‘You okay?’ he asked.
Rae nodded, unwrapping the sliced meats and arranging them around the cheeses to resemble flowers.
Struan sidled closer, his fingertips on her back commanding every nerve to stand to attention. She took a deep, shaky breath, feeling as though she’d dipped a toe into an ice bath. It would be so easy to throw herself in, relieve herself from this heat, but what good would it do? She’d come out shivering and numb and wanting more.
If she had just stayed away, she’d have never found out what she was missing. She wouldn’t be experiencing the emptiness expanding through her now.
‘Stop,’ she whispered when his hand moved lower. Not searching, just comforting, because he always seemed to know when she needed it – which only made it harder, like she’d known it would. ‘Please, just stop.’
So, Struan did, putting space between them again. His expression contorted with an anguish she didn’t want to see.
Even when she left the kitchen, hands clutching the cheeseboard too tightly, she felt him like an inflamed rash all over her skin.
It would be a miracle if she survived the summer.
25
A refreshing breeze kissed Struan’s skin as the sky darkened to a dusty purple. He leaned back in his patio chair, wishing he could enjoy it without remembering how much better Rae’s touch had felt under the falls. That plea from the kitchen earlier echoed like a terrible song in his brain.Please, just stop.He’d wanted to comfort her the best way he knew how, but it seemed he wasn’t allowed to. Wasn’t allowed to touch her at all. Was barely even allowed to look at her.
When Doug left to drive Myra home, he considered making his own swift exit, but he was afraid it would only draw more attention to the tense atmosphere. Martha wouldn’t miss it. She’d already cast him a strange look when Rae had asked him to bring out dessert and he’d replied with his usual, ‘Yes, chef.’
Perhaps he wasn’t as subtle as he liked to believe.
Currently, Rae and Martha lay in the grass beside the glowing solar lanterns, weaving daisy chains like they were teenagers again. Rae was different with her, he’d noticed. More contained. He didn’t know if it was because of their secret, or because of the friendship’s recent rift, but the discomfort had left her picking at the callus on her finger more furiously than ever while they’d been nibbling cheese at the table earlier.
Then again,maybehewas the cause of her anxiety. Maybe she didn’t want him here.
‘When are you going to tell Mum?’ Struan questioned to dissolve the tranquillity. He’d never liked the quiet, even when filled with serene birdsong. One of the dogs – he hadn’t yet learned which was Milly and which was Maisy – whined by the gate, watching a pair of pigeons flap in the tall fir tree above.
From the chair beside Struan, Vik put a supportive hand on Martha’s shoulder as she answered, ‘Is “never” an option?’
Mum wasn’t homophobic, exactly, but she wasn’t what you might call homopositive, either. She was pleasant enough in Vik’s company – until discussions of grandchildren came up. Between Struan’s non-existent love life and Martha dating another woman, she was disappointed that they hadn’t fulfilled their baby-making duties yet. It had taken her a while to realise Martha’s first girlfriend, Cam, was a girl until she’d turned up in a suit on prom night, Martha rushing out the door before she could be questioned.
Rae frowned as she measured the daisy chain around her wrist. Too short. It was difficult not to be fascinated by the methodical way she searched for more flowers, comparing the lengths of the stems to make them even. Everything she did was so intentional, so careful, which made him wonder what, exactly, had been running through her mind when she’d surrendered to him.
‘She’s still being difficult about the two of you?’ she questioned.
Martha shrugged. ‘She’s mostly sad I’m not dating some bloke with extra powerful sperm. She wants grandbabies.’
‘I told you I’m working on it,’ teased Vik, but Struan heard the waver of dejection in her voice.
It wasn’t fair. Martha had achieved so much, all before her thirties, and still Mum wanted more. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t still be a grandmother. Martha had always dreamed of starting a family. If Dad had been here, Struan liked to believe that he’d have been more accepting, the same way he had been of Struan and his ADHD. Unlike Mum, he’d never asked him to change, even if it meant skipping homework because he was too burnt out to even attempt concentration.
Martha snapped her head to Rae suddenly. ‘She loves you, though. You should be there when we tell her!’
‘Of course,’ Rae said. ‘Anything you need.’
‘We can all take the trip to Aberdeen in a few weeks!’
‘Aye, I suppose we do owe her a visit,’ Struan agreed. Mum rarely came to Belbarrow; it reminded her too much of Dad, just like the house. Just like him. She hadn’t approved of him becoming a Mountain Rescue volunteer, lecturing him for weeks on how reckless and selfish he was being by working in the same hills that had taken her husband. He’d considered quitting, ravaged by the guilt that came with making her worry, but then he’d done his first training course and known he needed to see this one through: to help people, but also to feel useful for a change. Now, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He wasn’t just useful; he was actually good at his job. Nothing beat the solid night’s sleep he got after helping someone, sometimes even saving lives.
‘Well… it depends when you were thinking. I’m sort of planning a wedding,’ Rae said.
Martha reared back. ‘Wait, what? Whose? How much have I missed?’ She grabbed Rae’s hands. ‘Oh my God, you’re not marrying that fit chef are you? What was she called? Yvette?’
‘God, no!’ Rae wrinkled her nose.
Struan straightened sharply in his chair. ‘Who’s Yvette?’
