Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
T he following morning, as she trudged from the car park to the entrance of Mòr, the sunny weather from yesterday was a distant memory. ‘Car park’ was perhaps a generous term, Ivy noted, as it was really more of a grassy patch. Ally was determined to not spoil the area with an expanse of gravel or tarmac, but they were now six months past when he had assured her that the sustainably sourced wood chip and local wildflower seeds were on their way. ‘ Supply chain problems ,’ he shrugged every time she raised the issue of wet feet and muddy shoes being absent from traditional Michelin star dining.
Today was one of the rare days when she wondered if the ‘authentic Hebridean experience’ on offer at Mòr could be a little less authentic for once. It was lashing, with no hope of shelter whilst on the move as the horizontal gusts beat out even the strongest of umbrellas and bravest of hoods.
As much as she would like to complain, she couldn’t outdo the warm hug that was walking into the restaurant. Ally and Kirsty had designed the place with local architects and designers, with their own personalities plastered loudly across the building, and on entering you just felt home. Not their home, or your home, or some island granny’s home, per se. Just… home. A feeling that Ivy found herself constantly striving for and rarely finding. It was always warm, but never so much as to make your skin itch. The music sounded like something you’d definitely heard before, maybe at that summer festival where you fell in love? They had decorated the walls with dozens of black and white and sepia toned photos of Harris history, but while most places here displayed the stunning scenery and beach vistas (why would you not?), Mòr had gone for people. Some were deliciously candid, and some had warm eyes staring right out at you. All of them made you feel like you were there, and that you were welcome to be (that was why).
She took a deep breath as the door shut behind her, and smiled as she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the heater, running a hand through her damp hair in an attempt to make herself at least slightly presentable for what she somehow always forgot was a business meeting as soon as she came in here.
As she heard it, she remembered the thing that really made Mòr’s atmosphere feel like home. The laughter. After the first peal tapered away, Ivy could hear the low rumble of talking and joking coming from the kitchen. The bar still obscured her view, but she had been embroiled in those moments so many times herself that she could already picture it. Ally at the stove, red-cheeked in the heat, Hebridean Way tea towel thrown over his shoulder, holding up a spoon to Kirsty. She, most likely, would be perched on the stool he had brought in especially for moments like this, her ginger hair scooped into a messy bun, with determined tendrils spilling across her face. She had nailed down the routine as his chief sampler.
She’d take a mouthful and pause thoughtfully, before wrinkling her nose. “Ally,” she’d say, solemnly. “It’s just not working this time.”
He’d roll his eyes, a regular at this dinner show, but the small flicker of doubt in his dark eyes was just obvious enough to break her resolve. She’d scrunch her brows, and a smile would split her freckled face.
“Get it on the menu, m’eudail.”
Ally would flick his tea towel at her. Love for her, for the dish, and for her loving the dish, beaming out of him. This scene could have any number of players and audience members, all welcomed in to join the mirth, and today Ivy could hear at least one other male voice in the mix, saying something about a car as they chattered.
“It’s only me!” Ivy announced as she walked through the restaurant, between the still stacked chairs.
“IVY!” Kirsty called out. ‘We’ll be out in a second! Get a coffee, the pot’s fresh!”
“No rush.” Ivy returned, already taking a mug from the cupboard under the bar. Once it was filled with a local roast, she stepped out from behind the solid oak bar, planning to take up her favourite armchair in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the machair.
“Jesus!” Came a rough voice, as Ivy collided with a solid form. Looking up, she first saw the coffee, now staining the back of a white t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. Then she recognised the face glancing back at her over said broad, and now scalded, shoulders, as he balanced a box on one knee, the kitchen door still half propped open by his other foot.
There was, at first, a bewildered look on his face, a response to the sudden collision, the boiling coffee, and the lack of any free limbs for him to address it. But in a second, a flash of recognition passed between them and his face fell into a scowl.
“I’m so—” Ivy began.
“Oh my God, Ross!” Kirsty said, pouring out of the kitchen and taking the box from him. Now free to stand straight, he towered over Ivy, his glare not straying from her face.
She found herself fighting the urge to run her hand across the now sodden, translucent fabric, and the uncovered muscle beneath, shifting under his gaze. Not one to frequently be speechless, Ivy stuttered out an apology awkwardly, before Kirsty saved them both.
