Chapter 21
21
“Nobody else knows about this,” Fraser warned as they approached his shed door.
Harper’s eyes widened. She hadn’t been very impressed when Fraser led them back to the cabin on the morning of Halloween, claiming he had a surprise for her. The place was growing on her, sure, but the only surprising thing she’d found there so far involved the big hairy spiders in the bathroom and what temperature the shower might be each day. She’d have much preferred staying at Fraser’s, having almost forgotten what sleeping in a real house felt like.
But excitement and nervousness stirred within her now. What was Fraser hiding in the shed that he’d been so tetchy about? “It isn’t a secret sex room or something, is it? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
He laughed, and took out a rusty key. At their feet, Bernard let out a bark before running off to chase the squirrels. “No sex room. I don’t think we need one after last night.”
She flushed at the memory.
“But it is personal,” he said, “so please don’t make too much fun of me.”
“I would never do that.”
“You always do that,” he reminded.
She pursed her lips. Making fun was in her northern blood as much as her obsession for cheesy chips and gravy was, but she schooled her features to show her sincerity. “Only about silly things. If you’re trusting me with something... well, I won’t make you regret it. Promise.”
She took his hand, squeezing gently, and he relaxed. Still, his jaw ticked as he nudged the door open, and she realised he might truly be showing her something real. Something he cared about.
Fraser opened the door and they stepped inside. The air hung thick with the scent of gloss and wood shavings, chalky paint and glue. He flicked a switch, and the shed was bathed in dull light.
Harper gasped. The small outhouse hadn’t looked big enough to contain so much. The dusty space was filled with elegant furniture that was not at all the same shabby-chic style as the cabin’s. Gilded storage chests carved with swirling cartouches, wall cabinets etched with elaborate vines and flowers, tables and chairs with ornate legs and paint-speckled surfaces. Standing against the wall to her left was a sky-blue bookcase that would look perfect in a child’s room. Fluffy painted clouds billowed over the frame, which rose to a roof-like point at the top, and a colourful hot air balloon drifted above the top shelf.
“What do you mean nobody knows about this?” She whispered it as though she was in some sacred space. This wasn’t just furniture. This was art, and the style was more beautiful than any she’d seen before. “ Why ?” she added as an afterthought, lost for words.
His shrug was too nonchalant for her liking. “I’ve been wanting to gift some of these pieces for years, but…”
“But?”
“I’m worried it would stop being a hobby. It would stop being mine , if other people knew about it.” He avoided her gaze, swiping a finger along a dusty worktop surface, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it. More he wasn’t saying. His reasons were valid, but they sounded robotic, rehearsed. Like something he didn’t believe was true.
And if it wasn’t true, hiding all this would be such a shame. This furniture was extraordinary. He’d even collected patches of fabric, and some of them were laid out on the worktops, in the process of being sewn together to make seat cushions. A week ago, she wouldn’t have believed such heavy hands could handle a needle and thread, but she’d since learned that his deft fingers were capable of anything .
And that wasn’t all. On the bench against the back wall was a host of smaller, delicate pieces. She edged closer, taking care not to disturb the treasures towering on either side of her. They looked like figurines—
She paused mid-bend, coming face to face with a dark-eyed fairy with platinum hair and a dress made of dried, layered autumn leaves.
She recognised this style.
“Oh my god,” she breathed. “ You made those ornaments on the Fairy Trail!”
Fraser scuffed his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets as though trying to protect himself from something. Embarrassment?
She had never wanted to kiss him more than she did now. All that work, that beauty, kept anonymous because he’d just wanted to make people happy while keeping himself happy, too. Those calloused hands that had roamed every inch of her skin last night were capable of whittling wood into something else, something alive.
“Fraser…” She could see his heart all over this shed and it was beautiful. Gleaming. Gentle.
And he was showing it to her. How could she be the only one he’d allowed in here?
“Not even your sisters—?”
“No one,” he said. “They were only meant to be studies, so I could practise carving and painting. It’s silly, but I loved making them. One day, I left one on the trail. I thought people might like them. People like silly things sometimes.”
Harper shook her head. “They’re not silly. They’re brilliant.”
She held one to her chest, her breast swelling with a strange feeling of fullness.
He smiled wryly. “You can keep that one if you want. You inspired it.”
Curious, she peeked at the fairy again.
She saw it now. The dark eyes. The blonde hair. The round pink cheeks and faint smattering of freckles. She didn’t know what to say. She felt lightheaded, and wasn’t sure if it was the dust, the chemicals, or something she was afraid to name.
