Chapter 4 Summer
FOUR
SUMMER
As I look at the contents of my suitcase, I realise I’m screwed.
I packed photoshoot outfits, not farmwear.
After a few minutes of despairing, I pick out my most countryside-appropriate outfit: a pair of pink yoga pants I packed just in case I suddenly became a new person and decided to start working out; and the lacy camisole I brought to sleep in.
So, not actually very appropriate, but better than a microskirt or a handkerchief top.
For shoes, I mostly packed pumps, so the best option I have are a pair of cute heeled ankle boots.
They have no grip at all, but they’re better than nothing.
I rejoin Fraser, who glances at my legs quickly before coughing and looking away.
“Lovely. Right this way.” He opens the door and leads me outside. We start trudging up the hill.
In the daylight, the farm isn’t scary at all. It’s actually beautiful here. The air is fresh and clean. Birds are singing. The sky is a pale baby blue, and the green hills of the Highlands rise up around me. A deep-blue loch shimmers on the horizon. It’s miles away from smoggy, overcrowded London.
“So,” Fraser says brightly, “didn’t catch your name yet, lass.”
I almost trip over my own feet.
“Whoops!” He grabs my hand to steady me. My stomach flips at the touch. Yep. I definitely need to get laid. “You alright?”
I can feel my cheeks burning. “Do you actually call girls ‘lass’ up here?” I squeak. I’ve only seen it in books and films. Coming from this mountain of a man, though, it is very hot.
Fraser’s eyes twinkle. “Not unless they’re pretty tourists. I know your lot love it.” My mouth falls open, and he booms a laugh. “Your name?” He reminds me. “Unless you’re keeping it quiet so I call you ‘lass’ again?”
“I’m Summer!” I say quickly. “I’m visiting from London.”
“London, eh? What brings you to these parts then? We don’t get many guests here, other than hikers looking to spend the night.” Letting go of my hand, he glances at my feet. “And you seem to have forgotten your walking shoes. Not that these aren’t very pretty.”
I look down at my boots. “It’s kind of a long story,” I say as we reach the farmhouse. It’s a large, plain building with a thatched roof. I feel Fraser’s gaze trail up my legs. Something buzzes inside me.
He’s checking me out.
“Well, you can tell me it over coffee,” he declares, pushing the front door open. “After you.”
I step inside, and my eyes widen. While the outside of the farmhouse isn’t much to look at, the inside is like a fairy-tale cottage.
The ceiling is arched wood, and the walls are built from natural stone.
The doorway opens into a lounge space with a handful of big squashy armchairs crowded around a huge fireplace.
I notice a cabinet wedged next to the coat stand.
It’s mostly full of dusty old books and records, but taking up the whole bottom shelf is—
“Ohmygod, is that a vintage Singer?” I say in one breath, gravitating closer.
“Nah,” Fraser says. “I reckon that’s a sewing machine.”
“It’s a Featherweight,” I practically coo, reaching out to stroke the gold filigree.
The Featherweight was my dream vintage sewing machine back when I was in fashion school.
I was going to buy myself one as a graduation present, before I dropped out.
I can’t help turning the wheel. It still spins beautifully.
I can feel Fraser watching me. “Aye, it was Alec’s mum’s, I think. You like to sew?”
I suddenly realise I’m being weird. I need to tone myself down. I step back and give him a smile. “Oh, um, a bit! I haven’t in ages though.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s looking right through me, and I brighten my smile even more. The tension is broken by my stomach gurgling loudly.
Fraser laughs. “All right, London. Let’s get some scran in you.”
“Scran?”
“Scran. Food. Breakfast. Can’t have a guest starving away in my house.
” He touches my back and leads me through the lounge, into a kitchen decorated with wooden counters and stone floor tile.
In the centre of the room is a long table set with pastries and coffee.
Cameron is sitting at one end reading a newspaper.
He looks even hotter in daylight. Scruffy and rugged.
He looks up at me. Blinks. Then his face twists into a scowl. “Fraser,” he growls.
“What?” Fraser says happily. “She needs Wi-Fi. I’m just being a good host.”
“Hi, Cameron!” I say, waving.
He looks me over, his mouth turning down at the sight of my shoes. “See you survived the murder shed,” he mutters.
“I’m sorry I called it that,” I say. “It’s actually super cozy! It was just scary in the dark, you know. You should put more lights outside.”
His eyebrow arches. “You givin’ me decor tips, princess?”
“Maybe you could fold the towels into swans too,” I say as sweetly as possible. “It’s the little touches that make all the difference.”
