Chapter 15
‘I heard my soon-to-be daughter-in-law hounded you yesterday,’ was the first thing Myra said when Rae entered the farm shop the next day.
Rae chuckled, setting her basket of freshly cooled preserves on the counter, ready to be stocked. She’d made enough jars to send all of Scotland into a sugar-induced coma.
She was getting into the rhythm of things, staying up late and rising early to prepare her jams until her fingers were sticky more often than not.
Since visitors were welcome to pick their own fruit rather than buy the pre-packed punnets, their lack of help hadn’t caused too many problems yet, and already the warm weather matched with her advertising efforts had lured families to the farm.
She was starting to believe she might actually have a chance at successfully taking care of things while Dad was busy recovering from surgery.
Myra manning the farm shop helped, and she’d expanded her hours to accommodate the busy period.
Like her children, she had a wild head of red curls and kind eyes.
She had fast become Rae’s second chief taste-tester, right after Gran, who she couldn’t trust to offer honest feedback on account of her permanent disapproval.
‘Harper is lovely,’ Rae said. ‘You must be thrilled to have her join your family.’
The older woman brightened, both in agreement and at the sight of the new jars, all filled with the vibrant reds and deep burgundies of rich summer berries. ‘Almost as thrilled as I am about these new jams you’re trying out. What are we going for today?’
‘These ones are raspberry and rhubarb.’ Rae set the first batch out on the cherry wood counter, all labelled, and sealed with a red ribbon.
Initially, she’d wondered if she’d get bored, the process much easier than the complex culinary techniques she was used to, but testing new flavours, combined from homegrown crops, was almost as exciting as the first time she’d been allowed to create a menu.
Gran’s usual recipes were traditional, usually just one or two fruits that spread nicely on toast or scones, but there were so many combinations Rae wanted to try; ones that couldn’t be bought in supermarkets.
‘And these are honey, blueberry, and almond.’ On the last batch, she hesitated.
‘How are you with spice? Because I may or may not have gone a bit mad last night.’
Myra rose from her stool on her crutches, waggling her brows as she surveyed the display. ‘I’m not opposed to a bit of heat. Tell me more.’
Eagerly, Rae unscrewed the lid of her final batch and grabbed a sample spoon from the bowl she’d left out for visitors. ‘Taste it first.’
‘With pleasure.’ Myra dipped her spoon into the jar, then tentatively licked the thick red jam. Her brows rose into her unruly curls. ‘Oh, wow. Is that chilli in there?’
Rae nodded. ‘With strawberry and—’
‘Lime! It’s delicious!’ She went in for another spoonful, picking up a clean spoon and disposing of the used one.
Rae might as well have been a winning contestant on SuperCook for all the pride she felt at the reaction.
It had been tough to get the balance of ingredients right: too hot, and the fruit would get lost, but too much citrus would sour the strawberries.
‘Do you make things like this in the restaurants you work in?’
‘No, actually. I usually work with savoury rather than sweet, and as a saucier, I have to go off the menus I’m given, so I try to play it safe.’
‘Stuff safe. This is the best jam I’ve ever tasted.’
‘Well, you can keep that jar as a thank you for upping your hours.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ Myra batted her swollen knuckles. ‘I’m just glad to be out of the house. It’s been years since I’ve been able to work! I know it’s not full-time, but I can’t tell you how grateful I am to Douglas for giving me a chance.’
Of course. Rae remembered when she began suffering from arthritis back in high school, one of the things she and Cam had in common when it came to their parents.
Another wave of guilt washed through her.
She wished she’d tried harder to stay in contact.
Maybe this wedding would help them reconnect – if Rae had the time: Harper had already proposed lots of grand ideas.
Not that Rae was complaining; the busier she was, the less time she had to worry about Dad and Struan and Martha and the farm and her future, and…
well, everything. She was fine, though. Even if her fifteen-minute crying sessions were closer to half-an-hour recently.
The amber and green light pooling through the stained-glass door shifted with the promise of a visitor.
Rae turned, excited to greet them and offer out her samples – only it was Harper who bounced in bright and early, with Fraser, who had to duck his head to fit through the threshold, and Cam trailing behind.
‘Morning! Sorry we’re early. I just couldn’t wait!’ Harper greeted, almost knocking over the bearded three-foot gnome, who dangled a welcome sign in his hands. She righted him by the tip of his red hat with a, ‘Excuse me, good sir.’.
