Chapter 6
6
Harper stared at the blank document on her laptop as though the words she’d been planning to write for months might magically appear. Apparently, to write a book, she had to actually… write . She hadn’t done that since her teens, when she’d had enough time to lose herself in fan fiction of her favourite shows. When the characters had already been living, breathing things, ready and waiting for her to mould into new, oftentimes queer, scenarios.
All the ideas she’d been ruminating over since deciding it was time to follow her literary ambitions suddenly felt silly. Had she thought this would be easy? She grunted and closed her Notes app, cursing her past self for writing nonsensical ideas down at three a.m. instead of preparing herself properly. What did “ sapphic Rapunzel retelling bit with icy skatwrs ” even mean? Had she been drunk when she’d typed this, or just asleep?
“Maybe I’ll feel inspired once I’ve relaxed for a few days,” she considered, and then cringed when she realised she was talking to herself. Again. Even when alone, she felt like she was being assessed by a scrutinising audience, which probably had something to do with the fact that she’d been dubbed weird in high school by bullies who had torn her self-esteem to shreds.
But she tried not to think about that. It was eons ago, and she was a different person now. Still weird, but awfully good at hiding it. Apparently just not in private.
A chilly draught crept into the cabin, and she pulled her cardigan tighter around her torso as she sipped her weak tea. Fraser had lied. This was definitely not her beloved Yorkshire brand, but she couldn’t survive the morning without something to warm her empty stomach. She’d tried to summon the energy to head back to the café for breakfast, if only to prove that she was capable of managing the journey, but she’d eventually settled for her half-eaten packet of stale crisps.
“I give up.” Harper slammed her laptop shut. Instinct had caused her to pick up her phone again, checking for messages this time, but it seemed this cabin remained in a void that no signal could reach. She’d been unable to access any since yesterday, when she’d lost connection mid-sentence on the way back from the café. She would never know whether Mum had opted for custard creams or bourbon biscuits during her weekly shop.
“This must be what prison feels like,” she pondered, standing up and scanning the room for something to cure her boredom.
No, not boredom, she realised with a pang.
Loneliness .
This was the longest she’d been left with only herself for company – no contact with the outside world, no social media feeds to scroll through, no current events to keep updated on – since… well, probably ever. What was she supposed to do with all this silence?
As she stepped into the narrow hallway, a cabinet beside the bathroom caught her eye, and she found her answer. Snoop.
It was wrong, but Fraser remained a mystery, and at least some of her sleepless night had been spent wondering whether he was a decent bloke or somebody she’d better keep her distance from. Part of her wanted it to be the latter: sexual attraction was fine, but she didn’t want more than that. She was still pining after Kenzie, and she certainly didn’t need a repeat with a Scottish tree god who happened to be family-oriented.
Nope. She refused to like him.
But she would like to understand him.
She glanced around to make sure he hadn’t secretly arrived to monitor her, because that would be an invasion of privacy, then opened the cabinet.
It was extremely disappointing. More tools lay on the shelves, as well as a tattered manual for woodworking. How much of the cabin’s furniture had he made himself, she asked herself? None of the tables or cubbies bore the glossy charm of IKEA, and she was already sinking through the drooping couch at a rapid rate, so the answer might very well have been everything.
Her fingers stumbled across something else. It looked like a box at first, until she realised it had been decorated. Taking it out of the shadows, she saw it was a birdhouse with beige, faded paint and a pointed orange roof. The house was slightly wonky, as though it had been made by inexperienced hands – a child, maybe?
It looked too old to have been made recently, but she supposed he’d crafted it with the niblings he’d mentioned last night. She placed it back carefully, afraid of scratching it any more than it already was.
Beside that, the yellowed pages of another old book faced her. She picked it up, hoping it might be something worth reading. Something to help her escape the loneliness. Something to inspire her love of words again.
Jurassic Park . Harper hadn’t even known the film was based on a book. She supposed dinosaurs were better than a murder mystery, and if Jeff Goldblum’s character was equally as bisexual-coded on page, that would be a win.
The front door squeaked open without warning, and she whipped around with the book pressed to her racing heart. Fraser halted on the threshold curiously as Bernard ran past him to greet her. “Enjoying rooting through my belongings?”
“Very much,” she replied honestly, then crouched down to receive sloppy licks from the bubbly Border Collie. “I thought you’d left me here forever, Wi-Fi-less and lost. I needed something to occupy my time.”
