Page 71 of Kindling
“It’s okay. I’m here when you’re ready. Just as long as it isn’t something Fraser’s done?”
“No. Your brother is aggravatingly wonderful.” Harper could no longer pretend that she wasn’t falling for him – in an all-consuming, devastating way that would make it all the harder to leave. But also all the easier, if she was sensible enough. At least if she headed back to Manchester early, she wouldn’t be delaying the inevitable. Like pulling off a waxing strip, it would be quick and… not at all painless. But quick. Maybe that was the best she could hope for.
Eiley beamed. “He isinfuriatinglyfab, isn’t he? I don’t know what we’d all do without him.”
That much was clear. The entire town relied on him in some way or other. He was everything to them…
But Harper wasn’t anyone’severything. She wasn’t special like him. She didn’t even have much luck on Instagram at the minute. Since she’d stopped posting so often, the algorithm had turned against her, and her engagement was slowly teetering into oblivion.
“But you’re fab, too,” Eiley said, giving Harper a gentle nudge. “That’s why you’re so magnetic together.”
Harper wanted to believe her. But as more children flocked their way to paint their hands the colours of autumn, she couldn’t stop thinking of the email.
The interview.
The looming end.
26
The next morning, Fraser froze in the middle of Bridge Walk. He carried a crate full of fairy figurines and handcrafted miniature houses, having cleared his table in the shed of every single one, including a few he’d only finished this week. He’d thought it wishful thinking to expect to sell so many, but now…
Harper and the preschool team had worked hard to make this festival a special one. Welcome signs with the kids’ handprints were hung on the bridge. His stall was draped with vibrant bouquets, a handmade seasonal wreath, and a small sign that Harper had printed off at the library yesterday. Like the business cards she’d designed, it readHandmade by Fraserand featured whimsical woodland motifs on a wood grain background. A tagline read:Beautiful unique ornaments and furniture, upcycled and sustainably crafted from Highland wood.
Without warning, Harper popped up behind the table, arms brimming with more flowers. “Boo!”
“Ah!” He stepped back, putting a hand to his chest. “Jesus, Harp! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Judging by the glint in her eye, that had clearly been the goal. She looked like one of his woodland fairies today, with a crown of sunflowers on her head and her lips stained a rich burgundy. She wore a burnt orange and brown plaid skirt that accentuated the curves of her hips, matched with a turtleneck and her new suede jacket. He grinned, remembering how she’d bounced into the cabin yesterday afternoon with the shopping bag in her hands, rejoicing that she’d found a French Connection piece for five pounds – “Five Great British Pounds, Fraser! That’s the same price as a posh coffee!” – among the racks.
Stepping forwards again, he motioned to the elaborate display. “Are you kidding with all this?”
She glanced around as though she’d only just noticed it herself. “You don’t like it?”
“Of course I bloody like it, you mad woman.” He placed his crate of wares on the table and rested his hands over it. “You just shouldn’t have gone to so much effort. You’re busy enough as it is.”
Harper’s smile faltered as she tied a handful of marigold stems with a neat twine bow. “Notthatbusy at the moment.”
“Busy enough. You’re writing a future Nobel Prize winner. Or whatever awards exist for books.” He rounded the stall, unable to stand all the obstacles between them. When he entered the side door, though, he didn’t like what he found. Harper’s mouth drooping at the corners unhappily.
Something was wrong. Had been all week. She’d claimed otherwise, but he’d still noticed a difference. It had been harder to coax laughs from her when they walked Bernard before he started work.Easier to get her to hush up in the evenings when he was trying to focus onThe X-Files, which she’d insisted they watch together, only to chatter all the way through, mostly about how she couldn’t decide whether she was more in love with Mulder or Scully. Secretly, he liked hearing her voice over those of the actors. But whenever he’d asked if she was okay, she’d brushed him off.
He was pretty sure it was nothing to do with him. They’d been intimate more and more each day, getting lost in one another’s bodies every spare hour they had. She’d stayed over at his house the night before last and they’d taken advantage of his bathtub, which had fitted them both. He’d worried briefly that she might want to end things with him, but she didn’t act like that was the case when they were together.
She was just… different.
He poked her in the soft flesh between her ribs. “You okay?”
Harper nodded swiftly. “I’ve not been writing much this week. That’s all.”
He felt a pang of guilt. Was it because of him? She’d put so much work into the festival, into the business he’d been hellbent on not starting until she encouraged him, and then there’d been helping Andy out at the B&B and working on Flockhart’s marketing plans, too. And the preschool. And checking up on Eiley. Had Fraser’s overwhelming community burned her out?
“How come?” He took her hand, pulling her closer so she would stop using the flower arrangements as a distraction.
“Just writer’s block.” She shivered as though dispelling an unwelcome thought, before brightening so quickly he felt whiplashed. “No time for that today, anyway! Let’s get your fairies on display! Are you nervous?”
He was, actually, but less so with her here. Before he could even think about setting up the stall, he locked his arms around her waist, his nose grazing hers before he kissed her. “Thank you for doing this for me. You’re pretty amazing.”
“Iampretty amazing,” she agreed. “But you’re welcome. Thank you for letting me be part of it all. And for letting me be the first person you trusted with this.”
