The builders’ van roared up on Monday, and I watched from the kitchen, heart fluttering.
Four men stepped out—three tall Scots with thick accents, one Welshman with a softer lilt.
All bearded, tattooed, and strong, they were here to build our extension.
I’m Muffin, petite, redheaded, with small breasts, and I love dressing up.
Today, I wore a floral summer dress, stockings peeking out, feeling shy but curious.
I carried tea and biscuits outside. “Morning, lads,” I said softly. “Cuppa?”
Angus, the tallest, grinned. “Cheers, lass.” Dai, the Welshman, winked. “Muffin? Sweet name.”
Hamish laughed, loud and hearty, while Lachlan’s intense eyes lingered. I blushed, mentioning Whiskey, my husband, who’d told me to look after them.
Their gazes traced my dress, and a thrill ran through me. I wasn’t used to this attention, but I liked it.
Tuesday, I wore a red vintage dress, bringing lemonade. “Fancy, Muffin!” Hamish teased. Lachlan watched silently, and Dai’s “Stockings again?” made me giggle. My shyness was fading, replaced by a cheeky spark. That night, I told Whiskey, “Those builders are handsome. All strong and tattooed.” He smirked. “Fancy them, do you?” I nodded, shy but bold. “Maybe.” He laughed, thinking I wouldn’t dare. |