“I thought you were supposed to be writing,” he pointed out, stepping in and closing the door softly behind him.
“Turns out writing is a tricky business.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and stood up. Bernard scurried through her legs and disappeared into the bedroom. “Besides, it’s hard to concentrate in here. I think there are squirrels in the walls.”
A puzzled dent burrowed between his brows, but he only shook his head. “I don’t think they’re in the walls, but they do scuttle over the roof sometimes. Most people like the sounds of nature.”
“I’m not used to it! Don’t you feel all… weird and icky this far out on your own?”
He smoothed the sides of his russet hair, deliberating. “No. It’s peaceful. Or, at least, it was.” He gave a crooked, pointed smirk, but it quickly vanished when Bernard bounded back in, something clattering along the floor with him. “What’ve you got there, Bernard?”
It looked like a red ball, only it was too hard… and too familiar.
Probably because it had come straight out of her suitcase, which lay open in the bedroom.
“Oh, no!” Harper lunged to grab her rose-shaped vibrator from the dog, but Bernard was content to keep it in his mouth as he ran around the couch and coffee table with his tail wagging. “Drop it, Bernard! That’s not yours!”
“Bernard, drop!” Fraser instructed, voice hoarse with authority as he tried to catch him on the other side. Bernard slid straight through his hands and back into the bedroom.
Harper’s face blazed as she ran after him. “It’s fine! I’ll take care of it!”
“What even is it?” Fraser questioned, nudging past her and clapping his hands together. “Bernard, drop it!” In front of the suitcase, where Harper’s clothes had been strewn out in the dog’s search, Bernard finally bowed his head and shamefully spat out the magenta sex toy.
Harper stuttered on her protests when Fraser reached for it, but it was too late. He picked it up, examining the curved petal-like edges and, Harper’s favourite part, the tongue-like centre. Harper shrank further into her cardigan, whispering “Oh my god” under her breath.
Perfect. This was perfect. The handsome Scottish woodcutter, who had already taken pleasure in teasing her, now held her sex toy.
“Seriously, what is this?” Fraser chuckled, and then, upon seeing her face, his eyes widened to glistening marbles of mischief. “ Oh . I see.”
She snatched it from him and placed it in the pocket of her suitcase, burying it beneath her socks and underwear before Bernard could get his teeth round it again. “As I said, I came here for a... fun holiday.”
“I’m not judging.”
“As you shouldn’t. Any decent man would know that a woman deserves to be confident in her sexuality.”
“It’s really none of my business.”
But Harper was used to blabbering in tense situations, and she still felt judged, even if he insisted otherwise. “Maybe you should train your dog not to snoop around women’s suitcases.”
She put her hands on her hips, arms feeling like jelly. She would be reliving this humiliating moment for at least another three years before she got over it. It was in her nature to endlessly wonder what impression people had of her. She’d once called her English literature teacher “Mum” in sixth form college, and often still cringed about it as she lay in bed at night.
She officially hated Scotland. She would never come back. By the end of the holiday, she might not even be allowed back.
“Bernard meant no harm. Besides, you can call us even now. You rooted through my cupboards, and he’s rooted through your drawers.” His wolfish grin was enough to make her stomach coil with a different heat altogether. Great. How would she ever be able to use that vibrator without thinking of him, now?
He sniffed, leaning against the doorjamb. “As fun as this has been, I’ve got work to be getting on with. Are you coming into town or not?”
Harper bent down to pile her clothes back into her suitcase and muttered begrudgingly, “Give me a minute.”
The village of Belbarrow wasn’t quite as lovely as described in the Airbnb listing. With Bernard panting in her ear from the back seat, Harper watched the crooked, cobbled shops and bright awnings grow closer, interspersed between trees scattering amber leaves across the road. A rusted waterwheel stood to the side of a tearoom adorned with black and purple Halloween decorations. Opposite was a gift shop displaying fudge and shortbread in the window, which lifted Harper’s spirits. She’d promised to bring back gifts for her parents, so she would be sure to pay the shop a visit soon – for them, and for herself. Other than that, the street labelled Bridge Walk had only a few places of interest, including a pub set behind a narrow stream and a post office.
“It’s very quaint,” she commented for lack of anything else to say.