“Ivy, this is Ross, Ally’s brother. Ross, this is Ivy, our marketing genius.”
His head snapped round to see his sister-in-law, who was smiling unwittingly between the two of them.
“She’s… Right.” He looked back at Ivy and nodded at her tersely, lips pressed together.
“It’s nice to… meet you?” Ivy edged, her hand hanging limply between them, unsure if she was going to commit to a handshake.
His eyes were slightly scrunched, watching her, puzzled. He lifted a hand behind his head, causing the t-shirt to ride up, revealing a glimpse of a toned stomach, and scratched the nape of his neck.
Ivy felt a squeeze in her chest, as her breath quickened.
He appeared to come to some conclusion, finally looking away from her and gesturing towards the box Kirsty had put on the bar.
“I’ll just, eh, take this to the car and head off. See you tomorrow, Kirsty.”
Kirsty rolled her eyes as she turned to Ivy. “That boy, honestly.”
Ivy half laughed in answer, “Is he?—?”
“Tortures me, Ivy. He arrives at the house or wherever, and I go from having a sensible husband to having annoying teenage sons. And two is not always better than one.”
Ivy could not see the family resemblance. Ally was so warm, and so fun. After the few encounters she had had with his brother, it seemed that gene pool had run out before child two came along.
“Two Ally’s, I can imagine the chaos!” Ivy laughed, hoping her suspicions about that were well hidden.
“Well, you can meet him properly tomorrow, when he’s not running out the door.”
“Tomorrow?” Ivy queried.
“Oh, did I not say? Ross works with Tomas, he’ll be taking us out on the boat tomorrow.”
Great, Ivy thought to herself, trapped aboard a boat and then an even tinier island with the world's grumpiest man.
“Ah, great. Second chance at a first impression!” Well fourth chance really. “I’ll have to try not to pour any hot liquids over him this time!” She laughed, thinking it was unlikely he had similar thoughts of turning things around.
Kirsty waved a flippant hand at her.
“Don’t worry about it. Ross is…” She bit her lip, and an odd look passed briefly across her face before she continued. “Ross is Ross. That T-shirt probably needed a wash anyway.”
“Even still, probably best I don’t establish a habit of assaulting folk on the trips, especially once they start paying!” she offered.
“Good point. That type of thinking’s why they pay you the big bucks for marketing.” Kirsty grinned at her, before they finally got down to business.
* * *
Ivy was making solid progress through today’s to-do list. She just had to see Tomas and confirm all was good with the boat for the trial run tomorrow, and then she would have the evening free to go for a swim.
The universe had blessed her with clear roads this afternoon, meaning she could shamelessly blast her playlist and belt along without fear of someone catching sight of her in their rear view. She drew close to Tarbert, watching Tomas’ teal hulled boat come into view in the marina.
Tomas himself was the storybook island fisherman. Grey streaked hair and beard, a ruddy blush across weathered cheeks and a fisherman’s jumper that a Gen Z thrifter would spend hundreds on, but in reality, he’d probably owned for forty years since his granny knit it. He was, of course, very competent, knowing every inch of the stretch of water between them and their target on Sandaigh. But Ivy would be lying if she didn’t admit his aesthetic had given him the edge above other operators. She wanted the experience to be genuinely authentic. But she also wanted to appeal to her clientele’s idea of ‘authentic’ as well. Sue her.
“Feasgar math!” She called ahead, as she walked down the dock, she wished she’d remembered to change into proper shoes before getting out of the car, because these slats were not forgiving on ballet pumps. She made a note to put that in the welcome info leaflet.
“Hàlo Ivy!” Tomas boomed back. “Excellent pronunciation these days. I knew we’d get you eventually. Ciamar a tha thu?”
“Chan eil dona…” She laughed, paused, and then added, “Unless you’re going to ask me anything more because you’ve just heard all my Gaelic.”
“Ivy, Ivy, Ivy,” he tutted at her.
“Forgive me.” She pouted, raising her clasped palms to him.
Relenting he laughed, slapping her back. “Ach, better than nothing. I keep telling you you need to get over here full time so we can properly train you.”
“I’m working on it.” She winked. “Right, what do we need to do for tomorrow?”
“I think we’re about ready to go. I’ll show you round the boat, you can confirm the seating, few checklists and then we’re off.”
“Ugh, can I take you back to Edinburgh and have you on all my projects?”
