“He also pays for the books for the children’s book club each month,” Mary said. “He’s a good man, lass. Keep that in mind because sometimes it takes a bit of digging to see that. Good men can be stubborn asses, too.” She nudged Portia with an elbow. “And as far as asses go, he certainly has a fine one.”

Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh.

Mary was trying to play matchmaker. Portia didn’t know how to say “No way in hell” politely, so she just smiled.

“Ah, you’ve noticed, too! Good taste, you.” Another conspiratorial nudge. “Well, you’re always welcome to come by the shop, and you should let me know if you need anything. We have the latest releases for adults and children, the classics, and rare books.”

Portia had been struck by inspiration for a project while walking the halls of the building earlier. The armory was old and beautiful and probably had an interesting history, like any structure that had lasted so long.

“Actually, if you have any books on the history of the neighborhood, I have some plans for the website they might be helpful with,” Portia said. She left out the fact that the plans hadn’t been approved yet, but she was sure Jamie would be supportive of them. He’d seemed really interested in her ideas. That had been one of the reasons she’d been so excited for the apprenticeship—and so put out when she came face-to-face with the surly brick wall that would be her real boss. “I’ve found some stuff about the docks and local guilds, but I was thinking more architectural history.”

Mary looked off to the side, as if going through her mental shop inventory, then nodded. “I have a book or two that might interest you, if you want to come ’round. You should also check the library—they have deeds and newspapers and the like on microfiche.”

“Is it available online?” Portia asked.

“The library is two blocks away, love,” Mary said gently. “Getting out to see the neighborhood wouldn’t hurt for a newcomer, now would it?”

Portia appreciated the woman’s subtle shade too much to be bothered by it.

“Okay, I’m off.” Mary gave Portia’s arm a quick squeeze, then leaned in to whisper, “I know you Americans do things differently, but may I suggest some trousers with more breathability for the next class? Denim causes thrush, dear.”

Portia made another note to self to look up thrush, but nodded her appreciation and waved as Mary strode away. The crowd around Jamie and Cheryl was breaking up, so she headed over to them. She felt a little awkward, and sweaty, but they both seemed nice and Jamie had told her to come find him when the boot camp was over.

“Hey,” Jamie said over Cheryl’s shoulder. “How did you like it?”

“I loved it! It’s such a great concept. I feel like I can crush my enemies and take over the world,” Portia said.

Jamie grinned. “Brilliant! That’s exactly how I want people to feel. I sometimes wonder if I lay it on a bit too thick, so I’m glad to hear that.”

Cheryl turned, eyes going wide when she saw Portia.

“My champion!” She ditched Jamie and ran toward Portia, her ponytail trailing behind her like a streamer. She didn’t lay a giant kiss on Portia, but she did pull her into a hug, which she quickly released her from.

“Oh sorry. I just didn’t get to thank you this morning, or introduce myself. I was too busy fetching the milk and compresses.” She was trying to joke about it, but Portia still cringed at the reminder of her grand entrance that morning. “I’m Cheryl Hu. Partner of Jamie. Tolerator of Tavish.” She beamed up at Portia with a smile so welcoming it made Portia’s throat go rough.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, no worries,” Portia said with a shrug.

“Nothing to thank you for? You thought I was being attacked and you ran in like bloody Eowyn ready to take out the Nazgul, and all. It was grand!”

Portia didn’t know what Cheryl was referring to, but being on the receiving end of the closest human incarnation of Portia had ever seen made her cheeks go warm.

“It was silly,” she said shifting uncomfortably. “I should have realized what was going on instead of just rushing in and ruining your practice. And hurting your boss.”

Classic Portia. Think first, regret later. She twisted her mouth at the memory of how proud she had felt for that one moment before humiliating reality had set it.

Cheryl placed an arm on her shoulder. “Ach, no. Don’t feel too guilty about the mix-up. Tav deserved it, even if he wasn’t really attacking me. Comeuppance for being such a wanker all the time. You’re fine.”

“Well, glad I could do my part in wanker comeuppance delivery,” Portia said, trying to sound normal even though Cheryl’s compliments made her want to stick her head in the ground.

“Is that so?” a deep voice asked, cutting into the conversation.

Portia sighed. Of course, Tavish would sneak up behind her in time to overhear that. She turned to face him, propping her hands on her hips because they suddenly felt large and ungainly and she didn’t know what to do with them.

He’d obviously just come from his workshop, judging from the dirt smudges all over his clothes and exposed skin—the unshowered tradesman look really, really worked for him. He was like a rustic wooden table that grew more attractive from weathering, if tables could be sexy. 13 out of 10, would hit that—if she was hitting anything, which she wasn’t.