Chapter 3
Struan leaned against the door frame, unable to keep from observing Rae in what must have been her natural habitat.
He could certainly see it: dicing the vegetables with swift, precise ease, making her journey around the kitchen into a confident, light-footed dance.
If he tried to chop onions that quickly, he would lose a thumb.
Clearly, being a hotshot chef didn’t come without its obstacles. Doug’s mum, Audrey, examined the jars laid out on the counter. ‘Chickpeas? What are we, vegan now?’ She pronounced vegan as vaygan, and said it with the same scorn she would vagrants.
‘Considering I’m currently making a marinade for the lamb, I’m going to say no,’ Rae retorted, blocking Audrey before she could touch anything. ‘Go and check on your son. He’s in pain and needs his ma.’
‘Hm, like a horse needs a dictionary, I’m sure.’ As she turned, a flicker of surprise brightened Audrey’s rosy features at the sight of Struan, who was still struggling to hold in a laugh in the doorway. ‘Oh, hello, big lad. You’re still here, are you?’
‘I’ve been kindly invited to stay for dinner, Audrey.’ He pushed off the frame to step aside, not missing the way Rae’s eyes flicked over her shoulder before she went back to cooking.
‘Lovely. I always hoped a strapping wee boy would turn up one of these days. Didn’t think Douglas would be the one to bring him home, mind, but I’m all for free love in this house.
’ Audrey flashed a pointed glance at Rae’s stiff back, then shuffled out of the kitchen, only stopping to stroke a meowing grey cat lounging on the radiator in the hallway.
There were more pets than humans in this place, not that he was complaining.
His allergies were, but he was good at ignoring them after years of suffering from hay fever.
He inched closer to Rae, tongue inexplicably dry. A new allergy symptom, perhaps. ‘Can I make myself useful?’
‘No,’ she said, then glanced up apologetically. ‘Sorry. That was rude.’
‘I’ll try not to take it personally.’ He chuckled, leaning against the counter and pinching a slice of red bell pepper.
She watched the vegetable’s journey from his fingers to his mouth with a deadly scowl.
Note to self: don’t touch things in Rae’s kitchen.
‘It’s good to see you, Little Rae. It’s been a long time. ’
‘Very long. Sorry I didn’t recognise you. You look… different.’
‘You don’t. Much.’
‘Great,’ she muttered.
He glanced at her, taken aback. He hadn’t meant it as a bad thing. The opposite.
Her jaw set firmly as she scraped the sliced vegetables into a bowl, adding spices before grabbing an orange from the fruit basket at the centre of the dining table.
He’d only been inside this house twice, the non-drunken time being when he’d tried to convince Martha to come home after she’d had an argument with Mum, not long after Dad’s funeral.
The floral sage-green wallpaper was as homely as ever, though the wooden kitchen counters and appliances were beginning to look aged in their rusticity.
He’d always envied Rae. He and Martha had been crammed into a tiny, unremarkable house on the other side of town.
He supposed he couldn’t blame his family for wanting out, even if it left him alone.
The tangy scent of citrus sweetened the air as she grated the orange zest. ‘How’s Martha?’
‘She’s good, I think.’ Struan scraped his tousled hair off his forehead. ‘You haven’t spoken to her recently?’
‘We’ve been in different time zones for over a year. I haven’t had chance to catch up with her since I got back to the UK.’
Struan didn’t know why she sounded so defensive.
Martha had hinted that they’d fallen out of sync, but his weekly phone calls with his sister weren’t exactly packed with information.
She was usually busy with work or Vik, her girlfriend.
Struan often felt like he was intruding.
It had been easier when he’d visited during a training course in Edinburgh this spring, but he still felt like her polar opposite.
As a university lecturer, she was intelligent, put together, good at balancing her responsibilities with her relationship.
He turned up to everything half an hour late, made jokes nobody laughed at, and – all right, he’d admit it – lived in a glorified shed.
‘Aye, I’ve heard all about you and your travels. Little Rae Docharty, Scotland’s finest chef.’ He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a taunt, but her shoulders tensed all the same as she reached for the honey.
‘And you’re a mountain guide now, yeah? That must be quite easy, since you’re the same height as Ben Nevis.’
‘You should see me lifting boulders out the way for the tourists. I’m like a god.
’ Since she was struggling to reach on her tiptoes, he plucked the honey off the shelf for her, her spine brushing his stomach.
‘Then again, it wouldn’t be safe for you to go up there. A strong breeze would blow you away.’
