Go Home, Ivy

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

B y the time she reached dry land, Ross was sitting on the sand, forearms perched on bent knees. His sunglasses were covering his eyes, but she still had full view of the tension in his brow.

Being an adult, Ivy was of course annoyed with him, simply because he appeared to be annoyed with her. Constantly. And she still wasn’t sure why. Whilst she wasn’t claiming to be a Nobel Prize winning, philanthropic supermodel, Ivy had seen ‘a pleasure to work with’ on more than one annual review, and yet this man looked at her as if he was getting a root canal without anaesthetic. The worst thing she had done to him was throw some damp, underwear-adjacent clothing at him. And whilst things had been fairly deserted in the bedroom department lately, she was reasonably confident some men would pay for that privilege.

More frustrating still, than his unfounded loathing, was the fact that he looked gorgeous while he seethed. As Ivy shuffled across the white sand, her eyes danced over his form. Large, and firm, she found herself wanting to sit between those legs and lay back against his chest. She wanted those arms to lift from his knees and wrap around her, maybe even to trail through her windswept hair. Her temple tingled as she imagined him pressing his lips against it, before dropping to her ear to whisper?—

“Are you ready?” His sunglasses still concealed whether he actually looked at her when he asked, but the angle of his head at least suggested he was aiming vaguely in her direction.

She released a breath, and removed her lower lip from between her teeth, hoping he hadn’t noticed the tell-tale expression.

“Raring to go!”

A whisper of a smile tugged at his mouth, and his eyebrow twitched like he wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not. Ivy wasn’t completely sure either.

He shifted then, getting to his feet and dusting the sand from himself. He was facing her now, and close enough that there was no question if he was looking at her. Ivy could see his eyes fixed on hers. A lump formed in her throat, and she wondered where the typical Western Isles wind had gotten to. They were stuck in the stillness for a moment, and she was sure his mouth began to form words at least twice, but nothing came.

Instead, he spun to face up the hill, and Ivy took the opportunity to calm the fuck down. The last thing she needed was to spend four hours drooling over a man that couldn’t stand her, while she was supposed to be working. Thinking clear, unsexy thoughts, she spoke.

“Do you need a hand?”

“On the actual tours, Tomas will take the food to our lunch spot while I take folk walking.”

“I wasn’t criticising—” She ran a hand through her hair, then softened. “This is clearly not plan A. I don’t think you’ll be asking my clients to haul their lunch up the cliffs themselves. Your job is safe.”

“Right.” She could convince herself he looked slightly less hostile.

“So… Do you need a hand?”

“Thanks.” He smiled, with an awkward posture to his mouth, like he had forgotten where to put his lips when happy. Though evidence would suggest that emotion wasn’t in his repertoire, at least around her, so maybe he had forgotten. “I’ve got the cooler and the daypack. If you could get the blankets and the camera bag.”

“Don’t you need the camera?”

“Eh, yeah, right. Um.” He shuffled his hand through his dark hair. “I’ll put it round my neck. You keep the bag, and I’ll let you know if I need to change lenses.”

“Perfect!”

They both shifted in place, negotiated loads now in hand.

“Well, shall we?”

Ivy nodded with a small smile and fell into step just off his shoulder as they headed beyond the beach.

The only option, Ivy decided as she traipsed along behind him, was to get this over with as soon as possible and as smoothly as possible, to remove the potential need for a re-do. Once it was all said and done, they would have no need to interact again. And therefore no need to blow hot and cold, feeling like she was on crumbling ground constantly. He was family to some of her closest friends on the island, which could be a stumbling block. But she was still certain any interaction beyond this afternoon could be avoided. After all, she had been coming to the Western Isles for almost a year now and had never met the man. Which now that she thought about it was suspicious in itself. He was in Mòr regularly and around her preferred MacLeods basically daily. Maybe they had been trying to keep the dragon locked up, out of the way of innocent bystanders, but now he was on the loose.

