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“Am I? It’s not like he’s asking the lass to marry him.”
“Like I’d ask her to marry me with this clarty bastard around,” Munroe said, not taking his eyes off me.
Laughter bubbled up, alongside a delicious sliver of happiness. I didn’t need, or want marriage, at least not any time soon. Being with Munroe and exploring who we were together, here in this place, was more than enough for me.
“Aye,” I said, trying out my Scots. “I’d be honored to be your girlfriend, Munroe.”
Relief swept across Munroe’s face, and I realized just how nervous he’d been for my response. I suppose I had been keeping my walls up with him. Leaning down, Munroe brushed the sweetest of kisses across my lips.
“Did ye hear that then, Graham? Keep your grubby mitts off my woman,” Munroe growled. I should have protested, but something about his protective instincts really turned me on.
“You’re choosing the wrong man,” Graham sighed, dramatically, and he pulled my hand to his lips while Munroe snarled at him. “If you change your mind though…”
“Cheeky bastard.” I laughed and pulled my hand back, making a big show of wiping it off with a napkin.
“I am at that,” Graham grinned. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Charm?Youcall that charm. I’d call it annoying,” Agnes argued.
I laughed and leaned into Munroe, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head against his chest. My man. My new life.
Things were going to be just fine.
I just needed to get through the soft opening of the restaurant, and everything would be smooth sailing.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Lia
“Do you think he’ll talk to me?” Agnes asked a few days later as I unpacked the last of my deliveries for the soft opening later that night.
“I have no idea. I haven’t actually seen him since the first night. But he’s around. I think he’s just shy,” I said, my mind on other things. Nerves hummed through me, like a plucked guitar string, and anticipation fueled my focus. Tonight was the soft opening of the MacAlpine Castle Restaurant and, with the number of people attending, it might as well be opening night. I’d labored over the menu but was pleased with my final choices.
“Brice,” Agnes called, wandering into the banquet hall, and I left her to it. Brice would show himself or he wouldn’t, but thus far, he’d proved to be an invaluable helper, often anticipating my needs ahead of time, and was an absolute whiz at organization. He’d started leaving me certain ingredients, and I’d come to realize that the little man had a sweet tooth. Each night, before I left, I’d talk to him while I cleaned up, telling him about what I was planning to cook or how excited I was for the restaurant. He never answered, not really, but I knew he was there. In an odd way, it had become comforting instead of nerve-wracking to have him near, and aside from the batter-throwing incident, I hadn’t seen any of this mischievous side that Agnes had warned me about. I dearly hoped it would stay that way. I’d explained, several times, how important tonight was and that there would be a lot of people coming into the restaurant, so Brice would have to get used to sharing his space. There wasn’t much else to be done about that, as nothing in culinary school had trained me for appeasing a kitchen goblin.
“Knock, knock.” Shona, who ran a local garden center and was a flower enthusiast, popped her head in the door. She was young, younger than me at least, with pink cheeks, wispy blond hair, and brilliant blue eyes. A nice woman, with a shy smile always hovering at her lips, I’d taken to her immediately. “I have your flowers.”
“Ah, perfect. Agnes is here to help you set them out if you don’t mind. I’ve got too much to prep at the moment. I want to make sure everything goes perfectly tonight. Oh, were you able to get the fresh herbs I had ordered? I wish we could get a garden going here. It would be nice to grow our own produce.” Shona had told me that she didn’t just grow flowers, in fact they were just a side hobby of hers, and she’d dreamt of one day opening her own farm-to-table market stall. For now, she delivered her produce each week to various vendors around the area, and I made a mental note to see about using her services for the restaurant here as we grew. Tourism, and the lack thereof, was something that Sophie was working hard on changing with her new marketing campaign, and I suspected that once the threat of the Kelpies was subdued, we’d be doing a bustling business. In the meantime, gardens took a while to plan and grow, so I’d bring the project to Shona at another time.
“Let me know. I definitely have some ideas of what you could do. Depending on your menu, of course.” Shona leaned one hip on my prep table. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Of course, though the menus are already printed for tonight, so I can’t change anything.” Together, we bent over the list of dishes that I’d settled on. While it wouldn’t be our full menu, because I was still in the process of hiring staff, I’d decided to showcase the idea of what I planned to do with the menu moving forward.
“Right, so you’ve nailed the traditional dishes,” Shona murmured, and her face brightened. “Oh, cool! I see what you’re doing. It’s like if Scottish food had an identity crisis.”
I laughed, amused at her take on it.
“Scottish fusion, essentially.”
I’d taken four of the classics—haggis with neeps & tatties, Cullen Skink, Scotch pie, and venison, which I would prepare in the usual way, and added my own twist for the variations. For the haggis dish, I’d created haggis samosas, using the savory meat, along with peas and potatoes, as filling in crispy dough wrappers. I changed the flavor profile by adding coriander, garlic, chilies, and cumin. The dipping sauce was a teriyaki aioli, and I was particularly pleased with how the flavors played well together.
For the venison, I’d decided to go with a Mexican-inspired flair and pulled from my love of street tacos. There, I offered both vegetarian and venison versions of three flour tacos, with black beans or shredded meat, with chipotle, cinnamon, ancho chili powder, agave, and a squeeze of lime. I’d whipped up a refreshing pico de gallo as a topping and was delighted with the final results.
Cullen Skink is a type of chunky smoked fish soup, similar to what we in Boston would call a chowder. As an homage to my roots, I altered the dish slightly to make my famous New England Clam Chowder but replaced the clams with fish. The secret to my delicious chowder? I smoked the thick-cut bacon and used decadent heavy cream in the broth. Because I liked a kick, I always added a hint of red pepper flakes to the soup, and my diners had loved it. Luckily enough, the fish worked just the same as the clams, and I hadn’t had to make any adjustments to my favorite recipe.
And finally—my personal piece de resistance—the Scotch pie. Honestly, there were so many variations that I could take with the pie, that I’d tried out several recipes before landing on the version I’d picked for this evening. Hilda and Archie had argued hotly over which dish should win, and eventually I’d deferred to Hilda’s top choice.
A traditional Scotch pie is usually made with minced lamb, onion, mace, and a few other spices to add flavor. Often served with mashed potatoes or beans on top, it was an easy grab-and-go type meal for most people. A pie was a pie, as far as I was concerned, so it really came down to what type of filling I wanted to add. Since I’d touched on Asian, American, and Mexican food—and based on cooking from the heart—I chose torta rustica, an Italian rustic pie.