Her lips twitched, but it was her lashes he was drawn by, thick and dark across her cheeks as she attempted to snatch the honey from his grasp. To be extra annoying, he lifted it out of reach, earning him a glare. ‘I’m sure you’d rescue me, oh mighty one. Can you stop being a pest?’
‘Maybe.’ He didn’t want to, not when her full, warm chest pressed against his ribs in an effort to wrestle away the jar.
‘Struan!’
At her plea, he yielded, honey reluctantly returned.
‘Thank you. Can I trust you to pass me the olive oil from the cupboard over there without holding it hostage first?’
This time, he decided to be obedient, their fingers landing only the tiniest distance apart when she took the bottle from him. His gut seemed to tighten on instinct, screaming at him to stop flirting, even if it was harmless and likely one-sided.
After adding a few more herbs and spices, she let the lamb rest in the marinade and began preparing the couscous in a pan on the stove. He was almost loath to interrupt her, mesmerised by the ease with which she flitted even when heat from the stove began to thicken the air.
‘Where’d you learn to cook this one, then?’ Struan swept up one of the green salad leaves just to see her nose scrunch again, then regretted it when the overpowering taste of soap coated his tongue. Not salad, but his archnemesis: coriander.
‘Have you spoken to my dad a lot recently?’ Rae questioned, as though Struan hadn’t spoken at all.
He tried to scrape the unpleasant taste from his tongue, and when that didn’t work, grabbed a glass of water to swill out his mouth.
‘Loo’way,’ he pleaded before spitting the coriander into the sink.
He’d meant look away, but she hadn’t, instead blinking disbelievingly at him.
Perfect. He’d already made an arse of himself.
‘Please don’t use a lot of that stuff. It doesn’t taste good. ’
‘That’s because it’s a garnish, not a snack,’ she chided, folding her arms and leaning her back against the counter. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘You didn’t answer mine.’
‘Gran said Dad hasn’t been that well. Did he seem off lately? Does he go with the hiking group a lot now? Has anything like this ever happened before?’
Being faced with so many questions at once was dizzying, leaving Struan’s forehead wrinkled. She was worried. He’d sensed it before, which was why he’d asked her to get water, keep her busy. ‘Have you banged your head recently? I can check for concussion—’
‘I’m serious!’ Rae burst out.
‘Okay, okay.’ Struan’s fingers flexed with the urge to reach out, calm her, but he locked them at his sides instead.
‘Aye, he joins the group most weeks, and no, nothing’s happened before.
I think maybe you’re worrying more than you need to.
It was warm out there today. He probably forgot to stay hydrated, especially with Dot nattering to him constantly. He’s fine. I promise.’
It soothed her enough that her posture sagged, and she went back to stirring the simmering pot of couscous. ‘Thank you.’
‘Of course,’ Struan said softly. ‘I know it’s scary when something like this happens. If you needed to worry, I’d tell you. Promise.’
He still remembered the day his dad had gone for a mountain bike ride and never made it home. Struan had been seventeen, unprepared to lose a parent so young, but accidents happened to even the most seasoned of cyclists and hikers. At least now, he could help other people.
Rae had been there through all of it, holding Martha’s hand while they waited for news on whether he’d been found.
The rest was a blur – until the funeral.
Everybody had been focused on Mum and Martha, their grief written in streaks across their face, while Struan had tried to do what Dad would have: hold himself together, make silly jokes so that everyone remembered how to smile, take care of his girls.
Nobody had noticed him sneak off alone at the wake.
Nobody but Rae. She’d sat with him in the grass in the back garden, a plate of finger sandwiches between them.
It was the first and possibly only time Struan had felt allowed to grieve in the presence of someone else.
She’d been there as Martha’s support, but she’d still taken time for him.
He’d never forget that. If something was wrong with Doug, he’d be there.
‘He’s not ill, is he?’ Struan asked quietly.
‘He’s struggling, I think.’ Rae glanced out of the window at the daisy-peppered fields, bleached pink as the sun began to set.
‘Is that why you’re back?’
‘No. I didn’t know. The farm isn’t running like it used to, though, so… maybe it’s good I am.’
‘So, you’re staying?’
‘For summer, at least.’
Struan considered it, drumming his fingers against the cold countertop. ‘I can help if you need. My busier tours don’t start until the week after next. If there’s anything I can do, you know I will.’
Rae nodded. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’
‘No bother, Little Rae.’ He nudged her gently, glad when the corner of her mouth tugged up in appreciation.
It was in his nature to help her, just as it was to help Martha.
He reminded himself of that as he continued to watch her work.
She was off-limits, and that was that. It didn’t mean he couldn’t offer his support – or enjoy the view.