The first port of call, they decided, was to drop off the cooler and blankets at Ross’ planned lunch spot. A pro of uninhabited islands— minimal security needed, and their things would be safe while they explored.

As they walked, he suddenly stopped, setting down the cooler, causing Ivy to seize up, stopping inches from crashing into his back.

“What—” She shut up as she saw him lifting the camera to his eye. She followed the direction of the lens to see hoards of birds on the cliffs ahead.

“Are those?—”

“Puffins,” he murmured, the click of the camera punctuating the silence that fell between them. After a few seconds passed, he lowered the device and looked at her, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes as he took in her bemused expression.

“Is this— I mean, this is what you guys wanted photos of, right?”

Ivy took the camera he held out, aware of just how close their torsos were whilst the strap still hung round his neck. She flicked through the first few, finally able to make out the distinctive red beaks and white markings.

She exhaled a half-laugh, grinning up at him. “They’re perfect. Exactly what I wanted.”

They looked at each other then. She watched as his face melted into a relaxed glow that she hadn’t seen directed anywhere near her thus far. Her beam slipped into slightly parted lips, as their breath synced. She heard a roar rise between them, but was fixed on him, unable to look over to see how the waves had suddenly encroached this far inland. His eyes danced across her face, flitting to her lips once, and then again, but each time returning to her eyes.

Ivy dropped her eyes to her hand, which crept up the strap of the camera an inch or so. As she fidgeted with it, she could hear his breath above her. Her own pulse was bounding in her ears, and she fought to keep her fingers on a short leash, aware of how close to wrapping around his neck they were. From the dwindling tension in the strap, she could tell he had dipped his head and shifted closer. Or maybe she had. She was sure, though, that if she lifted her face again, his would be right there. She swallowed as she lingered in the thought that it would take only a fraction of a movement to find his lips.

Then, a rough hand brushed her cheek, tucking an escaped tendril behind her ear. At the spark, she jumped back, dropping the camera.

Ross let out a jagged breath as the equipment swung back and hit him in the chest. Their eyes met again, and she saw her startled look mirrored back at her in his light gaze, but it had been distorted into fear, not surprise.

The world started moving at full speed again and Ivy floundered trying to keep up.

Ross spun away from her, rubbing his sternum and checking over the camera. Ivy squeezed the bridge of her nose between fingers, silently scolding herself. Fuck, she fancied this man. This man, who had to be forced off the boat to spend time with her. Who could barely sustain a conversation with her without looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Though every so often, this man looked at her like… whatever that look had been.

Steeling herself to ride out the rest of the afternoon, she pressed on with being the bigger person. An argument was not going to get in the way of being rid of him forever. And she was definitely not going to be the subject of another whining call to Kirsty. If she was nothing but her pleasant self, then he could find nothing to tell on her for. She was sure he’d look. Hard, if their interactions to date were anything to go by. But he wasn’t going to come up with anything but a delightful, competent woman.

“So you’re a photographer?”

He turned back to her and allowed a placid smile to laze across his face. She released her tensed diaphragm, grateful that he might now have made the same, albeit uncharacteristic, decision to let the day play out without conflict. Being trapped on an uninhabited island could do that to a person, she supposed.

“I used to be.”

“Does taking pictures right now not move that back to present tense?”

He looked down at the camera in his hands, as if he’d forgotten he’d been holding it.

“I mean I used to be a professional photographer. Now it’s just for me, I guess.”

“What sort of photography did you do?”

“Wildlife, mostly.” He began snapping pictures again then, moving around, less fixed on her, but he didn’t seem to be trying to escape.

Tentatively, Ivy pressed on. “So I’m getting a bargain then? A pro photographer for the price of a sailor.”

He laughed then. A warm sound that stirred in Ivy’s chest. He picked up the coolers, indicating that they were returning to the trip, but he continued talking.

Though his hands were full, and he paid attention to their footing, Ivy watched as he grew more relaxed as they walked. His shoulders loosened and he threw looks over his shoulder at her as he replied to her questions or pointed out more birds or flowers as they walked.