“I made something else for you, too.” He beckoned her across the shed, to the back left corner. She followed him, fairy still cradled in one hand, to a handsome pale pink desk with blue drawers and lilac shelves. She didn’t understand at first, not until she saw the wooden plaque stationed above the top shelf. Harper’s Writing Corner was painted on it in gold.
A writing desk.
She looked closer, and saw that he’d used the same gold tint to pattern the desktop with little suns. Sunshine . “Are you kidding?”
“I haven’t varnished it yet, and I didn’t know if you liked these colours or…”
“I mean, they are bisexual colours in pastel !” she gushed, running her trembling finger along the smooth surface.
He nodded. “I saw the flag on your phone case and figured….”
“I’m going to cry,” she admitted shakily. He’d noticed her phone case ? She’d almost forgotten that she still used the one she’d bought from Manchester Pride last year.
And he’d noticed. He’d really noticed.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s that bad?”
“It’s that good ! Nobody has ever done something this thoughtful for me before!”
He finally smiled, though it was lopsided with what she now recognised as self-doubt. She’d been so certain that they were polar opposites, from where they lived right down to their interests. But maybe they weren’t so different underneath.
She dabbed her damp eyes, launching into his arms. “I love it so much, Fraser. Thank you.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I’m glad you do, Harp. I figured it would look well enough in the cabin. I’ll get the crappy workbench out of there, give you some more space to write. I know it’s not ideal when I’m working outside, but I still want you to feel like it’s yours.”
“Watching you chop wood while you work is more than ideal. I just need some noise-cancelling headphones. Can you make those from wood, too?”
He seesawed his hand, pretending to take this request seriously. “I don’t think they’d be very comfy, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hmm.” She let out a long, content sigh, placing her fairy figurine on the top shelf of the desk. “This makes me feel like a proper author. And a proper fairy.”
His fingers drew slow circles on her lower back. “Well, you are both those things in my eyes – and a lot more.”
Harper gazed up at him, spellbound and speechless. In that moment, she was a little bit in love with him, but he didn’t have to know that. “That time you caught me snooping in your things… I found a birdhouse in the cabinet. Is that why you didn’t want me looking? Did you make that, too?” It wasn’t nearly as polished as the furniture in here, but every artist started somewhere.
Fraser sniffed and looked away. She narrowed her eyes, worried she’d stepped too far – but why? He’d shown her his work. Why did he still seem… ashamed of it? If she had this sort of skill, she’d be flaunting it for everyone to see.
“I did make that,” he admitted quietly, “when I was a kid.”
“Wow. So, you’ve been doing this for a really long time!”
He shook his head, turning his back to her as he leaned against the workbench. “No. I stopped for a while, after that. I only really got back into this after I built the cabin a few years ago.”
“Oh.” Harper frowned. This wasn’t the first time he’d been difficult to read, but it was the first time she’d felt as though she was treading on eggshells around him.
Fraser cleared his throat and explained. “My dad was – is? – a carpenter, so working with wood was always something I was interested in.”
She risked a few steps closer, if only to let him know she was listening. She couldn’t remember him talking about his dad before, and his voice sounded tender and sore.
“He gave me my first tool set for my eleventh birthday, and I wanted to make him something nice. Something he’d want to keep. So, I made the birdhouse.” A humourless chuckle fell from him. “He didn’t like it.”
Anger rose in Harper. “ Why ?”
“Those tools weren’t supposed to be for ‘artsy fartsy shite’, as he called it. I was supposed to be the man of the house, learning how to fix up things so I could be a carpenter like him one day, not wasting wood and paint on silly wee gifts.”
Harper didn’t know what to say. She put her hand on Fraser’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. No child should have been dismissed like that, but especially not him.
He turned to Harper slowly. “I still think about how disgusted he was that day. He left us a couple of years later, but it took me over a decade to even think about trying again, never mind showing my work to people. It’s daft, but part of me still thinks he’s right. I am the man of the house, especially now, and this work is my weakness. It’s the complete opposite of everything I’m supposed to be. Nobody else needs to know about it.”
She blew out a breath. “Your dad was wrong. You’re not supposed to be anything, Fraser. What, because you’re a labourer, you can’t make art? That’s ridiculous!”
