‘That’s the spirit,’ muttered Eiley.
‘Look, it’s going to be fine,’ Rae assured. ‘We prepared for this. Sort of.’
Anybody else might not have seen the flash of dread in her eyes when the sky brightened with far off lightning, but Struan did, and ushered the group into the shop, nearly losing an eye when Harper tried to put the umbrella down halfway over the threshold.
Inside, the damp clung to the stone walls, and he resisted the urge to sidle closer to Rae when her teeth began to chatter. ‘It’ll pass in no time.’
‘Or it will rain for the next day and our wedding arch will be submerged under ten feet of water,’ said Harper.
Myra patted her shoulder supportively. ‘Worst comes to worst, you’ll just have to wear wellies under your dress.’
‘I don’t want to wear wellies. I want to wear Louboutins!’ wailed Harper.
‘This is why we don’t host weddings,’ muttered Doug.
Rae moved to the window. ‘If we have to, we can rearrange the set-up. Move the wedding arch under the marquee tent, then bring out the tables for the reception afterwards.’
The exhaustion in her voice proved just how much hassle it would be, but she was right. If the orchard flooded, they’d make something else work.
Since Struan seemed to be the only one not spiralling into a pit of despair, he reminded gently, ‘The wedding isn’t for another twenty-four hours. It’s forecast to be dry enough tomorrow. There’s no reason to worry yet.’
‘Yes, but my beautiful, beautiful outdoor wedding aesthetic, Struan.’ Harper’s shoulders slumped.
With an equal amount of defeat, Rae turned, tugging Struan’s shirt tighter around her body. Fuck, she looked good in it, sleeves hanging over her hands and the frayed hem brushing the top of her thighs. ‘We’ll figure something out. We’ve hosted plenty of summer fairs here in all weathers. Right, Dad?’
‘If you say so.’
Struan didn’t like the way Doug’s bitterly uttered words seemed to leave a mark on Rae. How couldn’t the man see that she was trying – harder than anyone else here, and anyone else Struan had ever known?
‘Or… we could just get wet.’ The suggestion came from the door, where Fraser had appeared, red hair dripping over his forehead.‘It’s only rain, sunshine. It’s not going to ruin the best day of our lives.’
Harper softened immediately, going to loop her arms around his neck. Struan gulped, turning away. If Vik thought his yearning was torturous, this was far worse.
He moved to the window, both to be closer to Rae and to stay well away from the couple’s kissing zone, nudging her in an effort to lift her spirits. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ he promised. ‘It’s already easing off.’
Right as he said it, thunder rumbled through the farm shop, making them both flinch. On the windowsill, their hands slid closer, the proximity he’d been so deprived of prickling like nettle stings on his skin.
He would have reached out then if not for those words she’d said the night Martha had come home.Stop. Please, just stop.
‘Dad was right. I thought I could fix everything, but I can’t,’ she said.
‘There’s nothing to fix.’ He nodded towards Harper and Fraser, whose love spilled like moonlight out of them: bright eyes, hushed voices, touches they didn’t have to ask permission for or earn. ‘Look at them. They’d be happy to get married in my wee bothy, as long as they’re together.’
‘You could serenade them with “Wonderwall”.’
He snorted. He hadn’t told her that he’d gone back to that old guitar recently. Started learning one of the folksy songs she’d hummed along to in his car that day they’d taken samples around Belbarrow. He’d hoped he might get a chance to impress her the next time she visited. Only, she never would.
He was so busy watching amusement curl over her lips that he didn’t notice the rain quieten to a tentative patter until Myra said, ‘See? It’s already passing!’
‘See?’ Struan repeated, nudging Rae. She rolled her eyes; nudged him back. For a moment, they were like they’d been before, playful and at ease, not having to fight that near-constant tether forever tugging them together.
And then Struan’s phone rang. He pulled it out, uttering a quiet curse at the caller ID. The rescue team leader, Kirsten.
‘Tell me you’re just calling for a chat,’ he said by way of greeting, pressing his phone to his ear.
‘’Fraid not. We’ve got a family trapped in a collapsed cave near Loch Ness.’
Jesus, that didn’t sound good. He’d never once considered saying no to his duties before, but one look at Rae made him want to.