“You couldn’t afford my off-island rate.”
“Big money to get you off the rock?”
“Priceless.”
“Now I’m a very fancy city gal, haven’t you heard? More money than sense in the capital they tell me.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.
“Edinburgh hmm…How many Americans would I have to talk to?”
She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand across his arm. “Tomas. You better behave when they actually arrive.”
“Cross my heart.” The glint in his eye suggested she would be developing some greys next season.
“Don’t listen to him, there’s no heart in there to cro?—”
A new voice was climbing the stairs from under the boat deck but stopped abruptly when he emerged enough to see who all was on the dock. “Oh.”
“Oh, eh, hi.”
“Ivy, this is Ross, he’ll be doing the trips I can’t so figured he’d be as well coming along tomorrow,” Tomas chipped in casually, clearly blind to the new coiling of Ivy’s abdomen.
“Hi, yes, Ross, right. We’ve met.” Ivy smiled tightly.
Ross, on the other hand, was not smiling. She wondered how to describe it. An interesting combination of seasick (unlikely for someone she now employed to sail) and being suddenly very invested in the rope he was holding.
“She was at Ally’s earlier.” He squinted at Tomas, scratching the back of his head and expertly avoiding actually looking at the ‘She’ in question.
“Ach, of course, saves me on the introductions. You’ll be seeing plenty of each other now, I’m sure.”
Great , Ivy thought.
“Great.”
Did he actually say that out loud? In that tone?! She snapped her head up to catch his gaze. He’d apparently managed to find her eye line by now, unabashedly holding it. The two of them were stuck for a second. Her brows knit up curiously, and for that beat, his expression nearly mirrored her confusion but there was an edge she needed just a fraction longer to define. Unfortunately, she was left hanging as he tore away and returned his focus to Tomas, who was contentedly flicking through the folder Ivy had given him, oblivious to the exchange happening beside him. “Shall we, boss?”
“Ivy’s the boss now. Let’s get her on board.” Tomas smiled, lifting her bag and stepping onto the boat himself and heading straight for the other side of the boat.
Ross looked green. Maybe it was the reflection of the teal paint. But it was overcast, so how much light was really being reflected? As Ivy hesitated, placing her foot tentatively on the edge of the boat, he definitely became greener, but, to his credit, offered her a hand.
In the absence of a sudden tsunami or lightning strike to save her, she took his hand and stepped up. Getting onto a rocking boat, with wet decking, in pumps was inconvenient. More inconvenient still, was the jolt that shot up her arm when he squeezed her fingers. She fixated firmly on the deck and jumped down. Seconds later than she’d asked for, the universe provided a rogue wave to unsteady them. Really, this man was supposed to be a maritime professional, and here he was stumbling at a gentle rock, dropping her hand, leaving a disconcerting emptiness at her fingertips, and grabbing her waist. She’d have to confirm his credentials before any contracts were signed, she tried to think. But really all she could think about was the new burning in the small of her back. Ivy looked up to find him looking right back at her. The longest millisecond of her life passed, then she began to open her mouth. Before anything could come out, he seemed to remember himself and the hand was gone from her waist and ruffling his hair.
“Thanks,” Ivy squeaked out.
“Right.” He nodded, before turning on his heel and going inside the cabin.
What the fuck, Ivy? Really not on today’s itinerary.
Mercifully oblivious, Tomas clapped his hands together and Ivy saw Ross startle in the cabin. A smile threatened her lips until she caught herself tracing her thumb across the empty spot his hand had pressed into.
“Light her up Ross.”
Give her strength.
Tomas’ plan for this afternoon was to take a spin around the marina while doing all the checks they needed before tomorrow. “It’s better for you to feel the waves and the wind, Ivy. More realistic.” He’d smirked.
Could they have done the checks while still docked? For sure. Would they have been more efficient? Almost certainly. But who doesn’t like the wind in their hair? So Ivy had agreed, and now she was standing in the cabin while Tomas explained the controls that she definitely did not need to understand in order to market these trips. Also in the cabin, standing just in front of them, manning the wheel, was Ross. The Ross who had managed his way through the last hour in a mix of sullen silence and blatant eye rolling any time Ivy chose to open her mouth. At one point she was sure he’d actually managed to create some kind of vacuum that somehow made the middle of nowhere even quieter.