He had freelanced on expeditions around the world. From Arctic, to desert, to rainforest, he regaled her with tales of trips with big production companies and magazines, to intimate tour parties to capture once in a lifetime moments. As he told her about capturing the birth of a whale calf, she was sure she could her a catch in his voice. Her heart leapt as he lifted the crook of his elbow to wipe his face, covering himself with a cough, but his soft spot now in full view.

“Why did you stop?” Ivy wondered.

He looked back at her.

“I needed to be at home.” A brief sadness washed over his eyes, before he shrugged and looked away.

“Life, hey?” She offered quietly, resisting the urge to reach for him.

His brow flickered and then he returned a soft smile.

“Life.” His tone was introspective and despite the brevity, was missing his usual edge. It wasn’t a shutdown. Normally he was very clear at telling her, out loud and otherwise, that he didn’t want to keep talking to her. But this was different. She knew that there was a conversation here, but it wasn’t for now.

“Well, I'm glad you’re here and not on some big budget safari,” she teased gently.

He nodded with a closed lip smile, his eyes skirting around hers, and continued on their walk.

* * *

“This is the spot I thought would work for lunch,” Ross said, setting down the coolers. He didn’t look at her, and his voice seemed robotic, but Ivy clung to their earlier progress.

Admittedly, they hadn’t spoken for the final fifteen minutes of the walk, since the photography conversation faltered, like the unexplained premature end to his career itself. But they had worked. For those twenty minutes, they had worked. Maybe she was deluding herself. Her neglected ovaries could be dubbing over their conversations, to facilitate her own fantasy, she supposed. God that would be a new level of sexual frustration, even for a woman in her late twenties on an island.

She pulled her confused gaze away from him, to take in the spot he had chosen. And it was perfect. You could see the cliffs where the birds nested, right down into the clear waters that promised whales and dolphins. On a clear day there would be a sight line right across to the Isle of Skye.

“Yeah, it’s—” She laughed out her exhale, raising a hand to her lips. “It’s amazing!”

She turned to look at him as she murmured a thank you, but was stopped before she could finish.

He had been looking up at her from the picnic blanket he had laid out, but when her eyes found his, he turned away immediately. He was now looking out at the sea, his brow furrowed, and jaw tense. She watched the forearms she was now too familiar with, contract as his hands knotted into fists on top of his knees.

There was a space on the blanket next to him. She took it in, glad that her colour choice had paid off. The red and yellow contrasted with the grass, but the turquoise stripes picked up on the sea below. It should look inviting. Irresistible, really, when combined with spread from Mòr. Instead, Ivy found herself unable to step forward. Ross still hadn’t looked up, or even moved, but the heavy air around him had expanded to create a barrier that she was sure would sting if crossed.

She hoped her next move would look subtle, part of her wondered if he would even notice, while he still seemed so frozen.

She crossed behind him and lifted the other blanket, as well as the cooler. She shook out the large tartan affair, and overlapped it about a foot with his, and placed the cooler open in between them. She knelt behind the barricade and began to unpack things into the no man’s land. He barely flinched. Ivy sat in the far corner of her rug, legs diagonally angled towards his side, prepared to make some comment about wanting to make the most of the space, or maybe to ensure both blankets were in good condition, but he never asked.

Ally had outdone himself. The locally sourced afternoon tea looked and tasted excellent. The herbal blend Kirsty had made to drink alongside was perfectly balanced, and would also pair well with the Harris gin tasting guests would be adding on. This was shaping up to be a slam dunk. The tourist board would be thrilled. Her boss in Edinburgh would be thrilled. Ivy should be thrilled. She was thrilled. Fucking ecstatic, actually, Ross.

For fuck’s sake , she mumbled to herself, tossing a half eaten canapé down onto the platter in front of her.

