Page 36 of Of Heather and Thistle

She wasn’t like his usual clients—older couples restoring vacation homes, business owners flipping properties. Heather cared about this place. And, if he was being honest, she was also dangerously adorable when she pretended to know what she was doing.

He cleared his throat and smirked. “ Careful now, Campbell. If you get too good at this, I might have to put you on payroll.”

Heather raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get used to this. I’m not planning on becoming your full time assistant.”

Flynn chuckled. “Too bad. You’re better company than most of the lads on my crew.”

Heather laughed, the tension in her chest easing. “Glad I could meet your high standards.”

“Well, you’re setting them now,” Flynn said with a lopsided grin. “And for the record, you’re welcome to stare—uh, observe—anytime.”

Heather groaned, rolling her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.

Flynn was trouble—the best kind of trouble.

Usually, being around someone this confident, this capable, would have set her nerves on edge. But with Flynn? It felt effortless.

He had a way of putting her at ease with a grin, a playful comment, making her feel lighter, steadier.

She wasn’t used to it.

And that realization caught her off guard.

She paused, watching as Flynn adjusted a beam, his movements steady and sure.

What would Ivy think of him?

Heather could almost hear her voice—mocking, not teasing. She would point out how ruggedly handsome Flynn was, how Heather should stop second-guessing and enjoy the attention while it lasted.

Heather chuckled dryly, shaking her head.

If Ivy were here, she’d try to turn her charm on Flynn, just to prove she could. She always did. Beautiful, confident, and unapologetic, Ivy never hesitated to take what she wanted, no matter the cost.

Heather could almost hear her now:

“Oh, Heather, he’s too delicious to ignore. If you’re not going to make a move, someone has to.”

But Flynn wasn’t like the guys in Millhaven. He wasn’t the kind of man who saw Ivy first.

His gaze always landed on Heather—steady, lingering, like he was actually seeing her.

Not as an extension of someone else.

Just her.

And if he didn’t?

Well, maybe it was time she stopped measuring her worth by whether or not she caught someone’s attention.

She rolled her eyes at the imagined scenario… Ivy would try it. Flash that grin. Flynn wouldn’t know what hit him. But Heather… didn’t want to fade this time.

And as much as Heather hated to admit it, part of her wondered if he’d even notice her standing in Ivy’s shadow.

That old pang of insecurity flickered in her chest.

“Not this time,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

For once, she didn’t want to fade into the background.

Flynn didn’t seem like the type to be easily swayed by Ivy’s theatrics, but even if he was, Heather was done competing with a ghost of who Ivy used to be.

This was her story—her chance to figure out what she wanted. Not just for the house, but for herself.

And Flynn?

Well, he was complicating things in the best way possible.

The thought lingered as she watched him from the corner of her eye. Kneeling by the base of a broken door frame, his brows furrowed in concentration, he worked with a quiet confidence that set her at ease.

She wasn’t used to feeling this way around someone she barely knew—comfortable, playful, like she didn’t have to measure every word before speaking.

Flynn had a way of making her feel like she belonged, as if being here wasn’t just some random twist of fate, but exactly where she was meant to be.

Would Ivy see that, too? Probably.

But Ivy, for all her dazzling charisma, wasn’t the one sanding floors, climbing ladders, and figuring out how to turn this crumbling house into a home.

Ivy hadn’t stood in her mother’s childhood bedroom, holding onto pieces of the past while trying to figure out what to do with her future.

Heather glanced at Flynn again, watching how the afternoon sunlight caught in his dark hair as he leaned back to inspect his work. He wiped a hand across his forehead, smearing a streak of sawdust across his skin.

“Okay,” he said, standing with a crooked grin. “That doorframe might not win any beauty contests, but at least it won’t collapse on you.”

Heather smiled back, a familiar flutter in her stomach. “Looks like you’ve got a real gift there.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Careful with the compliments—I might start charging extra.”

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “Shouldn’t I get some sort of loyalty bonus?”

He laughed, shaking his head as he wiped his hands on a nearby cloth. “You drive a hard bargain, Campbell.”

As he stepped closer, Heather caught herself wondering—what would it be like to just… what? Run her fingers through his hair? Kiss him?

The thought sent warmth rushing to her cheeks. She shook it away.