“What were you expecting?” Fraser replied, flicking on his indicator and turning the next corner. A bell tower loomed with stained glass windows and a heavy crown-like roof, attached to a church named St. Margaret’s. A few more shops followed, including a bookstore that piqued her interest. Maybe she’d judged too harshly.
Harper shrugged, nestling into the passenger seat. His car smelled just like him, like the cabin: like fresh cut wood and rain-dampened earth. She was beginning to enjoy it, especially now she was no longer splattered with said earth. “Airbnb claimed there’d be plenty to do.”
A candle shop and florist added fresh pastel colours further down the street, and even a couple of clothes stores were interspersed between them. Though it was certainly nowhere near as packed and lively as Manchester’s Market Street, perhaps she could spend an hour or two here after all.
“There is. Didn’t you see the massive loch yesterday?”
“I’m not much of a walker,” she admitted.
He didn’t seem surprised at this, his fingers tapping against the wheel. “Again, I have to wonder why you chose this place.”
So did she. When she thought of her busy, bustling hometown, though, her innards clenched and she knew that, as much as she’d like to be in the comfort of her own home, there was presently nothing there for her. “I needed a change. A remote change.”
“Then maybe start enjoying the remoteness a wee bit more,” he said gently. “This place isn’t so bad. I’m sure it’ll give you enough quiet to work on that book of yours.”
“Maybe.” Perhaps he was right. She needed to give it a proper chance, even if she wasn’t luxuriating in Heatherly Lodge, feet propped up on a suede pouffe, looking out at the forest without having to actually traipse through it. Truth be told, she hadn’t planned to visit the town much at all, except to keep herself fed and stretch her legs when needed. She could say goodbye to that dream now.
She sighed. Fraser cast her a sidelong glance. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.” She pasted on a smile quickly, though it felt more like a grimace. “I’m sure I’ll be fine once I settle in at the B&B.”
“Well, there it is.” He gestured ahead, where another narrower lane was buried beneath overgrown trees and dead leaves. A white stone cottage was the main attraction, situated on a slant where the road inclined into grassy fields and then more forest.
Harper straightened in her seat with newfound hope. It didn’t look half-bad, with bay windows and red ivy decorating the outer walls. Smoke curled from the chimney and a golden plaque above the door labelled it Flockhart’s , with a chalkboard to its right reading in white calligraphy: where everyone is welcome. A Pride flag rippling in the breeze splashed colour onto the scene, making her feel even more at home. She was reminded of the time she’d taken a spa break with Kenzie. How the receptionist had looked at them both and asked if they wanted separate beds. The subtle, hostile glance when they’d answered no and reached for one another’s hand. She didn’t have to worry about that now, but it still warmed her to see that some places were meant for her.
“Oh, wow. This place is lovely.”
“It’ll be even nicer soon. Andy’s putting a lot of work into it. They have to, to keep it an option when people are looking for a place to stay around here.”
He parked up at the top of the road and snapped Bernard’s leash to his collar. “Shall we?”
“You’re coming in with me?” she blurted, caught off guard. Before, he’d seemed fairly eager to get rid of her.
“Aye. I’ll help you with that naughty suitcase of yours.” He smirked, and Harper swallowed hard. Of course he hadn’t forgotten yet.
He tittered as he got out of the car, whistling for Bernard to follow. As he circled to the back of the pick-up truck to fetch her suitcase, Harper stepped out to drink in the brisk air. Although Belbarrow was further north than Manchester, the season’s cold weather hadn’t completely hit yet, and she was comfortable in her knitted layers and scarf.
“I can get it—”
“Aye, I know. You’re very capable of managing by yourself,” he grumbled, keeping the handle of the suitcase out of her reach. “You are allowed to accept help, y’know.”
She might have been allowed, but she certainly wasn’t used to it. Her steps faltered as the realisation hit her. She hated being helped. She hated having to ask for it. She hated it when people assumed she needed it. All she wanted was to be independent. Strong. More than that, she wanted other people to view her that way.
I need someone I don’t have to worry about all the time.
The words sliced through her as harshly as the first time she’d heard them. She grabbed the handle determinedly, her breath catching in her throat when the cool side of her hand brushed against his warm one. He narrowed his eyes. Snatched it away. “Oi. Let me be a gentleman!”
“Let me be a strong independent woman!” she argued, yanking the suitcase back once more.
She strutted through the door to the B&B before he could stop her—
Or, at least, she tried to. She only succeeded in walking straight into the solid wood, her shoulder smarting against it.
