Her throat tightened, and she prayed her blush wasn’t too obvious. Why couldn’t he have just delivered the excuse she’d prepared?
Thankfully, Struan’s hair had almost dried, but she wouldn’t put it past Martha to notice their crumpled clothes. It looked like they’d been rolling through the fields, not working in them.
Dad’s muttered, ‘Is that what they call it now?’ didn’t make her feel any better. Myra reprimanded him with a jab of her crutch. Rae decided she wouldn’t mind a stepmum so much after all.
Martha’s upper lip curled in something between surprise and disapproval. ‘Has he been annoying you, Rae? You know, you can just tell him to bugger off.’
‘Not at all,’ Rae replied thickly. Only then did she notice the rich blue-purple jewel winking on Martha’s manicured left hand. ‘Oh my God! What isthat?’
She dashed over, grabbing Martha’s wrist to get a better look. The gemstone was the colour of the night sky and framed by golden star-like points – not just any engagement ring, but the one that Martha had had saved on her Pinterest since the age of eighteen. Rae glanced, open-mouthed, between the couple, her eyes welling.
Martha giggled. ‘I couldn’t wait to tell you. Vik finally popped the question!’
A brick dropped on Rae’s chest, and she despised herself for it. Here Martha was, with the job and fiancée she’d always dreamed of, while Rae made a mess of her own life. She gulped, willing herself to smile. She could be unfairly envious later, but not now. Now, she had to be a good friend – and she wanted to be, so badly.
‘God help you, Vik,’ teased Struan as he dragged Martha in for a one-armed hug. He ruffled her blond micro-fringe in a way that had her scowling, then placed a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘Congrats, M. I’m chuffed for you both.’
But his voice was quiet, fragile, like maybe he felt that ache, too: the ache of loneliness, and maybe the ache of things that could never be. Not that Rae wanted to marry him, of course, but the ring on Martha’s finger made her feel more certain she’d never get one of her own, if not because she was terrible at dating, then because the only person she’d ever experienced that kind of intimacy with was the one person she couldn’t have.
She snapped herself out of it all at once. This wasMartha, the woman who had started Pride Club when a school mean girl had outed her in third year; the woman who had gotten her heart broken by a string of terrible short-term relationships in her late teens and early twenties; the woman who had celebrated Rae’s first job, first promotion, first time working in a kitchen abroad.
Her best friend, who deserved the wedding of her dreams. Happiness wasn’t a zero-sum game, she reminded herself.
‘This is… the best news.’ Rae ran her thumb over the smooth gemstone. She meant it, the boulder in her gut finally rolling away to make room for real joy. ‘I’m so happy for you, Martha. For both of you.’
‘Thank you, Rae-Rae.’ Martha brushed the tears from Rae’s cheek. ‘I promise I’ll choose the hottest bridesmaid’s dresses ever. I’m thinking gold or deep blue.’
‘As long as you don’t make me go strapless.’
‘Don’t worry. Your tits are in safe hands.’
‘Thank goodness,’ chimed Dad sardonically.
‘We should celebrate!’ announced Martha, throwing her arms up and hitting Struan in the process. He took a cautious step back. ‘Is it too late for a Chef Docharty special?’
Rae glanced at Dad warily. Having Martha landing early wasn’t exactly helping with the ‘accidentally taking over the farm’ issue.
But he nodded, lacing a hand around Myra’s hip. ‘We can eat outside. It’s the perfect night for it.’
Martha clapped her hands, and just like that, it was decided.
Rae had dashed upstairs to freshen up midway through cooking. Since it was late and she was exhausted, she’d opted for a dinner of picky bits mostly consisting of cheeses in various forms – Martha’s favourite. Struan had been forced to the nearest 24-hour supermarket for crackers and deli meats, providing Rae with a much-needed breather. Back in the kitchen now, Martha sipped wine and watched Rae arrange and rearrange the cheeseboard five different ways.
‘You do know you’re not onSuperCook? I think it’s okay to have smoked cheese next to the halloumi fries.’
Rae was too focused on trying to prevent the bruschetta from touching the gouda to pay much attention, though Martha’s scrutiny clawed at her skin like fingernails. Hiding things from her was new and unpleasant. Rae felt different, and surely it showed – not because she’d lost her virginity or anything as cliché as that. She’d checked for that fictional glow in the mirror earlier, just to be sure, and instead found midge bites and sunburn.
And yet he’d changed her all the same. He’d shown her what she could have had all these years if she’d put any effort into dating, if she’d trusted in her own right to be desired. He’d made her his in a way that had been both gentle and primal, and she wasn’t sure how to look at him, think of him, without remembering the way he’d fallen at her mercy with those throaty moans and oh-so careful thrusts.
It hadn’t been perfect, with the heat and the anxiety and her busy brain, but maybe that was why it had felt so good. In all that discomfort,they’d found pleasure, and he hadn’t stopped or grown impatient when she’d needed more time. He’d helped her. Let her find her way through.
‘Rae,’ Martha said.
‘Hm?’
‘You’re not upset with me, are you? For the conversation we had the other day?’
She placed down the cheese knife, a tremble rushing through her. She could tell Martha the truth now. It would be quick and probably a relief.
