Page 9 of Of Heather and Thistle

H eather was back at work the next day, trying to focus on organizing a display table of historical fiction novels, but her thoughts kept drifting.

It wasn’t just the date tonight—although that was enough to keep her nerves in a twist—it was also the envelope sitting on her coffee table at home.

Inside it was the key to a house in Scotland.

Her house. A place she hadn’t even known existed until now.

Every time she thought about it, her stomach flipped.

The bell over the door jingled, and Heather glanced up, expecting a customer. Instead, Ivy strolled in like a storm in heels, her scarf trailing dramatically and her expression locked in determination.

“Oh, no,” Heather muttered, already bracing herself.

“There she is!” Ivy announced loudly, striding straight toward the counter. She slapped both hands down as if presenting an official proclamation. “Heather Mackenzie Campbell, how dare you not tell me you have a date with Sam- freaking -Ashford!”

Heather froze mid-step, her stomach twisting. “It’s not a date!” she said quickly. “And I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d make a big deal out of it.”

Ivy gasped, pressing a hand to her chest like she’d been personally wounded. “Me? Make a big deal? Please.”

Heather shot her a knowing look.

Ivy huffed. “Fine, maybe. But still! You should have told me. I mean, Sam Ashford?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I didn’t even know he spoke to people. He’s certainly never spoken to me .”

Heather hesitated for half a second. Ivy had never spoken to Sam? Then… how did she even hear about it?

Heather froze, her cheeks flushing. “Ivy, keep your voice down!”

“Don’t ‘keep your voice down’ me,” Ivy said, wagging a finger in her face. “ Marky, here, spilled the beans.”

“What? …I didn’t spill!” Mark called from the counter, popping his head up from behind a stack of books he was sorting. “I casually mentioned it when Ivy came in and interrogated me when you were on your lunch yesterday!”

Ivy spun around to give him an approving thumbs-up. “And you did the right thing, Mark. You’re a man of the people.”

“I try,” he said, grinning.

Heather groaned in mock exasperation. “Mark, I trusted you!”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “You didn’t say it was a secret. Besides, it’s Sam. You can’t expect me to keep that kind of information to myself.”

Ivy turned back to Heather, her hands on her hips. “How could you not tell me? I thought we were best friends! You’re withholding critical information from my entertainment pipeline!”

“I was going to tell you,” Heather muttered, her face a shade of deep crimson. “I just… haven’t had a chance.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m here now, and we have a crisis to address,” Ivy declared, her voice full of mock seriousness.

Mark wandered over, crossing his arms. “Crisis? Is this about the fact that Heather called this date ‘nice’? Because if so, I agree. That was an outrage.”

Heather shot him a glare. “Are you two seriously teaming up right now?”

Of course,” Mark said, completely deadpan. “This is a team effort. We need to get you prepped, polished, and ready to make Mr. Darcy over there fall at your feet.”

Heather groaned, covering her face with her hands. “This is mortifying.”

“It’s a public service,” Ivy said, pulling Heather’s hands down. “Look, Sam is this town’s Holy Grail of eligible men. And somehow, by some miracle , he asked you out. We can’t afford to let this opportunity go to waste.”

Mark nodded sagely. “I second that. You’ve got the potential for a fairy tale evening, Heather, but you’re going to need some backup. Lucky for you, you’ve got the dream team.”

Heather raised an eyebrow. “The dream team?”

“Ivy and me,” Mark said, gesturing between himself and Ivy. “She’ll handle the hair, makeup, and wardrobe. I’ll take care of moral support and witty one-liners. You’re in good hands.”

Ivy grinned. “After work, you’re going straight to my place. I’ve got the perfect dress for you. Trust me, you’re going to look incredible.”

Heather hesitated, biting her lip. “I don’t know, Ivy. Maybe I should just—”

“Nope!” Ivy cut her off, grabbing her shoulders.

“You’re not talking your way out of this.

You deserve to feel confident, gorgeous, and unstoppable tonight.

Let me do this for you. Besides, you need a win, Heather.

Between… everything,” she gestured vaguely, “and now inheriting some big fancy Scottish castle—you need to feel good about yourself for once.”

Mark smirked. “And honestly, who inherits a castle? You’re like a Disney princess—just with significantly fewer talking animals and a lot more renovation costs.”

Heather’s gaze darted wide-eyed between them as Ivy started laughing.

“Marky’s right. You’re a Disney princess now, and tonight is your ball.

Don’t mess it up.” Heather wanted to argue, but then Ivy’s infectious excitement started to chip away at her nerves.

Maybe this actually was a chance to feel good about herself and about life in general so that she could forget, even for one night, about all the chaos swirling around her.