Thankfully, they had finished their to-do list and were headed back for dry land, though she was of course heartbroken to have to leave this enclosed space with a man who clearly couldn’t stand to be on the same island as her, never mind a three by three box.
“Right, I need a smoke,” Tomas piped up as he put his notebook away. Clocking the concern that passed across Ivy’s face, he continued, “Yes, yes, not with the customers, Ivy.”
Before she could seize the opportunity to sneak out of the cabin with him, he closed the door in her face.
She remained facing out the window, her back to her now lone companion for a second. It would be awkward to reopen the door now and also leave. More awkward than standing here with him wordlessly? Probably not. But she was burdened by whatever etiquette had been thrust upon her by society, so she was staying. Deciding awkward conversation beat awkward silence, she took a deep breath and turned around.
“Nice day for it,” she practically beamed at the side of his head.
“Average for the time of year.” His eye-line didn’t falter.
“Well averagely nice then.” She watched his brow tense briefly, but he remained silent.
Ever determined, she pressed on. “You’re a busy man. Working with Ally and down here… any other hats?”
He turned to her then, still silent, with a barely concealed scowl. She watched the angle of his jaw twitch as he returned to looking forward.
“I have to concentrate.”
“Oh…” she chewed on her lip and joined him looking out the front window. Tomas was off to the side, smoking. And there was not much else. Open, still water. No major obstacles. Plain sailing, in her admittedly amateur opinion.
“Do you?” She asked, now watching him.
“What?” He replied, seeming genuinely confused and finally looking at her.
“ Do you have to concentrate? It seems like you could do this blindfolded backwards.”
He stared at her for a second, and his lips quirked into a whisper of a smile. He raised his hand to his mouth, rubbing it briefly as he squinted. “No.”
And then he turned back around.
“Unbelievable,” Ivy muttered, finally embracing the awkward and escaping, slamming the cabin door behind her.
Once out in the open, she turned to watch Ross through the door. He remained rigid at the wheel for a second, and then lifted his hand to his temple, pressing hard, before dropping it to the back of his head and scratching. Rolling her eyes, she joined Tomas, who had finished his cigarette and was now addressing some chipped paint with sandpaper he didn’t have five minutes ago.
“Fed up with him, aye?”
“Talking my ear off,” Ivy joked.
“Been there myself, I end up with a sore jaw and a headache any time I take that one out. Never stops.”
“Right.”
“You get used to it. He’s just— Well, Ross is Ross,” Tomas said with a wave. “I tend to just leave him to it.”
Ivy quickly looked over her shoulder to see Ross looking more relaxed than ever, with one hand draped lazily over the controls, and an undeniable contentment in his eyes. A warmth crept across her chest.
“But don’t worry, he’ll behave with the clients.”
“Ach, I’m sure plenty would think it was part of the experience. Grumpy island sailor,” Ivy replied absentmindedly, still half watching him steer as they approached the dock.
Tomas looked to the cabin then back at Ivy. He nodded, laughing quietly to himself.
“He’s a good lad, Ivy. And now you all know him for tomorrow. Though with his brother on board I’m thinking our checklist should’ve included ear plugs anyway.”
Ross and Tomas swapped places to end the trip, with the older man deftly steering them into place, while his co-captain secured the lines to an aged metal cleat. Ivy told herself that the close attention she paid to Ross’ knot tying was purely in the interest of ensuring he was a safe hire, and nothing to do with the intriguing ripple through those tanned forearms as he worked.
Happy with their position, he placed his hands on his thighs and stood. Only half turning toward her, and without even pretending to make eye contact, he held out a hand.
Ivy looked at the dock a second, thinking she could definitely make the transfer unaided. But being the bigger person, she would not snub the snubber and so took the offer hopping across quickly. With her toes just about touching the wood planks, she broke her hand free, moving quickly enough to avoid that itch moving any further than her fingertips this time. For his part, Ross fisted his now empty hand into his pocket and stepped off the boat himself.
Ivy looked up the hill, recognising the car beside hers as the red jeep he had been driving the day at the beach. She sighed, noting that the steep walk would not be a quick release from his company.
She waved to Tomas as he called out his goodbye from the cabin and steeled herself for the trek.
“Shall we—” She began as she turned on her heel, only to be met by an empty dock. Her eyebrow arched as her attention flew up the hill, to see Ross halfway to his car, well cleared of any obligation of small talk.