Chapter 4 #2
Rae’s was the only plate still with food on it afterwards, and she was eager to escape the tension by sweeping up the dishes the moment Gran had taken her final bite.
Her skin prickled when Struan’s hand brushed hers, warm in contrast to the cool ceramic as he tried to tug his plate back. ‘Please, let me.’
‘Nonsense. You’re a guest,’ Dad said. ‘Besides, Rae loves washing up.’
Struan’s brow arched. This close, she could see a hint of sunburn splashed over the gentle bump of his nose, and the thin scar breaking up the stubble on his chin, which she knew was from a short stint on the high school rugby team.
The silver line served as a reminder that he wasn’t a stranger, but someone she’d known for most of her life, even if just from sitting in the Macgibbons’ cluttered living room or trudging behind him with Martha on their way home from school.
He tilted his head to better see her from his chair, and only then did she realise how close they were, her cleavage inches away from his face.
She was sure she didn’t imagine the slant in his attention, the subtle swipe of his tongue across his bottom lip.
Her nipples peaked as though it was them he’d licked instead, and she prayed he didn’t notice.
A hum began under her skin with the memory of his foot against hers, like he’d wanted to say, I’m here. Comfort her. It had probably been an accident, but…
But everything Struan did seemed intentional, from the way he’d looked at her across the table to the way he smiled at her now. ‘Aye, I do remember you battling my mum for the dish sponge when you’d stay over.’
She’d almost forgotten that. She supposed pulling her weight had been so engrained into her that she didn’t like to take advantage. That, and she really did like washing up. She was always the last to leave the restaurant at night, finding it therapeutic to wipe clean the mess of the day.
‘Well, I’m off to get my pyjamas on,’ Gran announced, cutting through Rae’s unexpected fixation on Struan.
Rae hopped away to collect Dad’s plate before heading to run the hot water at the sink.
‘I’ll dry, then,’ she heard Struan offer. ‘Can I get you anything, Doug?’
When she heard Dad’s chair squeak, Rae spun around, but he seemed steady enough with the wall as his support. ‘All that food’s got my stomach complaining. Excuse me.’
So he was struggling, then. Rae tried not to think about it now, not with Struan still here.
He’d witnessed enough of her personal problems tonight already.
She filled the bowl, the sweet scent of pomegranate washing up liquid grounding her as she swished her hands around the water.
Once Dad had left, she let out a long breath.
‘You okay?’ Struan asked.
‘Fine.’ She handed him a gingham dish towel, which he draped over his shoulder while he waited for her to wash the first plate. ‘Thanks for trying to diffuse the tension with your nerdy Spider-Man jokes.’
‘They weren’t that nerdy.’ He feigned offence with a hand to his chest, which made it difficult to ignore the softness of his torso beneath his blue T-shirt.
His limbs were well-muscled, but his stomach and pecs were round and untoned: a supple body built from equal parts strength and ease, which felt perfect for him – and charming to her, especially when he stood close enough that her elbow hit the cushion around his ribs.
She tried to keep her voice steady, though his earthy scent, spiced by faint cologne, wafted over her. ‘They weren’t that funny, either.’
‘Aye, I got that when no one laughed.’
‘At least you tried.’
‘Hm. Too hard, some would argue.’
She passed him a plate, now dripping with wet suds, as he cast her a sidelong glance.
It was strange, having him here. She knew him well enough to feel comfortable, yet an electricity skittered over her spine.
They’d never really had much to talk about before – but they weren’t the same people they used to be.
He was chattier than she remembered, less burdened by his grief, and she probably the opposite.
With their one reason for connection, Martha, not here to ground them, she kept waiting for the awkward silence or stiff small talk.
Yet it didn’t come.
‘How’s your tongue?’
‘Pardon me?’ She whirled on him with blazing cheeks, soap dripping all over the kitchen tiles.
‘From the peppercorn,’ he clarified with a hint of amusement.
Oh. She’d already forgotten about that. She tried to compose herself, scouring her sponge over the ceramics with more force now. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Let me know if you need first aid.’
‘I think I’ll survive, thank you.’ She couldn’t decide if he was flirting or deadly serious. His sense of humour had always been unpredictable.
‘So… Sydney. Opera house. Bondi Beach. Barbecues. Kangaroos,’ Struan said with what she supposed was meant to be an Australian accent.
‘Are you just listing off things found in Australia now?’
‘Little bit. I’m giving you an opening to talk about yourself. It looked very fancy, where you worked. Not somewhere I’d ever be able to afford.’
Rae paused. ‘Did Dad show you pictures or something?’
‘I followed you on Instagram. Not that you’d know, since you never followed me back. Cold, Little Rae. Very cold.’
She snorted. She rarely opened her social media apps, and when she did, she would post and then log off. Appearing as a guest judge on the show SuperCook last year had earned her some extra followers, and the notifications could become easily overwhelming. ‘Deepest apologies.’
