Chapter 8 #2
She glared, unsure whether he was laughing with her or at her.
It felt like the latter, the same way Colin’s friends had the whole summer after the prom, shouting Rosé Rae whenever they passed her.
Growing up focused on school and the farm rather than on trying to fit in with cliques meant she’d always felt out of place, and it had been hard as a teen to think herself beautiful when her friends had bore no resemblance to fruits and taken up far less space than her.
Colin asking her out had made her think, for the first time, she could enjoy those apparently magical experiences others didn’t have to fight for – until she’d ruined it, if not because of the wine, then because she hadn’t wanted to kiss him.
Her skin had crawled when his hand had slid up her thigh. She hadn’t been ready.
Now, at 28, she still hadn’t experienced real intimacy, and she worried she never would.
How late was too late? Even if she met someone, would they want to be with a woman whose understanding of sex mostly came from books and movies?
She’d done other things, and she was very creative with her own toys, but the main event had never happened with someone else.
She never trusted anybody enough to get that far.
She must have been quiet for too long, because Struan leaned over the stone wall, iced tea clasped in his hands. ‘Why was he calling you Strawb, anyway? Because of the farm?’
Rae rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t remember how red and spotty I used to be?’
‘Can’t say I do.’
Either he was lying, trying to make her feel better, or… ‘You probably didn’t notice me back then.’
‘I noticed enough.’ He didn’t give her time to process what that meant, asking, ‘Do you want me to go back in there and beat the wee walloper up?’
She smiled softly at that. He’d always asked the same thing when Martha had come home heartbroken, back before he’d known she was actually dating girls, and the sentiment had been extended to Rae on the rare occasion she had boy trouble.
And then her heart squeezed. Though she didn’t want to acknowledge why, the reason sat heavy all the same: she was still just Little Rae. At least when she was working, she was someone else. She’d felt so at home in kitchens, confident and competent, and quick to fix any problem.
But that hadn’t lasted, either.
‘No, I’m good. Though you looked a bit like you wanted to beat him up.’
His jaw set. ‘I didn’t particularly enjoy the way he leered at you. Not very gentlemanly, was he?’
‘Most men aren’t,’ she teased. When his brow remained raised, she decided this was one question she didn’t need to avoid. ‘It’s okay. I can handle myself. It’s just strange, being home. It’s like I’ve fallen right back into the same person I always was. Like the last few years never happened.’
Struan tapped the lid of his iced tea, leaning closer so that his warmth pressed into her arm.
It was the first time they were on the same level, and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t enjoy seeing him up close.
The dip of his cupid’s bow, the streaks of copper in his uneven stubble, the hole in his ear where she remembered a silver hoop had lived for a while.
Lemon and ginger lingered on his breath, lower lip shining from a droplet not yet dried.
‘Except pretty much everyone worships you now,’ he said.
She scoffed. ‘Not quite worship, although he did hold my boobs in high regard.’
‘Aye, well...’ Struan flushed. ‘Maybe not the sort of worship you deserve, but he was impressed, as he should be. A lot of people make it out of Belbarrow, but not many accomplish what you have. I might even make you a stop on my tour.’ His cheek dimpled as he wafted his arms out in front of him.
‘Behold, Scotland’s finest chef. Please queue for autographs. ’
‘I think they’d be underwhelmed to find little old me in my wellies trying to sell jam.’
‘There’s nothing underwhelming about you – except maybe your height.’
She hadn’t realised just how close they were until she turned her head and their noses grazed. She felt the proximity like a score on her skin, and she wasn’t sure whether to recoil against the sting or let it dig itself deeper.
The sound of her name fractured the stillness between them, and she turned to find the very same girl Martha had gone to prom with standing just feet away, a toddler on one side and a dark-haired child on the other.
Cam was as beautiful as ever, once dyed black hair now her natural flame-red, eyes the colour of a clear sky.
Unlike back then, tattoos darkened her skin from her neck down, and she’d gotten far curvier.
‘Oh my gosh, Cam!’ Rae hadn’t seen her since the summer before uni, when they’d spent days that bled into nights wading in the loch and sleeping at one another’s houses.
They’d only become close in high school, but her blunt humour and fierce attitude had left Rae keeled over with laughter many a time.
That was before the break-up, when things had been easy.
When Rae had just been glad to be a third wheel, not playing piggy in the middle during every argument.
She wanted to hug her, but Cam didn’t look quite as happy to see Rae, and her hands were clearly full with her kids.
After a bit of Facebook stalking, Martha had mentioned she’d gotten married a few years ago, and Rae had poked fun at the barely concealed jealousy that had surfaced – pre-Vik, of course.
Cam’s cool gaze raked over Rae first, then Struan. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here. Not you, Struan. I see you all the time.’
Struan rubbed his jaw. ‘Aye, well, who am I to resist your famous paninis? I… er, forgot you two were close.’
‘Once,’ Cam said.
Rae balked, unsure what she’d done to deserve the jab. Maybe she hadn’t been very good at keeping in contact, but she’d been put in a difficult position. Besides, they weren’t kids anymore, even if the run-in with Colin had suggested otherwise. ‘You look well. Are these your kids?’
‘Aye, well done for keeping up.’ Cam stepped past them, the little ones trailing behind.
The toddler had gorgeous copper curls like Cam’s, whereas the older girl had brown skin like the woman in the wedding pictures Martha had shown her.
Gorgeous, both of them, but Cam had been the last person Rae expected to settle down.
It was strange to once again face the reality that, while other people fell in love and started families, Rae had disconnected from that way of life to chase a career that she was currently avoiding.
An unidentifiable twinge buried through her, but she pushed it away, quickly saying before Cam could leave, ‘Maybe we could get a coffee this week?’
‘Fat chance,’ Cam murmured, and then ushered the kids into the post office. The red door slammed behind them, and Struan sucked in a breath through his teeth.
‘What was all that about?’
Rae shrugged, picking at the old scar tissue on her finger, left behind by an oven burn. She’d never really let it heal, always scraping at the scab without realising it. Struan had noticed, back in the car, surprising her. ‘I think maybe she’s another person that felt left behind.’
‘Well, it must’ve been awkward when you left for uni, no? She was Martha’s ex. She only stopped treating me like the enemy a year or two ago.’
‘Yeah. They didn’t end on the best of terms…
But she was also my friend.’ Maybe Rae had been terrible – to Dad, to Martha, to Cam.
She’d assumed she wasn’t that important to anyone, that with her gone, they’d get on with their lives barely noticing the difference.
Maybe she was self-absorbed, unappreciative.
She’d never meant to be. She’d just been so swept away, caught in a current that never seemed to stop.
Even now, her bag was weighed down by the fliers and sample pots, and she could feel time ticking away, urging her to keep moving, stop wasting it.
‘Come on. Let’s keep going.’ She masked her discomfort behind a sip of her drink, and then grabbed Struan’s wrist without thinking about it.
She was quick to drop it when she realised, too late, just how easily she’d touched him, like they’d known each other for years. She supposed they had – but not like this.
Never like this.