‘No, not at all. It’s perfect timing.’ Rae smiled warmly, her eyes sliding behind the engaged couple to Cam. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Cam.’
‘Oh, don’t suck up.’ Cam crossed her tattooed hands over her chest. ‘I’m only here because Harper forced me.’
Fraser nudged his sister with a disapproving frown that she paid no heed to. Rae tried to maintain her composure, though that same thick lump as the other day clogged her throat.
‘Cameron Marie Milligan!’ scolded Myra.
‘It’s okay,’ assured Rae. ‘It’s good you’re all here, actually, because I thought you might like to try our homemade wines.
’ She grabbed a bottle from the top shelf, which had been gathering dust at the back of the narrow store.
‘Obviously, you won’t be drinking it, Harper, but the guests might enjoy it. ’
She poured a splash into two sample cups for Cam and Fraser, and then one for Myra, who declined and muttered, ‘Better not.’
‘Hang on. Let me smell it,’ Harper said, grabbing the cup from Fraser’s hand and sniffing. ‘Ooh, very fruity.’ She pouted, patting her stomach. ‘I didn’t think this through at all. Who doesn’t drink alcohol on their wedding day?’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll stay sober with you.’ Fraser kissed her temple softly before swigging the wine.
‘I’m sure we can make a non-alcoholic alternative.’ Rae waited keenly for Cam and Fraser’s reactions.
Fraser’s lips puckered around the wine, and he gave an aloof nod. ‘I don’t know why I’m trying it. I know nothing about wine. Cam, you’ll have to decide this one.’
‘It’s fine,’ was Cam’s verdict. Rae was glad Gran wasn’t here to hear it. She could dole out criticism, but she’d never stand for a lukewarm compliment.
‘You didn’t even sniff and swirl!’ Harper said. ‘Come on, Cam. I need your help. What are the top notes? How sweet is it? Is it sharp or soft? What’s the finish like?’
‘The top notes are wine-ish. It’s tart. And the finish is…’ – Cam eyed the bottle – ‘finished?’
Rae tried to hold in her laugh, thinking it best to take over.
She described the qualities as best she could, occasionally throwing in things she’d heard from the sommeliers in her restaurants that earned her some Oooohs and Aaaaahs from Harper.
In the end, she managed to convince her, with Fraser’s input mostly being, ‘Whatever you think is best, sunshine.’
As she guided them out to present her ideas for the ceremony and reception spaces, her attention kept snagging on just how happy the engaged couple looked – and how comfortable.
Half the time, Rae was certain they weren’t listening at all, Fraser drawing circles on Harper’s hip and playing with her blond hair.
A chasm expanded behind Rae’s ribs. She’d thought that, by fulfilling her wildest dreams, she’d done everything right. Had left no room for longing.
But here she was on a farm that might be on its last legs, with a friend who felt more like a stranger, and a future that felt like plunging into an ice bath whenever she thought too hard about it.
All of that work, and what did she have to show for it?
Her CV was long, yes, but she was still here. Still drowning.
She thought of Struan. How he’d looked at her, responded to her, in these very same fields.
He couldn’t fix her messes, but he might be the closest she’d ever come to experiencing the romance she had an example of in front of her now – and really, wasn’t that sad?
They’d taken each other like desperate, horny teenagers.
Even if they explored more of each other, it was purely physical, at least on his side. It had to be.
Planning this wedding was a harsh reminder that she’d never really known romantic love.
She’d never been prioritised or adored the way Harper and Fraser clearly adored each other.
Perhaps that was why she hadn’t bothered to come home all this time: there was nobody here who wanted her.
At least when she’d been travelling between restaurants, she’d been able to outrun those feelings.
Convinced herself she didn’t need anything else.
Now, she was staring them right in the face, and it hurt far more than it should have.
‘This,’ Harper uttered, shielding her dark eyes from the brilliant sun as she soaked in the orchard. ‘This is where we should have the ceremony. It’s so, so beautiful.’
Rae fanned herself with her notebook, smile remaining pasted on her face despite the pang of something sharp inside.
This was her spot. Hers and Martha’s, once, forever carved into the oak tree.
And now, hers and Struan’s, even if they’d left no marks.
She’d come back here just last night after seeing him, desperate to remember that brief flicker in time where the pressure on her shoulders had lightened and she’d felt wanted.