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The easy confidence, the playful smile, the way she makes everyone feel like they’re in on some delicious secret. It’s exactly how she is behind the bar at the Pheasant. She’s got a gift, one I’ve never quite mastered myself. Sure, I can pull a decent pint, but Maisie? She makes people feel like they belong.
Every time I check the video, more folk have left comments, and I can’t stop a sour twist of jealousy from coiling in my stomach. SassyLassie used to be mine—our conversations, our adventures, our inside jokes. Now she belongs to the world, and Christ, they love her. How could they not? That fierce determination of hers blazes as bright as her new hair, and watching her take on this challenge, watching her fight back against the beer garden with such style . . . it’s sexy as hell. The same fire I saw in her when she played Highland Legacy burns even brighter now I’m seeing it in real life.
As I’m preparing another round of drinks in the snug, my phone buzzes with a notification: SassyLassie has posted another video. (Yes, I’ve followed her. Don’t judge me. How could I not?)
I have work to do, and I’ve already spent more than enough time thinking about her, but I hit play before I can stop myself. Maisie’s face appears on my screen, and just like that, I’m a goner. That smile of hers? Lethal.
“I’m absolutely blown away by the reaction to my last video!” she says. “I actually went for a wee nap after posting it—I was up late last night watching the new episode, after all. So when I woke up and checked my phone . . . well, let’s just say I had to pinch myself!”
She goes on to talk about her plans for future content, mentioning other Highland Legacy filming locations she’s thinking of visiting, but I’m caught on the way she tucks her red hair behind her ear, revealing that small Celtic knot tattoo.
“Oh,” she continues, “and one more thing: I’m actually a huge Highland Legacy gamer. Have been for ages. Would you guys like to see some gameplay footage? Or should I stick to tours around Scotland? Either way, let me know in the comments, and you can help shape what I post here. And, of course, don’t forget to follow me and stick along for the ride!”
As the golden hues of late afternoon melt into evening, I’m doing my rounds of the tables, ensuring everyone is happy (they are) when Lewis steps out into the beer garden with Emily in tow. He scans the crowd, spots me, and jerks his head towards the hotel. “A word, Jamie? Shouldn’t take long.”
I follow the two of them inside and into the office, where Lewis perches on the edge of a desk and Emily settles into a chair.
“Emily’s filled me in on Maisie’s video and this new cocktail menu at the Pheasant,” Lewis says. “I thought the three of us should have a quick chat. First off, let me say again, you’ve done an incredible job with the beer garden—completely surpassed our expectations. But what’s your take on this move from the Pheasant? Should we be concerned? Do we need to step up our social media presence?”
“I mean . . .” I lean against the wall, thinking—or rather, trying to think. The problem is, my brain is a lot more interested in a certain fiery redhead than business strategy right now.
“Are you all right?” Emily asks.
“Aye. Just . . . mulling things over,” I mumble. Like how, in those videos, Maisie looked like she was made for the spotlight. Or how different things might be if the beer garden weren’t standing between us.
I wonder how Lewis and Emily would react were I to suggest shutting it down. Not well, I bet.
When I remain quiet, Emily turns to Lewis. “You know, Jamie let slip earlier that he thinks Maisie is easy on the eye.”
“He did?” Lewis hoots with delight. “She’s the competition, Jamie. Falling for her might not be the smartest business move, eh?”
“I didn’t let slip anything,” I grumble. “I was just stating a fact. You can hardly expect me not to notice when someone looks . . . well . . . like that.”
“Like what, exactly?” Lewis teases. “Come on, Jamie. Enlighten us.”
I cross my arms. “Can we please just drop this?”
But Lewis doesn’t let it go—of course he doesn’t. His smirk widens like a shark scenting blood. “So, has anything happened between you two? A sneaky wee kiss, maybe? Or . . .” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “More than a kiss?”
“No,” I lie, too quickly.
“Well, why the red face then?” Lewis fires back. “Because that only happens when you’re embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed! I’m just . . . argh!” The frustration spills over before I can stop it. Unable to think of a convincing excuse, I opt for brotherly violence instead. I give him a hard shove, and he flails dramatically, almost sliding off the desk entirely.
“Oh-ho! That’s how we’re playing it, is it?” His grin turns feral. “Come on then, little brother.”
Before I can react, he lunges at me, hooking an arm around my shoulders in an attempt to wrestle me into a headlock. But I duck out of his hold and jab him in the ribs with my elbow. He yelps—dramatic as ever—and retaliates by grabbing my shirt and yanking me towards him.
“You’ve got it bad for her!” he crows gleefully between jabs at my sides that have me twisting uncomfortably to avoid them. “The joker’s finally fallen for someone. Admit it!”
“Oi! Very pregnant woman here!” Emily’s voice slices through our increasingly increasingly childish squabble. “If either of you clowns tumbles into me, Ally will be down here in five minutes flat to knock your heads together. You have been warned.”
That gets our attention. Lewis lets go of me, but then he says, “So . . . was it game over back when she had the blue, or did the flaming hair seal the deal?”
And with that I shove him again—but away from Emily, which I think makes it okay.
“That the best you’ve got, wee man?” he jeers, crouching like he’s about to charge me.