“I know that, deep down.” Fraser smiled, but it was shaky. Sad. “But you never forget your first rejection. I never want to feel that again. My sisters rely on me to be what he wasn’t, and my work feels like my armour, somehow. If I keep labouring, keep getting jobs, then I’m sturdy and reliable. I can be strong for them. I was wary to even get a job in forestry. Planting trees, keeping them healthy… God, he’d hate that.” He tapped his temple. “His wee voice is always there, in the back of my head, telling me I’m doing everything all wrong, even though I haven’t seen him since the day he walked out. How mad is that?”
Tears pricked her eyes. He’d deserved so much better. It was his dad that was the problem, not him. She wished there was a way to make him see that, to take away all those years of damage.
“It isn’t mad at all. He’s your father, and you depended on him to show you the way. Instead, he planted insecurity. The only thing that’s mad is him and the ways he failed you.” She took his hands. “You’re strong, and you’re a good man, and none of those things are dependent on where you work, or what you work on. Whether it’s a hammer or a chisel, a paintbrush, a knitting needle, or even a—”
“Aye, I get the message.” He smiled, shaking his head.
She rolled her eyes. “Do you mind? I was going somewhere with that.”
“Carry on, then. I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath and said, with a sense of finality she hoped he wouldn’t argue with, “You’re strong because you’re you.” She stood on her tiptoes to cup his jaw. “Your work is beautiful. There isn’t a person in this village who wouldn’t agree. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing , to be ashamed of. You should only be proud.”
Finally, he relaxed, his fingers tangled in her hair and his gaze swimming with tenderness. He offered a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “Thank you, sunshine. Really. That means more than you know.”
“I should be thanking you, for showing me all this. It really is wonderful. I hope you know that.”
He let out an uncertain hum, his hands drifting over her clothes. She usually hated wearing leggings unless she was lounging in the house, but today, she’d felt comfortable enough to forget about looking stylish. It made her feel free, especially when he squeezed her curves more tightly. “Tell me a few more times and I might start believing you.”
She played with the buttons of his shirt, feeling triumphant when his body responded, already hardening against her. “I can tell you plenty,” she whispered against his neck. “And I can show you, too.”
His groan was all disappointment as he tugged her close. “As nice as that sounds, I owe Andy a visit. I didn’t finish my work yesterday. Then I have to check up on Mum and Eiley. Then I promised I’d take the kiddos trick-or-treating.”
“Oh.” She perched on one of his handcrafted chairs, trying not to look put out.
“You could come with me to the B&B,” he suggested. “I wouldn’t recommend it, mind. Andy is a tyrant when we’re working.”
“If I help out, do you think they’ll give me a discount when they reopen?”
He tssked. “Just like that, you turn your back on my cabin, where your new writing desk will soon be.”
“I will take my writing desk with me, but… normal showers. Quicker Wi-Fi. No owls keeping me awake all night.”
“Did you hear that, Bernard?” He called over to the mutt, who had curled up on a tattered blanket by the door. “She prefers hot water and superfast broadband to us.”
“Don’t bring Bernard into this!” she chided, and then, to Bernard: “Don’t listen to him, Bernard. I would take a thousand freezing showers for that boopable face.”
Fraser laughed as he kissed her, a soft finger tilting her chin so she couldn’t look away. Not that she wanted to.
She huffed dramatically. “I suppose I can pretend to work with you. Only if I’m rewarded for it tomorrow, though.”
Fraser nipped her ear lobe playfully. “I’m sure that can be arranged, sunshine.”
Harper stepped into the B&B and couldn’t help but gawp at the mess. Stairs had been torn out, doorways went without doors, and the wallpaper had been ripped from the walls. It might have been nice before, but Harper couldn’t see much beyond the dust sheets and, well, dust. Apparently, this was normal, because Fraser didn’t falter as he called out, “Help has arrived!”
“A whole twenty-four hours late!” Andy’s voice drifted from somewhere nearby. They appeared in the hallway wearing an expression of thunder, tapping their Converse-clad foot impatiently. Their dark hair was covered by a black beanie today, choppy ends feathering around their elfin face. “What’s your excuse? Did your dog eat your tools?”
“I left my tools here, smart ass,” Fraser said. “Since your tongue is so sharp today, perhaps it’s you who’s eaten them.”
He stepped aside so that Harper was in view. She waved nervously, suddenly unsure if she’d be welcome here after all. She wasn’t very good at… well, any kind of DIY, let alone DIY that would be judged by someone whose personality was the love child of Gordon Ramsay and Scary Spice.
