Chapter 25
A refreshing breeze kissed Struan’s skin as the sky darkened to a dusty purple.
He leaned back in his patio chair, wishing he could enjoy it without remembering how much better Rae’s touch had felt under the falls.
That plea from the kitchen earlier echoed like a terrible song in his brain.
Please, just stop. He’d wanted to comfort her the best way he knew how, but it seemed he wasn’t allowed to.
Wasn’t allowed to touch her at all. Was barely even allowed to look at her.
When Doug left to drive Myra home, he considered making his own swift exit, but he was afraid it would only draw more attention to the tense atmosphere.
Martha wouldn’t miss it. She’d already cast him a strange look when Rae had asked him to bring out dessert and he’d replied with his usual, ‘Yes, chef.’
Perhaps he wasn’t as subtle as he liked to believe.
Currently, Rae and Martha lay in the grass beside the glowing solar lanterns, weaving daisy chains like they were teenagers again.
Rae was different with her, he’d noticed.
More contained. He didn’t know if it was because of their secret, or because of the friendship’s recent rift, but the discomfort had left her picking at the callus on her finger more furiously than ever while they’d been nibbling cheese at the table earlier.
Then again, maybe he was the cause of her anxiety. Maybe she didn’t want him here.
‘When are you going to tell Mum?’ Struan questioned to dissolve the tranquillity.
He’d never liked the quiet, even when filled with serene birdsong.
One of the dogs – he hadn’t yet learned which was Milly and which was Maisy – whined by the gate, watching a pair of pigeons flap in the tall fir tree above.
From the chair beside Struan, Vik put a supportive hand on Martha’s shoulder as she answered, ‘Is “never” an option?’
Mum wasn’t homophobic, exactly, but she wasn’t what you might call homopositive, either.
She was pleasant enough in Vik’s company – until discussions of grandchildren came up.
Between Struan’s non-existent love life and Martha dating another woman, she was disappointed that they hadn’t fulfilled their baby-making duties yet.
It had taken her a while to realise Martha’s first girlfriend, Cam, was a girl until she’d turned up in a suit on prom night, Martha rushing out the door before she could be questioned.
Rae frowned as she measured the daisy chain around her wrist. Too short.
It was difficult not to be fascinated by the methodical way she searched for more flowers, comparing the lengths of the stems to make them even.
Everything she did was so intentional, so careful, which made him wonder what, exactly, had been running through her mind when she’d surrendered to him.
‘She’s still being difficult about the two of you?’ she questioned.
Martha shrugged. ‘She’s mostly sad I’m not dating some bloke with extra powerful sperm. She wants grandbabies.’
‘I told you I’m working on it,’ teased Vik, but Struan heard the waver of dejection in her voice.
It wasn’t fair. Martha had achieved so much, all before her thirties, and still Mum wanted more.
It wasn’t as though she couldn’t still be a grandmother.
Martha had always dreamed of starting a family.
If Dad had been here, Struan liked to believe that he’d have been more accepting, the same way he had been of Struan and his ADHD.
Unlike Mum, he’d never asked him to change, even if it meant skipping homework because he was too burnt out to even attempt concentration.
Martha snapped her head to Rae suddenly. ‘She loves you, though. You should be there when we tell her!’
‘Of course,’ Rae said. ‘Anything you need.’
‘We can all take the trip to Aberdeen in a few weeks!’
‘Aye, I suppose we do owe her a visit,’ Struan agreed.
Mum rarely came to Belbarrow; it reminded her too much of Dad, just like the house.
Just like him. She hadn’t approved of him becoming a Mountain Rescue volunteer, lecturing him for weeks on how reckless and selfish he was being by working in the same hills that had taken her husband.
He’d considered quitting, ravaged by the guilt that came with making her worry, but then he’d done his first training course and known he needed to see this one through: to help people, but also to feel useful for a change.
Now, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
He wasn’t just useful; he was actually good at his job.
Nothing beat the solid night’s sleep he got after helping someone, sometimes even saving lives.
‘Well… it depends when you were thinking. I’m sort of planning a wedding,’ Rae said.