He just grunts, still staring at my boots. “You’ll break your neck in those things,” he mutters, turning back to his paper.
“All right,” Fraser says, steering me towards the table. He pushes me gently down into a wooden chair. “We got fresh scones in from the bakery this morning. And bread and jam and the like.” He slides a basket of pastries my way.
“Oh, that’s fine. I really just need to get connected—”
“You can do whatever you need to do after some brekkie,” Fraser insists, waving a scone in front of my nose.
I’m about to protest and beg for the Wi-Fi password when I hear footsteps in the hallway behind me.
“Have you two managed to fix the drainage yet?” a deep voice says. “We need to— Who are you?”
I turn to follow the voice, and my insides freeze.
Holy. Shit.
This isn’t right. It simply cannot be. There cannot be a third incredibly hot guy standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
And yet…there he is.
This man is tall with broad shoulders and raven-black hair.
While Fraser and Cameron are both rough and wild-looking, he’s the polar opposite.
Smooth. Polished. He’s wearing a pristine white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and an expensive-looking watch gleams on his wrist. His eyes are cloud-grey behind his glasses as he regards me.
He takes another step into the room. The air seems to hum as he comes closer, like the sky before a storm’s about to hit. I feel my thoughts scatter. I’ve always been a sucker for an authority figure, and this man exudes authority like a visible aura.
“Well?” he prompts after a moment, his expression blank.
“Hi! I’m Summer.” I wave awkwardly.
“Alec Gray,” he says quietly. His Scottish accent is softer than Fraser’s and Cameron’s, his voice more clipped.
“I’m the owner and general manager of Lochview Farm.
” He tilts his head as he studies me. A lock of dark hair falls over his forehead.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here? ”
“Oh. Um…” I look to Fraser.
“Cabin guest,” Cameron mutters from the corner. “Came in last night.”
“I know that,” Alec says. “But why is she here?” His stern eyes narrow on me, and I feel like a deer in the headlights of a truck. “We don’t permit guests to join us in the farmhouse,” he tells me. “It can be disruptive to our operations.”
“Oh,” I manage.
“Aw, I promised Summer she could come up here to use the Wi-Fi,” Fraser booms cheerfully at my side. “Poor thing’s in a bit of a pickle.” He pats my hand. His big palm swallows mine, rough callouses rubbing against my skin.
Alec’s brow furrows. “Are you in trouble?” he asks me seriously. “Do you need help?”
Cameron looks up from his paper.
I squirm a little. It’s…odd to have the attention of all three men so focused on me.
“Not in trouble,” I say brightly. “I came to the Highlands to shoot some content. I was meant to stay at a resort about thirty minutes away, but… Um, something went wrong with my booking. You guys really saved me last night. I had nowhere to go.”
“Shoot content?” Alec asks. “You work in film?”
“No, I’m an—” The words I’m an influencer are almost out of my mouth, then I stop myself.
If I tell these men what I do for a living, they’ll look me up. The first search result will be me melting down on the floor of a public bathroom. The thought makes me feel a bit sick. “I’m a…travel blogger,” I say slowly.
There’s a long pause.
“A blogger?” Alec repeats.
“Yes, I have a blog, and I, um, post pictures of myself and stuff.” Not technically a lie.
“That’s a job?” Cameron says, his face scrunching.
“Well, it’s more of a hobby thing really, but I’m trying to build my business,” I babble.
Alec’s pale eyes cut into me, his mouth turning down in silent disapproval.
He obviously doesn’t believe me. I’ve always been a bad liar.
“But anyway, I just need to use your Wi-Fi to arrange transport home, and then I’ll be out of your hair. ”
Alec nods slowly. “Fair enough. Give her the password, Fraser.”
Fraser holds his hand out for my phone. I hesitate. Who knows what messages I’ve been sent overnight? “Er. Can you just tell it to me?”
“Probably quicker if I type it in, lass.”
Reluctantly, I unlock my phone and pass it over.
He admires my glittery phone case, then taps in the Wi-Fi password with his big thumbs.
I wait with bated breath. After a few long seconds, my phone connects, and notifications immediately start flicking across the screen.
I catch a brief glimpse of one—girl, wtf happened at Bryce’s party?
??—and snatch the phone off Fraser. My chair squeals across the tiles as I jump to my feet.
“Thank you!” I say too loudly. “Um. Is there, er, somewhere I can go that’s a bit more private?”
All three men look at me oddly. Probably because I am acting highly suspicious.
“The kitchen garden,” Alec says after a moment, pointing to a door at the back of the kitchen.
“Great. Perfect. Thank you!” Clutching my phone to my chest, I trip towards the back door.