‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, and then backed away before Doug set the Spaniels on him.
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 pronouncedveganasvaygan, and said it with the same scorn she wouldvagrants.
‘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 thinkDouglaswould 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.