Martha reared back. ‘Wait, what? Whose? How much have I missed?’ She grabbed Rae’s hands. ‘Oh my God, you’re not marrying that fit chef are you? What was she called? Yvette?’
‘God, no!’ Rae wrinkled her nose.
Struan straightened sharply in his chair. ‘Who’s Yvette?’
Martha slumped in disappointment. ‘Aw. You would have made a smoking couple.’
‘Who’s Yvette?’ he repeated when a sting of jealousy curled through him.
‘She was my head chef, and she was incredibly mean,’ Rae supplied.
‘Which really only made her hotter,’ said Martha. ‘Like Maleficent.’
Struan would have been relieved if not for the sour glare Rae directed at her daisy. There was something more to it, something she didn’t want to talk about.
For her, he returned to the original subject. ‘The wedding is Harper and Fraser’s. They’re having it here at the farm.’
‘And I have about three weeks to transform this place into a romantic fairy tale,’ Rae said.
Martha gasped. ‘That’s not fair! Ours should have been the first wedding on the farm!’
‘I mean, if you count the one you and I had under the oak tree, it was.’
‘I forgot about that!’ To Vik, Martha explained, ‘Our officiant was a cow called Buttercup from the next field over.’
‘How romantic. Should I be worried Rae’s going to steal my girl?’ Vik quipped, combing through Martha’s hair with her fingers.
Martha smirked, leaning between Vik’s legs.
Struan couldn’t stop his gaze from sliding over to Rae, imagining it might have been them touching one another in the most casual of ways.
This shouldn’t be how it ended. Hours ago, they’d been discovering each other for the first time.
There were so many more things he wanted to explore, so many more ways he wanted to make her come.
So many more things he wanted to whisper to her about when one of them was half-drunk or exhausted or falling a little bit too hard, too fast, for the other.
‘Not at all,’ answered Rae. ‘We got a divorce a week later because I caught Martha writing a love note to Emily Hughes.’
‘Ouch. Let’s hope we have better luck.’
Martha tilted her head to smile up at Vik, eyes glittering with an intimate adoration that made Struan’s throat ache. He felt like he should look away, leave them to it. He didn’t belong here.
‘Anyway, then Dad has his stoma surgery, and I’ll be preparing for the Strawberry Fair. I’ve basically forced him into all of these events, so I can’t slack off now,’ Rae said.
Martha pouted. ‘Not even if we help you? You know Strawberry Fair planning is my second favourite type of planning.’ The first was obviously wedding planning.
She’d already shown them her Pinterest mood board over dinner, far more modest than Harper’s huge ring binder.
‘It would just be for a weekend, and you deserve the break.’
After a dramatic sigh, Rae conceded. ‘All right, if you’re sure. But you’re supposed to be guests, not free labourers.’
‘Anything to avoid your gran. You lied, by the way. She still hates me.’
Wincing, Rae rose to her feet, grabbing the empty ice cream bowls and wine glasses from the table. ‘On that note, I’m going to wash up.’
‘I’ll help,’ offered Vik. ‘My bum’s going numb on these chairs.’
They disappeared into the kitchen together, Struan’s eyes unwillingly glued to the sway of Rae’s hips. He needed to get it together, stop wanting things he couldn’t have. He should be happy to have gotten even a taste, not stuck longing for more like a greedy lovesick prick.
His cheeks burned with the weight of Martha’s scowl, and he pulled away, grabbing a tennis ball off the grass to throw to the dog that had emerged in Rae’s wake.
‘What are you doing, Struan?’
‘Playing fetch. Or trying to.’ The dog didn’t bring the ball back, only huddled by her sister to chew at the green felt until the rubber was exposed. ‘Is that Maisy or Milly?’
She gave him a light slap to the back of his head, which he tried and failed to duck away from. ‘You know that’s not what I mean. Why are you salivating after my best friend?’
‘What?’ His eyes widened in a desperate attempt to appear shocked, voice scratchy and high-pitched. ‘No, no way. That’s… ridiculous. She’s Little Rae, and I’m… not… Naw. Don’t be daft.’
‘Good. Keep it in your pants. She’d never be interested in a million years.’
Ouch. Struan bit his tongue, half-tempted to tell her she was interested, or at least had been, even if he couldn’t believe it, either.
