Page 14 of Kindling
“Three months…” Harper replied warily. “I could cut it down to two. Or just until I’ve finished my book. How long does it take to write a book?” she pondered aloud, recognising she probably should have googled that before booking this trip on a whim, in the hopes she would “find herself” and write a bestselling novel.
Andy’s face softened with sympathy, and Harper already knew she was about to get rejected. Again. The online writing community she’d recently inserted herself into would probably tell her she’d better get used to it, but that didn’t help right now.
“Sorry,” they said. “We can’t afford to stay running for one person, especially not with all the work we’re doing on the place. It’s my fault. One minute, I didn’t like the curtains, the next, I was ripping off wallpaper left, right, and centre.”
So everybody, it seemed, was not in fact welcome. They should change the sign to “nobody welcome” instead.
Harper had never known how it felt not to have a roof over her head. She didn’t like it at all. She felt… bare, somehow. Exposed. Alone.
She considered searching for the nearest train station and heading home, but her pride wouldn’t allow that. She was here to become the person Kenzie had wanted her to be, to prove that she’d made a mistake in dumping her for theSelling Salfordlady, and (as the cherry on top) to accomplish her goals.Who would she be if she gave up and went home? A pathetic failure. She refused to be that anymore.
She could look for another Airbnb, but the thought unsettled her. If they really were harming the village and woods, she didn’t want to play a part.
Fraser turned to Harper, at a loss.
She pushed out her chest and tugged at the corners of her jacket. “It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”
“If anything changes, I can let you know,” Andy said helplessly.
Harper shook her head. “I’ll find something, I’m sure. Thanks, anyway. It was nice to meet you. Oh, and I am okay at painting.”
“I’ll message you about my schedule later,” said Fraser.
Andy mouthed another “Sorry!” Fraser’s way before they shut the door.
Harper scraped her wispy, windswept hair from her face, turning around to look at the village at the bottom of the hill. There had to be something down there for her. She couldn’t be here just to get pushed out the same way she’d been pushed from her job, from her relationship.
Fraser sighed and pried her suitcase from her limp fingers. “C’mon. I’ll buy you a pint and we’ll figure this out.”
“You don’t have—”
He shushed her before she could finish her sentence, then said with warm sincerity: “Harper. I want to.”
She supposed she couldn’t argue with that.
7
Fraser set down Harper’s drink in front of her, a crisp apple cider that she’d taken far too long to choose. He sat across from her with his pint of beer, feeling out of sorts. It was a tad earlier than Turloch Corner Tavern’s landlord, Graeme, usually served alcohol, but he hadn’t bothered to ask questions when they’d trudged in at ten-fifteen.
Besides, they weren’t his first customers. Alan, the town’s silver-haired, red-nosed retired postman, napped at – or rather,on– the bar. He emitted a belch that left Harper scowling, and she scooted her chair away from Alan as though his air was contagious.
“I can’t believe this,” she groused, dipping her chin behind her glass.
“It’s not the end of the world,” Fraser replied, sipping the froth from his own drink. “We’ll find you somewhere.”
He shouldn’t have been drinking at all, not when he was supposed to be working, but since he was his own boss, he’d allowed himself the morning off to help Harper out. Whether she wanted that help or not, he didn’t care. He’d promised her a room, and he hadn’t delivered yet.Fraser never broke his promises.
“You said there aren’t any other places to stay here other than the evil Airbnbs on the other end of the forest, and I’m not checking in at a Premier Inn alongside the motorway. I came here for a change of scenery. Some inspiration.”
Her pink bottom lip jutted out in an endearing pout. He felt bad for her, of course, but he couldn’t deny that she looked gorgeous, with an oversized terracotta jumper tucked into blue jeans rolled at the ankle, as well as a white lacy collar folded over the neckline. He didn’t usually notice clothing, but he couldn’t stop noticing her. She clearly took pride in being fashionable, and it suited her well.
Jesus, Fraser. Pull yourself together.Easier said than done when faced with a woman like her, fiery and bonnie and stubborn. Of course, handling her toy hadn’t helped. How was he supposed to look at the roses in his garden the same, now he knew she used that little plaything to get herself off?
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the bottom of his pint glass. He absolutely could not think of her like that. Could not imagine her moans as she held the vibrating centre to her—
He cleared his throat, choking on his own line of thought.You’re a fucking shitebag, he scolded himself, washing down the heat crawling through him with another swig.Stop it now.It was difficult not to tease her about it some more, just to witness that pretty blush again, but the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.
Harper soon sobered as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “I suppose I’d better weigh up my options. How do you spell Loch Whatsit again?”
