Page 38 of Of Heather and Thistle

T hat night, Heather sank into bed with an unusual sense of calm.

Despite the occasional creak of the old house settling and the groan of wind against the windows, she felt… safe. Maybe it was the progress she’d made sorting through her family’s things. Or maybe it was knowing she wasn’t tackling this massive project alone.

Either way, she drifted off more quickly than she had in days, with Byrdie curled contentedly at her feet.

Heather woke to sunlight streaming through the thin curtains. She sat up, blinking at the sky—a bright, cloudless blue.

Dew glistened on the grass and Glenoran looked vibrant. Alive.

It was, as Flynn might say, a braw day.

She stretched, feeling surprisingly refreshed, then dressed, tied her hair back, and headed downstairs. The house felt lighter, as if it, too, had woken up with a new sense of purpose.

After feeding Byrdie and grabbing a quick breakfast, she stepped outside, savoring the crisp air and the sun’s warmth.

Flynn’s truck rumbled up just as she finished her coffee. Grinning, he hopped out and shielded his eyes from the light.

“Morning, sunshine,” he called. “Not a cloud in sight. Perfect day to get started on that roof.”

Heather laughed, walking toward him. “I was just thinking the same thing. Did you order this weather, or is Scotland finally playing nice?”

“Pulled a few strings,” Flynn teased, leaning casually against the truck. “Had to make sure you didn’t get scared off by another torrential downpour.”

As he spoke, two more vehicles pulled in behind him, and a small crew piled out, greeting them warmly.

Flynn wasted no time getting them organized.

“We’ll start by stripping off the damaged slates and checking the structure,” he explained.

“If it’s solid—great. If not, we’ll reinforce it before laying down the new materials.

It’ll be a long day, but with this weather, we’ll make good progress. ”

Heather nodded, taking it all in. “Sounds like you’ve got it under control.”

Flynn smirked. “I like to think so. But don’t think you’re getting off easy. There’s still plenty for you to do inside.”

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “My glamorous job of sorting through decades of dusty treasures and junk.”

Flynn chuckled. “Hey, you might uncover something good. A priceless artifact, maybe. Or at least something that doesn’t smell like mildew.”

“Fingers crossed,” she replied, but she couldn’t help smiling. As the crew got to work, Heather returned inside, diving back into the mountain of furniture, books, and trinkets. Some things felt worth saving. Others… not so much.

She started with a stack of old books—some with her mother’s name scrawled inside— the classic loops a familiar balm to her frayed nerves.

She kept going, sorting through old portraits and forgotten knickknacks, though her attention often strayed to the window.

Flynn was out there, working alongside his crew with practiced ease.

He’d ditched his jacket hours ago, leaving him in just a fitted t-shirt, dusted with remnants of old slate and sawdust. His forearms, tan and dust-streaked, flexed as he hammered.

Years of work had left him strong—and completely unfair to look at.

Heather swallowed, heat creeping up her neck. It should be illegal to make roofing look that attractive.

She tore her gaze away, shaking her head at herself. You are here to restore a house, not to ogle your contractor.

Not that it stopped her from stealing another glance or two.

By midday, she stepped outside for some air. The steady rhythm of hammering filled the air, mingling with laughter from the crew.

Flynn caught her eye and gave a quick wave. After a beat, Heather lifted her hand and waved back.

There was something solid about him. Reliable. The kind of person who made things happen.

She turned her gaze to the house, taking it in.

Maybe I can do this, she thought. Maybe I can turn this place around.

And maybe, along the way, I’ll figure out what to do with my life.

By sunset, the roof had taken shape, and Heather had made a real dent inside. A few minutes later, Flynn appeared in the doorway, looking tired but still wearing that easygoing smile.

“How’s the inside going?”

Heather gestured to the piles around her. “I think I made a dent—barely. The house is still full of stuff.”

Flynn scanned the room, taking in the cleared surfaces and neatly stacked keepsakes.

“Ye’ve done more than I expected,” he admitted, a note of appreciation in his voice.

Heather scoffed lightly. “Did you think I’d be napping all day?”

Flynn smirked. “Wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Heather shook her head, laughing softly as she leaned back against the chair.

The house still had a long way to go.

