we fetched the trestle table we’d borrowed from one of my mum’s charity contacts and laid it with a yellow-and-blue gingham tablecloth to match the White Willow Cottages banner.

We began snatching up copies of the colour brochure, as well as lots of cups and saucers that we’d set aside in the store cupboard.

‘Looking good, sis!’

I glanced up from the table to see the tall, solid figure of my big brother striding towards us. Caleb had cast off his usual garb of scruffy combats and rock T-shirts, in favour of a light-grey shirt, dark trousers and a dark silk tie. He even appeared to have had a haircut, although it was often difficult to tell, seeing as he always wore his red locks clipped close to his head.

‘Sorry, what have you done with my brother?’ I asked, straight-faced.

He pretended to laugh. ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, don’t you know?’

I peeked past him, trying not to make it obvious that I was checking to see who else might be arriving. Who was I kidding? My subconscious was looking out for Mason. Then I grew frustrated with myself for acting like a sixteen-year-old with a massive crush.

I busied myself with something to do. ‘You can give us a hand by putting out the flyers about the competition to win a weekend stay.’

Caleb grinned at me. ‘You’ve done so well, Poppy. I’ve got to be honest; I did doubt whether you could pull it off.’

‘Oh. Thanks.’

‘But you’ve exceeded all expectations.’

‘I’ll say she has,’ travelled an Australian accent from across the sunlit courtyard.

My heart flipped.

Mason was standing with his hands in his trouser pockets. He took a few more steps towards me. ‘You look lovely, Poppy.’

I cleared my throat. ‘Thank you.’

I drank in his white collared shirt, slate-grey waistcoat and dark trousers. He made me think of a hero in one of those steampunk novels. ‘You look very dashing.’

A mischievous sparkle reared up in his moonstone gaze. ‘Don’t you mean boring?’