‘Why do you always make out like I’m a sleaze?’ Was that why Rae had believed him to be a womaniser?
‘You’re not a sleaze. You’re a commitment-phobe, and you chase after the wrong people so you don’t have to settle for something serious.
’ She moved to Vik’s chair, slapping her hands free of grass.
‘That’s why I’m going to take the reins.
I’ve found your perfect match. She’s coming to the Strawberry Fair to meet you. ’
‘Excuse me?’
‘No need to thank me.’
‘Martha, I don’t need you to start picking out women for me—’
‘Well, there is a gay microbiology professor I’d considered if you’d rather—’
‘No! Nobody!’ Struan cut in, anger struck like a match.
He’d known before that Martha viewed him as some sad, lonely wet wipe with no direction in life, but this confirmed it.
Besides, even if he did want to date, it wouldn’t be Martha’s hand-picked recommendations.
His sister had high standards, and he rarely met them.
He’d let her set him up twice in his life: the first, with a woman who talked down to him like he was an animal, the second with a guy who had only been convinced to meet Struan because Martha had told him he was an aerospace engineer.
Imagine his surprise when he’d been bombarded with questions about missiles and spacecrafts.
His sister was surrounded by domineering intellectuals like her, people who expected drive and ambition from their partners. She wanted Struan to want that, too.
He didn’t. He existed on the outside, striving for contentment before success. He didn’t want to plan out his future brick by brick, and he certainly didn’t give a flying fuck about salaries or how much money they expected to have splashed on them during the first date.
And that, of course, was the other problem: none of these people would be Rae. He didn’t care if Martha picked a man or a woman, a professor or a lab technician or a bartender. He couldn’t see anything beyond the fire she’d kindled in him.
He chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek. If they had to broach this subject, maybe there was a way to tell the truth. ‘What if I wanted to take Rae out for a date? Would it really be so bad?’
‘Yes!’ Martha stood up, hands slapping her thighs in frustration. ‘Are you seriously even asking me that? She’s my best friend!’
‘I like her,’ he said quietly. ‘I like her a lot.’
‘Right.’ A scoff dripped from her throat.
‘You like everyone, but when it comes down to it, you never do anything. You’re just sitting back, waiting for life to drift by you while everyone else lives.
You’ve convinced yourself you like Rae because you know she’ll be leaving again in no time, like she always does.
She’s unattainable, and that makes her sexy, because at least she won’t expect a commitment come September!
God, Stru. You’re so predictable sometimes! ’
Struan tapped his fingers together in an attempt to dissolve his thick impatience. Martha wasn’t being fair. She only saw snapshots of his life, things she wanted to see. Failures. She didn’t see his loneliness, or his desire to really, truly connect with someone.
She didn’t see his infatuation with Rae.
He wanted to fall asleep and wake up next to somebody.
Wanted to be known – seen – as he was, not the wildcard he could so easily be dismissed as.
But because he lived in a small shack off grid, because he had messy hair and didn’t care if he wore clashing colours, because he liked to make people laugh rather than sit with uncomfortable small talk, he wasn’t serious enough.
He had nothing to say that wouldn’t betray all the hurt bubbling inside him, so he stared down at his scuffed boots instead.
‘If you want to date someone, seriously, it can’t be Rae,’ Martha said.
‘I thought that would be pretty bloody obvious. Please, just meet Emma. She’ll love your little guided hikes and whatnot, and she won’t put too much pressure on things if you get anxious, and she’s a Gemini, which means she will absolutely keep you humble. ’
Yes, because that was what he needed: to be humbled.
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘Whatever you’d like.’
Martha rolled her eyes. ‘Rae!?’ she repeated in disbelief, as though he’d suggested something far more outlandish than a date. The joining of a cult, perhaps.
Rae had been right, then. He’d known that Martha wouldn’t approve, but he hadn’t expected her to dismiss him entirely. When Martha marched off to join the others in the kitchen, he could only sit, feeling winded by the whole encounter.
It took him a long time to realise that it was because the person who he loved most only saw him as incapable. Unworthy.
And, deep down, he felt the same way about himself.