Chapter 11 Summer
ELEVEN
SUMMER
The freezing air whirls around me as I march towards the orchard the next morning, my tripod over my shoulder. It’s bright and early on Lochview Farm, and I am a woman with a plan.
After setting off the fire alarm last night, I spent all evening working.
Mostly to distract myself from my embarrassment.
I’ve always been clumsy, but I’ve never started a fire before.
I just got so caught up in all the comments saying that they hated me.
Poor Cameron agreed to let me stay here, and then I almost burned his cabin down.
I wince at the memory. After helping me with the fire, he went back to the house and brought me down a plate of lasagne. He didn’t say one word as he delivered it. He looked pissed.
Despite my shame, I somehow still slept like a log, and woke up at dawn to the sound of boots on the creaky cabin porch. When I opened the door, there was a basket of croissants on the doorstep. A note was tucked underneath it.
Don’t touch the stove.
I cringe, trying to shake the thought out of my head.
I need to focus on the task at hand. I checked yesterday’s eyeshadow post while eating my croissants—less than the usual number of likes, more than the usual number of comments calling me a vapid bimbo—and realised I need to change things up on my feed.
I want to give the vibe of a countryside girl who loves fresh air, doesn’t mind getting dirty, and definitely never cries over her makeup.
Fraser said I could take pictures, so I’ve decided to get some shots of myself in the orchard. People will see how grounded and down-to-earth I am, and they’ll all like me again. Simple.
I can handle this. I’m an expert at twisting myself into pretzels to show people what they want. If they want an all-natural countryside Summer, that’s exactly what they’ll get.
The orchard is small but very pretty—a field of short, leafy trees next to the farmhouse, bursting with blossom. I pick the prettiest tree and set up my tripod. I’m fiddling with my phone’s camera settings when I hear heavy footsteps crunch behind me.
Panic jolts through me, and I jump behind a nearby bush.
If it’s Cameron, I don’t think I’ll be able to look him in the eye.
The footsteps come closer, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise as Alec comes into view, carrying a giant water barrel under his arm.
His dark hair is windswept, and he’s dressed in a navy jumper with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscled forearms. There’s a black collie trotting at his side.
Alec looks like he’s about to sweep past me, but then the dog runs up to my bush and sticks its nose one inch from my face, looking at me with giant eyes.
“Scout? What you got?” Alec calls.
I stand up. “Good morning,” I say cheerfully, pretending I wasn’t just trying to hide behind a bush.
Alec’s grey gaze flicks over me, taking in my tripod. “What are you doing?” He sets the barrel down.
“Um, Fraser said I could take some pictures in the orchard today?”
His face tightens. “He did, did he?” he asks, and I try not to cringe.
“I hope that’s okay?”
“What are you taking pictures of?”
“Oh. Um. You know. Myself. I figured it would be a cute, like, apple-picking vibe. I won’t actually pick anything, obviously!” I wince. I just said “a cute apple-picking vibe” to a literal farmer.
“Aye,” Alec says slowly. “Because it’s spring. Apples don’t grow until summer.”
“…Then it will be a cute tree-admiring vibe!” At my feet, Scout wags his tail happily, nudging his face into my dress.
“Please don’t pet him,” Alec says. “He’s working.”
“Er,” I say, as Scout snuffles me. “I feel like he’s petting me.”
“Get back, Scout,” Alec orders in his thick Scottish burr. Scout ignores him, licking my hand. Alec frowns. “You must smell of something.”
“Aw.” I smile down at the dog. “Do you like Black Opium too? You’re clearly a dog of fine taste.”
“Excuse me?” Alec snaps. Oh shit. He’s looking at me like I’ve just confessed to having a baggie of cocaine shoved down my bra.
“That’s my perfume,” I say quickly. “Vanilla with notes of coffee. Promise I didn’t smuggle drugs on your property.
” Okay, that’s technically not true, so I correct myself.
“Well, nothing stronger than Ritalin. But I swear that’s prescribed.
I didn’t, like, buy it off a sketchy website, or pay off some poor ADHD uni student, or something…
” I trail off, face flaming. “I’m…um. Going to stop talking. ”
Alec studies me for a few long seconds. The trees rustle their leaves all around us. I feel pinned in place, like a butterfly to a board.
Eventually, he whistles sharply, the sound piercing the cool air. “That’ll do, Scout.”
Scout decides he’s sufficiently humiliated me. He trots back, and Alec lays a fond hand on the dog’s head, gently stroking his soft ears. I try to sink into the earth.
“Be done with your pictures by three, please,” Alec says. “We have people coming to harvest.” He picks up his barrel. “And, Summer?”
I feel like a schoolgirl getting scolded. “Yes?”
“Please try not to set off the fire alarms again. It was disruptive to the farm schedule.” He leaves.
After he’s gone, it takes a few seconds for my heartbeat to go back to normal. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so intense in my life.
I shake myself out of it. I need to get my head on straight. I have work to do. Operation: Make People Like Me Again. Here I come.
Two hours later, I’m hot and frustrated. I swipe through the photos in my camera roll. I’ve taken almost three hundred. And they’re all unusable.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I used to find making content so easy.
Now, whenever I try, nothing seems to work.
As soon as I start, my head gets all foggy and everything feels so difficult.
In every picture, my body is positioned weirdly.
Or my teeth look crooked. Or my hair is doing something odd.
What will people say if I post these? I can only imagine.