But Andy’s scowl lifted when it fell on Harper, their hazel eyes lightening as they uncrossed their arms. “Oh, hi, Harper! I didn’t know Fraser had brought company! You’ll have to excuse the state of this place. I am being very calm about it, as you can probably tell.”
Fraser let out a Ha! so sardonic he almost choked on it, and Harper nodded sagely. “Well, I am sort of renovating my entire life at the moment, and I, too, am very calm about all the chaos it’s brought. I’m absolutely not having a crisis.”
“Good. No crisises here, then. Or is it ‘crises’?” Andy rubbed their pointed chin with a wry smirk, displaying chipped black polish on their bitten-down nails.
“How come you’re nice to her but not me?” Fraser asked incredulously.
Andy slapped his chest as they passed him to fling their arm over Harper’s shoulder. “Because Harper is pretty.”
“ I’m pretty,” Fraser grumbled.
“He is very pretty,” defended Harper, her resolve melting due to the compliment nonetheless. Having felt on the edge of the queer community for most of her early twenties as a femme who had dated mostly men, such validation felt like a rare, special thing. That was probably why she’d been so crazy about Kenzie in those years. A confident, attractive lesbian with experience? It had taken Harper at least a year to believe such a woman might actually like little old her – and about five seconds to realise she no longer did, in the end.
“Besides,” Fraser said to Andy, rocking on his heels. “It was Harper’s fault I didn’t come back yesterday.”
“No, actually, that’s not the truth, Fraser.” She turned to Andy. “He just doesn’t trust me to walk on my own.”
Andy’s head snapped between them as though they were watching a tennis match. They scratched their paint-smeared cheek in bewilderment. “I am ever so sorry, but I actually don’t care about any of this .” They narrowed their eyes, wafting a hand through the air between Harper and Fraser. “I care that my parents are coming back to town for the autumn festival next weekend, and the beloved B&B they entrusted me to take care of is fucked !”
“It’s not fucked.” Fraser leaned against a closed door and almost tumbled through it. He caught both the door and himself from falling just in time, inspecting the wood as he propped it against the frame. “Okay. It might be a little bit fucked.”
“Jack said he fixed that yesterday!” Andy groused.
“I’ll sort it. Don’t worry.” Fraser reached out and rubbed Andy’s arms. Andy glowered before letting Fraser soothe them.
“And I will pretend to look busy with this.” Harper picked up a hammer from the floor, waving it around like she was wielding Thor’s great weapon – and nearly crashed into Fraser when the heavy weight sent her teetering back.
He let Andy go, and his fingers curled around Harper’s so that he could snatch the hammer away. “Let’s not play with heavy objects, please.”
She huffed, but didn’t try and grab the tool back, instead picking up an abandoned paint roller from the floor. “This?”
“That would actually be a big help.” Andy swiped their shaggy fringe from their eyes, patting Harper’s shoulder appreciatively. “I’ll give you a hefty discount as soon as we reopen. How’s that?”
Harper couldn’t help but raise her hand, waiting until Fraser begrudgingly high-fived her. “Great! I was totally not expecting that! Thank you!”
“She totally was, and that’s why she’s here.” But Fraser’s mutter was distracted, his brows furrowed as he examined the non-door he’d just fallen through. “Jack’s usually great at this stuff.”
Andy tugged the ties of their black hoodie tighter. “And you’re usually great at not abandoning people in need. When Jack realised you weren’t coming back with our lunch, he decided to call it a day as well.”
Fraser cast Andy a grave look, and Harper took a wary step back. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like they were joking anymore, and she was certain that the rough edge of Fraser’s grimace was laced with pure guilt.
“I’m sorry, Andy. Truly,” Fraser said, his eyes shining with sincerity. “I let you down, but I’ll make up for it.”
Andy’s face remained stony as they shoved their hands into their pockets. “I can’t do this without you and Jack.”
“And you won’t,” he promised.
Harper didn’t know what to do. She felt like she should have been apologising, too, but what for? She hadn’t asked Fraser to search for her yesterday. She hadn’t known that her going on a hike would lead to this .
Wasn’t this just part of life? People let each other down sometimes. People got busy and dropped the ball. Harper couldn’t count all the meetings she’d cancelled, friends she’d forgotten to reply to over the years.
But it seemed like nobody expected that of Fraser.
Nobody expected him to be human.
She cleared her throat, picking up the tin of orchid white paint. “So, where do you want me?”
“Erm… There.” Andy looked around before choosing a patch on the faded blue back wall.
