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“In cities, pubs have to innovate all the time because of competition. We don’t have as much of that here in Bannock, but that’s changing now, thanks to Jamie.”

“Fine.” His tone says it isn’t fine at all. “What exactly are you proposing, then?”

“I thought about promotional nights.” I flip through my notes. “Reduced prices on certain drinks to get people through the door. Or—and this one is my favourite—we expand our cocktail menu.”

Da squints at me like I’ve suggested we start serving sushi instead of steak pies. “Cocktails? We already do a decent gin and tonic if someone asks. What more do they need?”

“Think mojitos, cosmopolitans—drinks people are used to seeing in city bars.”

“And you think folk round here want that stuff? A pint of lager or a dram of whisky is what they’re after. Maybe a glass of wine. Not some fancy concoction with umbrellas sticking out the top.”

“First off, you don’t put umbrellas in mojitos or cosmopolitans. Second, it’s not just about giving people what they already drink, it’s about tempting them to try something new—and to pay a premium price for the experience. We could brand our cocktails as the perfect treat for a summer’s day. That might just attract people here rather than to Jamie’s beer garden.”

He looks distinctly unimpressed.

“We could use local spirits and ingredients,” I add. “That could be a real selling point! Our cocktails could offer a uniquely Bannock experience.”

He scratches his chin thoughtfully but doesn’t look entirely convinced yet. “Sounds like a lot of faff to me. Measuring fancy ingredients, shaking things around—aye, no thanks.”

“How about I take full responsibility for the cocktails, then? You wouldn’t have to lift a finger—you could just leave it to me.”

There’s a long pause while Da studies me, considering this offer. Finally he exhales and shrugs in reluctant surrender. “Fine, if you’re that determined, try it out. But don’t expect me to go mixing anything myself!”

“Agreed!” I say quickly before he can change his mind. “And we could even create a signature cocktail for the Pheasant—something unique that visitors will remember us by.” I tap my pen against my notebook, thinking aloud. “Maybe something bright green? We could use Midori and whisky, then top it with a cucumber slice shaped like the Loch Ness Monster. Tourists might⁠—”

“No! I’m drawing the line there. That’s way too gimmicky.”

“Okay, maybe it is a bit,” I concede with a grin. “But there’s got to be something we can come up with. Something that captures the spirit of Scotland and the Highlands without veering into tacky territory. Hmm . . . leave it with me.”

“I intend to do just that.” He pushes himself up from the table. “Look, you clearly want to try new things, and that’s fine by me, but I’ll be leaving the work to you. Me? I’ve been doing things the same way for decades and I’m not about to change now.”

“Wait a second! I hadn’t even got onto the subject of social media yet. I was wanting to talk about our online presence because I’m sure there’s loads more we could be doing. What do you think about⁠—”

Da cuts me off with a laugh. “Maisie, social media? You’re asking me? Lass, I can barely figure out how to turn on my phone most days. You’re the brains when it comes to that stuff. For the longest time we were the main boozer in town, so we never had to bother much with any of that faff. But if you reckon it’ll help us keep up with Jamie, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to get involved.”

I smile and nod. “Aye. Thanks, Da. I’ll take care of it.”

Unfortunately, after Da leaves, my thoughts stray straight back to Jamie. Jamie, who gets panic attacks when it rains heavily.

The whole point of the meeting with Da was to keep my brain occupied—anything to stop thinking about him—but now I’m alone, it’s like trying to hold back a flood with a tea towel.

When he told me to get out of his car that night, it wasn’t because of anything I’d said or done. It was solely about the rain. I should really have pieced it together sooner. Everyone in Bannock remembers the crash. Mairi and Angus McIntyre weren’t just Jamie’s parents, they were part of the fabric of our community. Their sudden deaths shook us all. But I’d no idea that Jamie—the perpetual joker—carried a mental scar that could be triggered by something as simple as a change in the weather.

I shake my head sharply, willing these thoughts away. I can’t let myself get sidetracked.

Even if knowing about that vulnerability does endear him to me more than I’d like. Even if yesterday’s sex was . . .

Christ. No. Not going there.

I refuse—outright refuse—to think about the rough warmth of his hands as he gripped my waist. Or the woodsy, masculine scent of him that seems to have taken permanent residence in my senses. Or the way he’d filled me perfectly, stretching me open as his hips drove into mine like he was staking some primal claim. Or that low, needy groan he made just before he let go inside me. Or how his face tightened as he came—jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t bear how good it felt . . .

Ugh! Seriously? Now? Thanks, brain. He’s supposed to be my competition—not my weakness.

In an attempt to distract myself, I grab my phone and check the Pheasant’s social media accounts. Our online presence is pretty lacklustre—a handful of half-hearted posts about quiz nights, the most recent one from a few weeks ago when I ran the Bannock-themed pub quiz. Da’s right: up until now social media has never exactly been a priority for us. But it’s time to change that.

I’ll admit, my expertise with technology leans more towards conquering virtual dungeons than crafting a killer marketing strategy, but . . . maybe some of the skills are transferable?

While I put together tonight’s pub quiz on my laptop, I play videos on my phone about growing a social media presence (multitasking for the win). Even after we open for business and regulars start trickling in—more, thankfully, than on the beer garden’s opening day—my mind keeps wandering back to what I’ve learned. It’s not about shoving promotions down people’s throats. “Sell, sell, sell!” doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s about creating content people actually want to engage with.