Heather glanced at Mark, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Yeah, Sam isn’t just walking into the bookstore and asking random people out. He picked you, Heather. Own it.”

Heather felt overwhelmed, but then Ivy squeezed her shoulders and repeated, “Own it,” with a grin so earnest that Heather couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But if you come near me with false lashes or glitter, I’m out.”

“Deal,” Ivy said, clapping her hands. “Now, Marky, make sure she doesn’t chicken out before her shift ends.”

“On it!” he agreed, mock-saluting as Ivy disappeared into the romance section, muttering plans for Heather’s transformation under her breath.

As Heather returned to work, she couldn’t stop the mix of anxiety and warmth bubbling inside her.

She wasn’t sure how the date with Sam would go, but with Ivy and Mark in her corner, what could go wrong?

* * *

Heather found herself standing in Ivy’s tiny, impossibly chic apartment that evening, surrounded by an intimidating array of makeup palettes, curling irons, and racks of clothes that Ivy had hauled out just for the occasion. The makeover mission had commenced.

Ivy, with her energy at an all-time high, whirled around like a general preparing for battle.

“Okay, Heather, tonight we’re going for jaw-dropping. I don’t want Sam Ashford just to notice you—I want him to forget his own name.”

Heather winced, perched on the edge of Ivy’s vanity chair.

“Can’t we aim for something more… subtle? Like… ‘pleasantly surprised’ instead of ‘speechless from shock’?”

“Nope!” Ivy grinned, her hands on her hips like this was a matter of national importance. “Tonight, subtlety is canceled. Besides, when have I ever steered you wrong?”

Mark, who was lounging on Ivy’s plush white couch with a Diet Coke and a smirk, chimed in: “You did give her bangs that one time.”

Ivy shot him a withering look. “That was an experiment, Mark, and sometimes experiments go wrong. Tonight, however, I am fully in control of my craft.”

Heather groaned, already regretting agreeing to this. “This feels like overkill for a casual date.”

“Casual date?” Ivy gasped, offended. “Heather, this is Sam- freaking -Ashford. His parents own like half the town. He doesn’t do casual, and neither will you.”

She whipped out a black garment bag from her closet, holding it up with a flourish. “Behold, your secret weapon.”

Heather eyed it warily. “It’s a dress, not a weapon.”

“You’re wrong—it’s both,” Ivy countered, unzipping the bag to reveal a rich, scarlet satin dress.

The fabric draped like liquid, smooth and impossibly soft, the cowl neckline dipping just enough to tease without being too much.

The fitted silhouette would hug her curves, stopping just at the knee.

It was sleek, and sultry, but undeniably classy.

Under the apartment light, the deep red gleamed like a glass of expensive wine. Bold. Unapologetic.

Heather swallowed. “That’s… a lot of dress.”

Ivy smirked. “No, darling. That’s the dress.”

Heather hesitated. “I don’t know, Ivy. I don’t think—”

“—Exactly,” Ivy cut in smoothly. “You think too much. That’s the problem. Just trust me for once, okay? This will knock his socks off. And his shirt.” She raised her eyebrows. “…Maybe more.”

Mark nearly spit out his drink. “Geez, Ivy! Let the poor girl breathe.”

“Breathe later, seduce now,” Ivy retorted.

Heather stared at the dress like it might bite her. “I’m going to look ridiculous.”

Mark, still lounging on the couch, must have noticed her hesitation because his expression softened. “Hey,” he said, giving her an easy grin. “It’s just a dress. If you hate it, you can change. No pressure.”

Heather exhaled, shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, Marky.”

Ivy groaned. “Mark! Stop coddling her!”

Heather hesitated, then sighed in defeat, taking the dress. “Fine, I’ll wear it. But if I trip in these heels and face plant, I’m blaming both of you.”

Ivy squealed with delight. “Deal! I swear, if it were up to you, you’d show up in jeans!”

Heather frowned, opening her mouth to argue, but Mark shot her a look, shaking his head slightly. Let it go .

So, for the next hour, Heather endured Ivy’s transformation process, which involved everything from taming her curls into smooth, glossy waves to applying makeup that felt far more glamorous than she was used to. Mark stayed in the background, offering commentary now and then.

“That eyeliner’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he quipped.

“It’s called ‘cat-eye,’ Mark,” Ivy snapped without looking up. “And unless you’re volunteering to be a model, stay out of it.”

Heather, meanwhile, was trying not to panic. “This is too much,” she murmured as Ivy applied a final sweep of lipstick—a deep berry shade that perfectly matched the dress.