‘Naw, I get it. You and Martha got too cool for the likes of us boring Joes.’ She frowned at the hint of gravel in his tone, but didn’t have time to dissect it when he asked, ‘Which cupboard for the plates?’
‘The top one on your left. And the phrase is “Average Joe”.’
‘Is it?’ He reached for the handle, T-shirt riding up, and Rae’s lungs stilled without permission.
A fair strip of hair accentuated the jut of his lower belly, narrowing to a line that crept beneath the waistband of his shorts.
Dark beauty spots were peppered like constellations on the side of his hip.
She really, really could have done without seeing those after already struggling to accept his sudden glow up.
Martha’s brother, she thought, turning her back to him quickly.
Martha, Martha, Martha. She would absolutely not be okay with the way Rae’s stomach somersaulted.
She would be extra not okay with the heat between her legs, far more surprising than anything Struan had said tonight.
She didn’t often feel… that. Mostly because she was too busy, but also because she’d never really known what she wanted.
She’d found solace in the label of pansexual during uni, when dating men had been unpleasant and uninspiring, and she’d realised for the first time, with Martha’s queer expertise, that maybe getting flustered whenever her lesbian roommate came home wasn’t just a ‘girl crush’, but an actual crush. Watching Jennifer’s Body had helped.
‘I was wondering,’ Struan was saying, ‘if you’d maybe want to get a drink at the tavern sometime. Might be nice to catch up properly, y’know, without Audrey’s dry commentary.’
‘Martha!’ Rae said. Out loud. She wasn’t sure why.
‘No. I know we look quite similar, but I’m Struan, her brother.’
‘Martha…’ Rae grappled desperately for something, anything, to make her look less like a stammering fool. ‘She usually comes home over summer, doesn’t she?’
‘Oh.’ The dent between Struan’s brows deepened, and he looked around like he no longer knew why he was still here.
Rae tried to tell herself it was a good thing.
He’d outstayed his welcome, and she needed a long bath and to not feel whatever she currently did.
‘She hasn’t made plans yet, but I’m sure she will once she knows you’re back. ’
‘That will be nice.’
Struan nodded slowly as he dried off the last of the cutlery. ‘Okay.’
She hoped she wasn’t as pink as she felt, but since she was warm, nervous, and prone to rosacea, she doubted she was that lucky.
At school, she’d forever been teased, especially when acne had left her more pockmarked than a berry.
Little Rae was a pleasant nickname in comparison to the other she’d earned: Strawb.
Anxiously, she poured the water down the drain and scrubbed at the surrounding areas of the sink, though they weren’t particularly dirty.
When Struan left his dish towel on the counter, she was quick to refold it and place it in its usual spot over the oven handle.
He watched her carefully, like she was something to be studied.
While she was used to such scrutiny in a kitchen, she didn’t particularly like it.
Thankfully, Roderick the cat appeared on the dining table to sip Rae’s unfinished wine.
‘Not for you, Rod!’ She dashed over to the grey cat to tear him away, earning an aggravated meow.
Struan was shifting awkwardly when she turned with the grey lump bundled in her arms.
‘I should go, I think.’ He scratched the back of his neck. ‘Thank you for dinner, though. It really was the best thing I’ve tasted in a while.’
Relief washed over Rae, and she went to the back door a little too eagerly. ‘Well, thank you for helping Dad.’
He grabbed his backpack from the floor with a nod. ‘I’ll come check on him tomorrow. Will you tell him I said bye?’
‘Of course.’
‘I, er…’ As he trailed off, Rae opened the door, unsure what else there was left to say. She was just glad for the yowling cat between them, as sharp as his claws were.
‘Well, it was nice to see you,’ he said again, as though trying to fill the quiet. Does he know he’s allowed to leave, now?
‘You, too,’ she replied with as much politeness as she could muster.
And then, as he leaned in, she understood. He wanted to hug her. She put her free arm around his back, sinking into his warmth—
‘Oh, this is awkward. I was going for the cat.’ Struan chuckled, hand hovering over Roderick’s head.
‘Oh!’ Rae flew back so quickly the door handle met her spine in a sharp zap of pain, but thankfully, Struan was too busy sneezing to notice.
‘It’s… er, okay. I just didn’t think you’d want to…’
‘I don’t,’ she was quick to confirm. Too quick.
‘Great. Then I’m going to go.’
Yes, please do. ‘Okay. Bye, then…’
He backed away with a final wave and another almighty sneeze that echoed over the darkening farm.
Rae watched his silhouette disappear, then squeezed her eyes closed as she shut the door, letting Roderick down.
‘Numpty!’ she scolded herself, embarrassment crawling like red ants across her skin.
No wonder he’d called her Little Rae, like she was still that young, gawky friend attached to Martha’s hip. At least it made certain that they would settle back into their old ways, barely more than strangers, only in the same room when someone else put them there.
Except, Rae had spent a long time around strangers and casual acquaintances. Struan, with his subtle touches and flirtatious quips, hadn’t felt like either of those things tonight.