Wordlessly, Harper walked over and stationed the paint beside her feet on a large towel. She grabbed a tray and poured some out into it, then stilled for a moment as an image flickered in her mind.
If Fraser ever revealed his secret hobby, his furniture could go here. People would see it and ask about it, generating more interest, more business. In a town full of small businesses, such unique furniture would add lots of rustic charm – the kind of charm she’d come here for. Charm many tourists would want to see, too. She glanced over her shoulder at Fraser, surprised at how familiar his sturdy presence and chiselled features felt to her now. He didn’t notice her attention, didn’t look up from correcting the hinges on the door. Just like when he was chopping wood, he remained completely focused, a bead of sweat already glistening in his hairline.
Harper’s stomach swooped. It hurt to imagine that he would always be embarrassed of his art because of his father. She wanted more for him than just helping people out. His work was noble, but he had so much passion to give, and nobody knew but her.
He was sort of magnificent.
She was sort of falling for him.
That thought made her feel like she was slipping into a deep, dark hole, so she turned around quickly and got to work. She found a relaxing rhythm with each stroke of paint, though her arm quickly began to ache. Andy paced, watching them like a hawk between nailing down a chair rail on one of the already painted walls. Soon, the broken door was secured, and Harper saw relief seep from Fraser. He began applying primer to the next door, veins snaking beneath sinewy, tattooed forearms.
Yep. She was definitely falling. She knew because, in the time it had taken him to fix a door, she’d barely covered half a wall.
Andy sidled up beside her, and she quickly returned to looking busy. Still, she knew she’d been caught, and her face burned.
“I won’t hold it against you. You wouldn’t be the first woman to swoon over Fraser and his mega muscles.” Andy nudged her in the ribs with a sharp elbow, a sly grin curling beneath their lip ring.
“I’m not swooning. I don’t swoon,” she lied, suddenly showing a lot of interest in her paint roller.
“Good. You shouldn’t. You’re hotter than him.”
“Well, that’s blatantly not true,” she murmured, surprised the pale paint wasn’t reflecting the beetroot-red of her face now. “But thanks.”
“No, you really are. Anyway, sorry I’m a bit awful today. I know he’s being very generous, helping me out, and I don’t mean to get so…” Andy shuddered. “I think I’m turning into my mother.”
“Happens to us all.” She paused. “Do your parents expect a lot from you, managing the B&B, or…?”
Andy tugged their earlobe. “It’s just important to them, and I practically begged for them to retire so that I could run the place independently. I’ve never found my own calling, so I just wanted to prove that I’m not a waste of space. I don’t want to be a failure.” They sighed, planting their hands on their hips as their eyes scoured their unfinished surroundings. “I sort of see this place as a mirror. If it looks bad, I must look bad, too.”
That, Harper could relate to. Through school, she hadn’t been liked very much, so she’d chased academic accomplishments instead and had never really stopped. When she’d been unemployed after graduation, she’d sunk into a pit of despair for months. Lounged on Mum’s couch in her pyjamas, feeling horrible and useless. She’d wanted to avoid falling back to that place after losing her job this time, and thank goodness she’d been able to.
Although…
What if she felt that way when she got home? What if her book was rejected and her relationship with Fraser was over, and she had nothing, absolutely nothing, to show for her life again?
“It isn’t bad. It’s a work in progress,” she said finally. “And you’re not a waste of space. Not in the slightest.”
Andy hummed. “Thanks. I just didn’t think it would be this hard to run things on my own.”
Harper wondered if there was more Andy could do to reel guests in. “You know, when I Googled places to stay in Belbarrow, nothing but the Airbnbs came up. Do you have a website?”
“Aye, but I always forget to update it. My dad set it up, and he never really got it running. It was easier to rely on word of mouth back in the day. We have a Facebook page.”
“Facebook is good.” Harper nodded slowly. “I work – worked – in marketing. I could take a look, if you’d like? See if there might be any quick fixes to get more eyes on this place?”
Andy brightened. “Would you?”
“I’m already thinking that you should hold a little reopening party once it’s ready. Maybe find a few bloggers or travel vloggers willing to come and take a look? If you offer them a free night’s stay, they might give you a nice review, get some of their followers interested.”
Andy wrapped their hands tightly around Harper’s arm like an overexcited child. “I hadn’t even thought of that!” They tugged Harper away from the paint, beneath the arched doorway that led into the dining room. “Fraser, I’m stealing your girl!”
Fraser grinned, making Harper feel giddy. “Aye, I’ve noticed. Just make sure to bring her back soon.”