Page 47 of Kindling
The hikers offered applause, some snorting in amusement, but she didn’t mind. Suddenly, embarrassment was not something she had any interest in feeling anymore. All it did was hinder her. If they were laughing at her, let them laugh. She’d accomplished something, and she didn’t care what anybody else thought about it.
She took out her phone and captured the view, from the rolling hills dipping into thick forest around them, to the loch she was growing to love. She zoomed in on Raindrop Café, just so she could show Cam later. Maybe she would post the pictures on Instagram, or maybe she would keep them for herself, because this little summit was serene and made her feel tall, and she didn’t need likes or comments or views to bring her back to earth just yet.
Her book awakened in her head, her heroine’s large silhouette taking form on a mountain much higher than this, where clouds haloed the crags and a quest awaited. Harper wished she had her notebook to jot it down, though it would have turned to soggy mush in this weather.
“So, tell me about these writers you mentioned,” Harper asked Dot, shouting to be heard over the downpour.
“Oh, well… I forget who it was. Robert Someone-or-other. He apparently wrote his poems on that bench over there.” She pointed to a faded old bench by a plaque engraved with the words “Macaskill Ridge: where stories begin.”Dying heather and wilting wildflowers surrounded the weathered bronze.
“You sounded much more knowledgeable about it when you were trying to convince me to join the hike,” Harper teased.
“And it worked! You’re welcome!” Dot gave her a playful nudge, then wandered to chat with two older ladies who were dressed in much more practical gear. Would they let Harper use those sticks to help her balance on the way down? Her legs were starting to feel like jelly.
She edged away from the group, sitting on the bench despite the rain seeping through her thermal leggings. Even if she didn’t know which author had sat here, or even if any had at all, it didn’t matter. She hoped that, maybe here, she would see the world through a real writer’s eyes. Here, maybe more of her book would unfold.
She fell quiet, waiting for it to happen, half-hoping the ghost of this Robert fella might whisper the answers to her.
“Any tips on writing a bestselling book?” she whispered into the wind.
If he replied, she didn’t hear it. Maybe he was just shy. Or maybe she was relying too much on external forces to do the hard part for her.
She stood up. Just then, another gust whooshed into her with a force she wasn’t expecting, dragging her into the small crowd of hikers. “Ah!”
One of the older women caught her swiftly. “Blimey,” a disembodied voice muttered from somewhere inside the lady’s big hood. “That’s a bloody strong gale!”
Dot grimaced, tightening the strings of her raincoat. “I think we’d better head back before we get blown away!”
But Harper wasn’t ready to leave. She tightened her scarf again, eyes never leaving the view. Like the plaque said, her story had just begun. She’d come here for inspiration, after all. “I think I’m going to stay for a while.”
19
The weather was miserable, and so was Fraser. What was he trying to prove by keeping Harper at arm’s length, other than that he was an eejit? He’d mastered the art of caring for people from a young age, looking after his sisters when he could barely look after himself. Yet now his problem was that he cared too much about a woman who was destined to leave soon enough.
He was a walking paradox. He hated it.
He huffed his way into the tearoom, boots squelching against the glossy wood floors as he approached the counter. His sour mood hadn’t been improved by Andy. He loved supporting his friends, but Andy was stressed, and taking it out on everyone. Today, Andy had yelled at Fraser for making too much noise when drilling, then for not working fast enough when he’d quietened down. Jack had suffered a ten-minute rant simply for asking if he could use the bathroom. “I’m losing money every minute we spend closed,” Andy had reminded everyone – which made Fraser wonder if they regretted not letting a room to Harper when they had the chance.
Andy’s uncharacteristically high-maintenance behaviourmighthave had something to do with their parents being back in town after a summer spent travelling. No doubt, Andy wanted to make the retired owners proud after the management had been passed down just last year, and Fraser understood that completely. He just hadn’t known that, beneath Andy’s nonchalant exterior, was a grizzly tyrant he was quite afraid of.
Either way, they were on a time crunch. Fraser had volunteered to grab lunch just to be free from all the pressure for a few moments, but the knots didn’t leave his shoulders even when he was two streets away from Flockhart’s. The miserable weather didn’t help. By the time he reached the tearoom, he was soaked through and dripping rainwater all over the polished tiles. He picked up enough sandwiches from the fridge to feed a small army, then ordered a coffee and two teas to go.
As he leaned against the counter, exhausted, he caught Dot waving at him. She sat at a table by the window with the rest of the hiking group, who always finished their Friday morning walk with a natter here. He wasn’t much in the mood to socialise, but he went over so as not to be rude, tearing his hood off his head. “Afternoon, Dot. Did you brave the weather this morning?”
They all looked drenched enough to confirm the answer was yes. Their commitment to hiking was something even he couldn’t understand, but it was nice to see that the community was so unwavering. Rain or shine, nothing ever really changed in Belbarrow. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Aye, not even a tornado could stop us!” Dot chortled as her friends agreed jovially. “And we had a new member today. Your Harper!”
“She’s, uh, notmyHarper, Dot.” He surveyed the café as though he might find her sitting somewhere nearby. He was sure that if she heard anybody calling hertheirs, she’d blow a fuse.
“Well, she’sourHarper now, and she loved it. She even stayed behind to enjoy the wee view! It’s ever so nice up on Macaskill. I told her all about Robert Whatshisname writing there.”
Fraser blinked. He had no clue who Robert Whatshisname was. Still, the ground swayed beneath him as realisation struck him.
She’d stayed behind. On Macaskill Ridge, of all places.
“She… She’s up there in this weather?” He worked to keep his tone light.
“It wasn’t so bad,” Morag, the tearoom’s owner, chimed in beside Dot. “We only got swept around a wee bit.”