Flynn didn’t notice her inner turmoil, which was both a relief and a disappointment. Instead, he was focused on cleaning up the remnants of his work, his voice casual. “Ye alright there, lass?” Heather cleared her throat, forcing herself to act normal. “Oh, I’m fine. Just, uh… taking it all in.”

“Taking in my superior craftsmanship, you mean,” Flynn teased, flashing his disarming grin.

“It’s alright. Most people are speechless in the presence of genius.

” Heather snorted, rolling her eyes. “Right. Genius-level door frame repair. You’ll be in all the architecture magazines next month, I’m sure. ”

“Hey,” Flynn said, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I’ve worked on some of the finest estates in the Highlands.

Glenoran might be a bit of a fixer-upper, but this place has good bones.

And you’ve got me, so you’re in excellent hands.

” The teasing edge to his voice made her smile despite herself.

“Modesty really isn’t your strong suit, is it? ”

“Not when it comes to my work,” Flynn replied with a wink.

Then, with a clap of his hands, he straightened up.

“Alright, back to it. Let’s see if you’re brave enough to tackle the paintbrush.

You up for the challenge?” Heather laughed, shaking off the sudden weight of emotion.

“I don’t know, Flynn. Paintbrushes are pretty advanced. Are you sure I’m ready?”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” he said, grabbing a can of primer and handing it to her. “Just don’t get it all over yourself. Or your wee beastie over there.”

He nodded toward the foyer as Byrdie strode in, oblivious to what she’d just walked into.

Heather took the can, raising an eyebrow. “I make no promises.”

As they worked side by side, the steady rhythm of the task—and Flynn’s constant banter—kept her grounded. There was something easy about being around him, like she didn’t have to overthink everything.

Maybe, just maybe, that was precisely what she needed.

Flynn moved to reattach a loose banister, his hands steady and precise. Heather watched for a moment, marveling at how effortless he made it seem.

Once it was secure, he dusted off his hands and smirked. “There—no more wobbly stairs. You won’t have to worry about breaking your neck on your midnight trips to the kitchen.”

“Good to know,” Heather said with a smirk. “Though I’m starting to think you’re just trying to eliminate all the ways I could embarrass myself.”

Flynn grinned. “Call it preventative care. You’re a magnet for trouble, Campbell.”

He moved to the fireplace, crouching to clear out debris and check the flue. “This’ll need a proper sweep before you light anything, but it’s not as bad as I thought.” Standing, he wiped his hands on a rag. “With a bit of TLC, this place will start feeling like a home again.”

Heather felt a little lighter at his words. “It already feels more manageable with you here.”

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. The roof’s another story,” Flynn said, more serious now. “There are a couple of leaks that need patching immediately. I’ll bring my crew out tomorrow to get started. That’s priority number one—keeping this place dry.”

“Sounds good,” Heather replied, appreciating his take-charge attitude.

She lingered in the doorway before finally speaking again. “There’s a room upstairs I’d like to keep as close to how it is now as possible.”

Flynn studied her, then nodded. “Alright.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and motioned for her to lead the way.

Heather hesitated, fingers curling against her palm before stepping toward the staircase. The old wood creaked beneath her steps, the sound strangely comforting in the silence.

She felt Flynn just behind her—quiet, solid.

The door to the room was slightly ajar.

Soft yellow walls. Faded floral curtains. A twin bed draped in a pastel quilt.

A life preserved in stillness.

Heather stepped inside, her fingers ghosting over the chipped paint of the dresser. “This was my mom’s room when she was a little girl.”

Her voice was quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the space that had remained untouched for so long.

Flynn didn’t respond right away. He just took it in.

She was noticing this about him—he looked first, listened first. He didn’t fill silence with meaningless words.

Finally, he exhaled. “It’s in good shape, considering how long it’s been left alone.” He ran a hand along the bedpost, testing its strength. “You want to keep it just like this?”

Heather nodded. “As close as possible. Fresh paint in the same shade. The bed stays. If the curtains can’t be salvaged, I’d like to replace them with something similar.”

Flynn studied the fabric, rubbing the edge between his fingers. “Aye, they’re fragile, but I know a place that can match the pattern close enough.”

Heather let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

He turned his attention back to the walls. “I can patch the cracks and repaint without losing the texture. Might take some time to get the right match, but I’ll get it there.”