She looked to the side. There was, thankfully, some movement in him again, as he picked at his brother’s food. His shoulders sagged and his free hand pulled at the deliberately, but tastefully, frayed edge of her new blanket. Something about the sight caused an urge to hold him to ripple through her. Her own edges softened.

Ivy was a marketing agent. And marketing, at its core, was understanding people and making things work for both parties. She understood people. But not Ross. Anytime she thought she had a read on him, he pivoted. The changeability uncentered her. Frustrated her. And she was frustrated about being frustrated. Which was even more frustrating.

Ivy had marketed the shit out of some nonsense over her early career, so she was not about to fail at marketing herself. If she knew anything about a challenging project, it was that you could not do enough research and focus groups.

He would commit to a decision by the end of lunch. Ideally he’d be a new customer. But even if she could only confirm he did hate her, at least she’d have good photos, a successful trial run and a future with as little Ross-based aggro as she wanted.

“The food is so good, right?”

“They’re an award winning restaurant.”

God, he didn’t make it easy.

“Rightly so. How much are you involved with Mòr then? You seem to help out a lot.”

“Yep.”

“But I never met you before this trip. Which seems weird.”

He sighed, throwing down the mini quiche he had been holding.

“Is it?”

“Weird? I think so. Ally probably wishes he could get rid of me, I’m with them so often when I’m here.”

A look passed across his face which said I know the feeling . In the spirit of being the bigger person in order to succeed with this project, Ivy ignored it.

“I’ve been around.”

“Well I’m sure they’re glad to have you around more. They put in some serious graft. As much as my job relies on them being successful, sometimes I think they could do with a break.”

“I’m sure they’re far enough down your portfolio that you’d be fine either way.”

“They’re my favourite though.”

A new look this time. And it made him seem disappointed? He was disappointed that she liked his family’s business? Or that she wasn’t some Edinburgh corporate monster, maybe.

“Right.”

Being her pleasant, success focused self was harder than she had thought. Could he be making this any harder?

“What’s your favourite of the food?” She pressed on through gritted teeth. But not actually through gritted teeth because that was not in the spirit of her plan. Instead she smiled, with a soft, curious brow and open eyes. “We need to make sure we get plenty of photos of it so?—”

“It’s all fine, Ivy,” he said, climbing to his feet. “Sorry. I’m going to go… make a call. Sorry.”

Ivy rose to him. Standing on her spot on her own blanket, the overlapping corner between them now blown over on itself, retreating to its own side so that the grass border was now visible, slightly flattened and bruised from the cooler.

“What are you?—”

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

He stalked off then, leaving her fixed in place, watching him open mouthed.

He was maybe fifteen feet away when the sky rumbled.

Both of them looked up, and then out. Over the sea, back towards Harris, the sky had grown grey and loud.

“Fuck”

It didn’t matter which one of them said it, they both at the very least thought it.

She looked back at him and for a second the grey and thunder was here on land with her. The blue of his eyes was muted, without the sky to reflect, but the sockets around them now seemed to be holding the excess pigment, blues and purples and all the colours that once painted their now muted surroundings, were held in those weary pockets. His pupils dropped a second, and he set his jaw, before walking away.

“Unbelievable!” Ivy shouted after him, though with the wind and thunder it was unlikely he heard.

She ranted to herself as she threw the food and cutlery back into the coolers, then turned the blankets waterproof side up before storming after him. She’d come back to organise once her blood had stopped boiling.

Fuck being the bigger person, she’d shelve the whole project before she spent another civil second with the man if he couldn’t even sit and have a sandwich in peace.

“Oi,” she called, watching him at the bottom of the hill on his satellite phone. “What is your problem?”

