“. . . meddlesome,” Tavish finished.

“And I didn’t think you would be so . . .” Portia’s gaze darted to his face, and the silver hair at his temples, and his salt-and-pepper scruff, and that full mouth, and suddenly everything she had been trying to ignore about him stuck an arm out and clotheslined her as she tried to run from her attraction to him.

Oh no. Way to fucking go, Portia.

Tav was staring at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence.

“. . . tall,” she finished, unable to think of another descriptor that wouldn’t reveal her for the loser she was.

Tav quirked a brow. “Tall. Right.”

Redirect! Redirect!

“You still haven’t let me know what I’ll be doing at the exhibition this weekend. I made graphics and I’ve been promoting it on social media and getting a great response. I think I’d be really good at doing sales, despite your supposed ability to be cordial.”

She liked interacting with people, especially if she got to talk about things she was interested in. She’d been researching way more than necessary for the website, and this would be a way to use her knowledge.

“Look, lass, these events are to bring in new people to the lessons and to buy our product. I need staff that really knows what they’re talking about, who can communicate with both a complete amateur and someone who’s been studying for years.” His expression lit up, like he’d thought of something really clever, and he snapped his fingers. “It’s like that pop-up ad you wanted to get rid of on the site, yeah? Let’s say I put you to work at the Bodotria Armory stall. Someone comes up and asks for a sgian-dubh or some kind of armor. If you have to run and grab me or Jamie or Kevyn, then they might just walk off and buy from someone who knows what they’re on about. Or they might buy, and then spread the word that we’re not the real deal. Customers are fickle.”

He gave her a self-satisfied grin, as if he’d just explained her uselessness to her with her own words, and they could now move on from this.

He was underestimating her.

Portia let him pat himself on the back for a moment and then walked over to the table where several weapons lay waiting for shipping. She picked up a short squat blade with an ornate black hilt, ran her fingertip along the dull edge, then pointed it at Tavish.

Tav held up his hands, mild alarm lifting his brows. “Hey now, I know you have a violent streak, but—”

“Skean dhu, a short single-edged blade, name derived from the Gaelic Sgian-dubh, meaning hidden, as the blade was something that could be kept on the body after other weapons were deposited at the door of a dwelling, per Highland tradition. Usually worn tucked into the stocking in Highland dress. Not to be confused with . . .” She put the blade down and sifted through the knives, picking up a similar blade. “. . . the mattucashlass, which is a double-edged blade worn under the armpits and used in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Portia—”

She didn’t look at him, simply dropped the knife down and picked up a knife with a longer blade and a slimmer hilt, this one in bronze. “Those knives are earlier versions of this baby, the Scottish dagger known as a dirk. It’s a long thrusting dagger descended from the medieval ballock dagger, but became an integral part of Scottish weaponry.”

She turned to him, batting her lashes even though she would rather have chucked the dagger in his general direction. “As for clothing, do you mean an actual suit of armor? Functional or decorative? Or more like a brigandine, a padded vest, traditionally canvas or leather, lined with steel plates? We can talk mortuary swords, claymores, broadswords, the compound Sinclair—”

“All right, Freckles.” He held his hands up, probably to shut her up but she liked to think of it as a sign of defeat.

“I can do this all day,” she said. “I told you, I’ve studied lots of things, and what I don’t know I look up instead of just assuming. You should try it sometime.”

Now that she was done and Tav was just staring at her, embarrassment started to creep up her neck. The man was an expert in swordmaking and a literal master. And she’d just thrown her 101 knowledge at him and expected what exactly?

Tav was still looking at her, then he . . . smiled. Really smiled. She could see his teeth and everything. Dammit, she’d thought she’d won that battle for a second, but if she’d known it would pull this reaction from him she would have let him go on thinking her silly.

Tavish McKenzie sporting a glower was sexy. Tav with those full lips curved up and crow’s feet framing his eyes because he was grinning so hard? Her stomach lurched like she was on a crappy carnival ride and she realized with horror that despite not doing crushes, despite definitely not doing bosses, she liked Tavish. For real. She hadn’t had a butterflies-in-her-stomach crush smack into her full force like this since senior year of high school when she’d wanted Hector Washington to ask her to the prom SO BADLY. He’d asked Reggie instead. She’d gotten over that short-lived infatuation quickly and she’d get over this one even faster.

“Okay. You win,” he said. Light, casual, as if he’d always been capable of talking to her like this. “You can work the table. If you can do that at the table, I’m sure we’ll have no problem with sales.”

Relief flowed through her and she let out the breath she had been holding. If she wasn’t mistaken, the stats were New Portia 2–Thigh Man 0 in whatever weird Hot Jerk Challenge they had going on. 3–0 if she counted the macing.