She huffed. “It’s not open!”
Fraser nudged her out of the way to knock on the door.
“Hang on just a sec!” a rough voice called from inside, and the sound of feet trampling downstairs followed.
Locks twisted on the other side of the door, and finally, it opened. At the entrance stood who Harper assumed was Andy, the owner. Sporting a mussed, stylish raven mullet and burgundy dungarees over a pink knitted jumper, Andy’s hazel eyes were doe-like behind round-framed glasses, their friendly smile punctuated by a lip ring. They couldn’t have been older than thirty-five, though Harper supposed that made sense if the business was passed down through the generations. Still, Harper envied them. She wasn’t far from that age herself, and she was nowhere near holding a steady job, never mind having her own business.
“Hiya, Fraser! What’s up?” Andy slipped their hand into their pocket, blowing a feathery strand of hair from their brow.
Fraser looked just as happy to see them, that dimple returning to the corner of his mouth. “We thought you weren’t in for a minute.” He poked his head to look behind Andy, puzzled. “How come you’re all locked up?”
“I thought I’d close early and get started on some renovations before the tourists start flocking in through December. I can’t afford another quiet winter, so all the old-fashioned crap needs to go. Don’t tell my mum I said that.” Their shoulders heaved as they rubbed their brow glumly. “It’s chaos, Fraser. I’m going to need your help. How free is your schedule this month?”
Harper’s stomach sank. They were closed. As she peered at Fraser for guidance, much to her own chagrin, Andy finally seemed to notice her. “Oh, sorry. Who’s your friend? More importantly, is she good at painting?”
“This is Harper…” He winced, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s in a bit of a pickle, Andy. Is there any way you can offer her a room, even with the renos?”
Andy fidgeted with the ties of their dungarees, propping one foot on top of the other as they leaned against the door. “Oh, dear. What’s happened?”
“Airbnb mishap,” Harper explained, unable to hide her deflation.
“ Ick .” Andy wrinkled their nose in distaste. “Every Airbnb is a mishap.”
“That’s what I said,” agreed Fraser.
“How long are you staying?” Andy asked her.
“Three months…” Harper replied warily. “I could cut it down to two. Or just until I’ve finished my book. How long does it take to write a book?” she pondered aloud, recognising she probably should have googled that before booking this trip on a whim, in the hopes she would “find herself” and write a bestselling novel.
Andy’s face softened with sympathy, and Harper already knew she was about to get rejected. Again. The online writing community she’d recently inserted herself into would probably tell her she’d better get used to it, but that didn’t help right now.
“Sorry,” they said. “We can’t afford to stay running for one person, especially not with all the work we’re doing on the place. It’s my fault. One minute, I didn’t like the curtains, the next, I was ripping off wallpaper left, right, and centre.”
So everybody, it seemed, was not in fact welcome. They should change the sign to “nobody welcome” instead.
Harper had never known how it felt not to have a roof over her head. She didn’t like it at all. She felt… bare, somehow. Exposed. Alone.
She considered searching for the nearest train station and heading home, but her pride wouldn’t allow that. She was here to become the person Kenzie had wanted her to be, to prove that she’d made a mistake in dumping her for the Selling Salford lady, and (as the cherry on top) to accomplish her goals. Who would she be if she gave up and went home? A pathetic failure. She refused to be that anymore.
She could look for another Airbnb, but the thought unsettled her. If they really were harming the village and woods, she didn’t want to play a part.
Fraser turned to Harper, at a loss.
She pushed out her chest and tugged at the corners of her jacket. “It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”
“If anything changes, I can let you know,” Andy said helplessly.
Harper shook her head. “I’ll find something, I’m sure. Thanks, anyway. It was nice to meet you. Oh, and I am okay at painting.”
“I’ll message you about my schedule later,” said Fraser.
Andy mouthed another “Sorry!” Fraser’s way before they shut the door.
Harper scraped her wispy, windswept hair from her face, turning around to look at the village at the bottom of the hill. There had to be something down there for her. She couldn’t be here just to get pushed out the same way she’d been pushed from her job, from her relationship.
Fraser sighed and pried her suitcase from her limp fingers. “C’mon. I’ll buy you a pint and we’ll figure this out.”
“You don’t have—”
He shushed her before she could finish her sentence, then said with warm sincerity: “Harper. I want to.”
She supposed she couldn’t argue with that.