Without stopping his phone conversation with whoever was on the other line, he looked up at her. Ivy’s step faltered as he did. His hand was gently working over the back of his head, but he otherwise appeared at ease. Even from twenty metres away she could sense that this was a man who could weather a storm. Yet when she caught his eyes, she found herself pinned in place by the pain in them. Strangely, for a man presumably calling for rescue when they were stranded on an island in a storm, the desperation didn’t seem to be directed down the phone. He was casually summoning help from the marina, as if calling a taxi home from a sedate lunch during the off season. But with her, he was pleading for— well, something. Or was he telling, rather than asking? She had seen his ‘fuck off, stay clear’ look many times, and this was maybe a distant cousin of it. A part of her— a small, maybe delusional, part of her— also recognised a look that she had seen elsewhere. Not from him, certainly. And not actually from anyone particularly recently, if she was honest. But Ivy had seen it. It was the essence of a look that said ‘ Come here. I need you .’ ‘ I want you ’ continued a voice in the back of her head, and she wasn’t quite sure if that was just a continuation of someone else’s thought, or her own.

It probably said more about Ivy than anyone else, but ‘ fuck off, come here ’ might have been the best invitation she had ever received. She regained her composure as she continued to close the gap between them.

As she approached, Ross finally tore his gaze from her. And when she reached him, that look was gone. He was back to— actually she didn’t know. ‘ Back to ’ would imply she had a hold of some sort of baseline to compare him to. And as far as she was concerned, this man had no steady rhythm, blowing hot and cold incessantly. To the extent that she couldn’t find a median amongst it.

Whatever had replaced The Look was at least less hostile than what had occupied his face just before the storm set in. He might even be concerned, with a soft dip in his brow and searching eyes.

As she met him, he adjusted his position to be stood immediately in front of her, and not more than a foot away. He looked down then, taking in the person in front of him, with his hands hovering frustrating inches from her arms on either side. He didn’t meet her eyes as he performed his survey, so she took the opportunity to watch on in bemusement.

“Are you okay?” He asked, finally looking at her again.

“I—Yes. Obviously. It’s just rain,” she laughed, brushing water from her face as it continued to lash. But she regretted the hint of a taunt in her reply as she watched relief bloom in his face. She hadn’t noticed the panic there until it was gone. He didn’t smile— God forbid he smile— but the warmth that crept across his eyes as his brows settled could have stopped her heart.

“Ross.” She was genuine now. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

His face set itself once more. Neutral and guarded.

“Ceart.” He nodded and stepped back, no longer facing her head on as he continued. “Tomas can’t come back for us.”

“What?!” Ivy spun to look at him, even if he avoided her as he winced.

“The storm’s too bad. He got Mhairi off to Stornoway, but the boat can’t set off in this, unless we want the whole team heading to hospital.”

“Right. So we…” she trailed off, so worried about what the answer would be she dared not ask the question. Moment of concern for a fellow human aside, Ross did not exactly exude ‘ let’s spend quality time together ’ to her. And she was less than keen to spend the night huddled under a tree with a man that couldn’t stand her. Spending the night in other ways though, her traitorous mind wandered.

“We’re going to the bothy.”

“The bothy isn’t open.”

The Bothy Project was in the works, with a small team renovating the old structure and building some additional accommodation. All basic, but better than what currently existed. Or what had existed at least, which last she heard was a sink and toilet as an excuse for a bathroom and barely a bed. To Ivy’s knowledge, things were underway, but nothing was finished, and things weren’t bookable yet. Not that they had internet to make a booking anyway.

“Officially no. But we know the lads running things. Tomas is going to phone them and let them know we’re staying.”

“Is it not?—”

He turned to her, pissed off Ross making a confident return.

“Ivy,” he said, running a hand over his face. “I appreciate this is not five star luxury, but it is inside and dry.”

“I—” she began to argue, but he was already off, back up the hill to collect their things. She remained planted as he picked up the boxes with annoying ease, and then returned. Without looking at her, he breezed on by in the direction of the bothy.

As she glared at the back of his head, he tossed a sleeping bag she hadn’t even seen him take off the boat at her. “Feel free to sleep out here.”

“Can’t be any worse!” She shouted after him. Despite the storm, she was sure he’d heard, watching him lift his arm and throw her a petulant salute as he stalked off.