But still, it felt like progress. Heather rolled her eyes, but she felt the warmth in his words—and in how he saw her effort. She was surprised at how much she’d accomplished. “Better than I thought. I’ve started going through some things—books, pictures, and the like.”

“Good,” Flynn said, leaning against the doorframe with a thoughtful look. “So how exactly did you come upon this property? The house has been empty for years. I’ve heard of a few people trying to buy it, but nothing ever came of it. Always been a dream of mine to restore it.”

Heather hesitated, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the door.

How much should she share?

It felt personal—too personal—to spill everything right now.

“It’s… complicated,” she said slowly. “I didn’t know about the house until recently.

My mom passed away a long time ago, and my dad never talked about her.

Not once. I only found out about Glenoran after he passed a couple of months ago—when I got the deed from his lawyer.

That’s when everything started falling into place. ”

Flynn watched her closely, sensing her hesitation.

He didn’t push. He just waited.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Heather added, trying for casual, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it herself. “But I’m here now, trying to make sense of it all.”

Flynn nodded, giving her space to breathe. “I get it. You don’t have to explain everything right away. You’re doing fine.”

His voice was softer now, steady in a way that made her feel a little more at ease.

Heather exhaled, offering a small, grateful smile.

She stepped into the room, brushing her fingers over the old wood of the window frame.

“I guess part of me wonders if I’m doing the right thing.

The house is… a lot. And it’s a big responsibility.

But I can’t shake the feeling that maybe it’s meant to be.

Like there’s something I’m supposed to do here. ”

Flynn followed, his gaze thoughtful but never intrusive.

“Sometimes, the right thing isn’t the easiest,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re on the wrong path. You don’t have to have all the answers yet. You’re here. That’s a good start.”

Heather’s chest tightened at his quiet reassurance.

Uncomfortable with how easily he saw her, she shifted gears. “So, what’s next? ”

Flynn paused, glancing around the room before straightening. “Let’s start with what’s in front of us. The roof’s still the biggest priority, but once that’s sorted, we can focus on the interior.”

He adjusted the straps on his work gloves. “We’ve ordered more materials, but they won’t arrive for a few days. In the meantime, we’ll tarp the roof, but it won’t be fully waterproof.”

His gaze flicked to her, careful now.

“I’d suggest heading back to the Thistle Haven Inn for now. Just until we get it sealed up properly.”

The house still smelled like dust—but also of her. Her shampoo. Her coffee. It was starting to feel like hers. Like it remembered her.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the windowsill, reluctant.

She had only just begun to settle in—to carve out a space for herself in this house and history.

But Flynn was right. The roof needed work.

The house wouldn’t be livable for a bit longer.

Still, the thought of sleeping somewhere else, even just a few nights, left an odd pang in her chest. “We’ll take care of what we can for you,” Flynn continued, noticing her shift in mood.

Heather raised an eyebrow. “What about the rest of the stuff? The things I’m not sure about yet? ”

“Good point,” Flynn said with a nod. “With roof work starting and everything else going on, we should think about moving the furniture and anything worth keeping out of the way.” Heather frowned, glancing around the dusty parlor, where old furniture sat beneath white sheets, untouched for years.

“You mean moving everything out of the house?”

“Not everything,” Flynn clarified. “But some of this stuff could get damaged with all the work happening. Dust, debris, and possible leaks aren’t exactly ideal for keeping heirlooms in good shape.

I was thinking of renting a storage unit in town.

Just temporary, until we get through the worst of it. ”

Heather hesitated, crossing her arms instinctively.

It made sense, of course. The house wasn’t livable, and renovation wasn’t exactly gentle. If she left everything where it was, the furniture could be ruined beyond repair, the books warped with moisture, the curtains coated in dust and plaster.

But the thought of packing up her family’s things and locking them away off the estate made her stomach twist.

“I don’t want to lose track of anything,” she said finally.

Flynn’s gaze was steady. “Then help us go through it. Decide what stays, what gets stored, and what’s beyond saving.”

Heather bit the inside of her cheek, glancing at the furniture, the old trunks stacked in the corner, and the dusty bookshelves.

“Once things leave this house, it feels like more of it slips away.”

Flynn was quiet for a few breaths, then exhaled softly.

“I get that.” His voice was gentler now, less pragmatic. “But I’d rather move things for a little while than watch them get ruined for good.”