Why do people like her? she’s not even pretty enough to be an influencer
Um bestie maybe don’t wear a dress that short if you have cellulite
My chest suddenly feels tight. I lean against the tree and try to breathe.
“All right?”
I look up. Fraser is crunching through the orchard carrying two mugs. He’s wearing a forest-green plaid shirt stretched over his wide shoulders, and his auburn hair is knotted in a low bun. Something tight in me relaxes.
“Hi,” I say, probably too eagerly.
“Hiya, London. Thought you could do with a break.” He hands me a mug of cider and flops down on the grass, stretching like a massive animal. “You’re clearly hard at work.”
“Ha,” I say, sitting at his side. “Yeah. Super hard.” He probably just got done splitting logs or something. I take a sip of the cider, and my eyes widen as sweetness bursts over my tongue. “This is amazing.”
“Glad you like it,” he says, sounding distracted. “Made it myself.” When I look at him, his gaze is fixed on my mouth.
I have to hide my smile behind my mug. After being scowled at by Cameron and barked at by Alec, being wanted feels like a breath of fresh air. The playful glitter in his eyes tells me the feeling is mutual. “You make your own cider?”
“Aye, ever since I was a teenager.”
“You’ve worked here that long?”
He nods. “Cameron and I started working part-time in school. But we’d been coming to Lochview ever since we were kids. My mum was friends with Alec’s.” He grins up at the branches overhead. “Alec’s dad once caught me stealing apples to brew when I was seventeen.”
I smile. I can almost imagine Fraser as a teenager, his pockets full of stolen apples. “Was he mad?”
“He threw a pitchfork at me.”
I choke on my mouthful of cider and start to drown. “Excuse me?”
Fraser’s big hand lands on my back and starts rubbing soothing circles. “There, now,” he says softly. “Settle down. In and out, there’s a good lass.”
Believe it or not, being called a “good lass” does not help matters. I sputter, my eyes watering. “He threw a pitchfork at a child?”
“Aye. Hit me too. Hard to explain that to my mum.” He lets me go, frowning. “He was a nasty piece of work, to tell the truth. When we were kids, Alec, Cameron, and I had a hiding spot for when he was in a mood.”
“Oh.” That’s horrible. I used to hide from my mum when she was working from home. I’d crawl inside my closet and sketch dresses by torchlight. But that was so I didn’t distract her while she was busy, not so she didn’t throw stuff at me.
“Aye. Don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but let’s just say…
Wasn’t too unhappy when he passed.” Fraser shakes his head.
“Anyway. You look very sweet.” He twitches the hem of my brown dress, and I resist the urge to pull a face.
If I had a choice, I’d never wear brown in my life.
But neutrals are in, so needs must. “This is different. You were all pink and lacy yesterday.”
I nod. “I usually tone it down a bit when I, er, take blog pictures. What’s trendy right now doesn’t really match my style.”
His eyes narrow. “Aye? And what is your style?”
“I like pink,” I admit. “And glittery things. And ribbons and bows and skirts. Lulu says I dress like a pastry.”
“That explains these then.” He nods at my glittery nails. “I think it suits you. Being a pastry.”
“Me too. But I get more, um, reblogs when I wear clothes that are in fashion. And right now, fashion is very monochrome, unfortunately.”
“Fair enough. Photos going well?”
“Great, thank you,” I say, automatically giving him a sunny smile.
“Aye?” He tilts his head, amused. “’Cause you didn’t look too happy when I came out here.”
“Oh. Um.”
He nudges me. “You can tell me,” he says, his voice lowering. “S’okay.” His gold eyes are kind. He actually seems to mean it.
I fidget. “It’s nothing important. Just none of my pictures are coming out right.”
He scoffs. “Surely not. Can I see?” I hand him my phone, and he swipes through. “You’ve got to be joking,” he says after a moment. “You look gorgeous in these.”
“What? No, I don’t—”
He seems outraged. “You do. This one’s my favourite.”
I peer over his shoulder. It’s a shot I took as a gust of wind hit me. My hair is tangled, and my cheeks are bright red. “I look a mess. I could never post that.”
“Aye, well.” He looks at me sidelong. “I think I like you messy.”
My heart hammers. We’re both still for a moment. Overhead, a bird sings, light and clear.
Fraser’s smile is knowing as he hands my phone back. “Need a hand? Don’t know much about taking pictures, but it’s gotta be easier than doing it yourself.”
I perk up. “Would you mind?” Then I remember. “Wait. You must have something you need to be doing. Alec will be annoyed if I distract you.”
He huffs. “Alec’s always annoyed. And I’d much rather skive than go back to the fields.” He slaps his knees, stands, and offers me a hand up. “C’mon, London. Where d’you want me?”
I look around. A few metres down the orchard is a tall pear tree with a ladder propped against its side. “Can you take some pictures of me up on that ladder?”
He grins at me. “Nae problem. Lead the way.”
It turns out, Fraser is right. It is a lot easier to take pictures with him handling the phone. I balance a few steps up the ladder, striking poses as he clicks away.
“Lift your chin a bit,” he calls. “And uncross your legs… There you go.” He checks the screen. “Aw, you look so bonnie.”
The compliment hits me like a shot of whisky, warming me up all over. I reach up into the branches, and he suddenly goes silent.
“Is this a good angle?” I call to him.
“Aye. Gorgeous,” he says, voice rough. I look over my shoulder. His gaze is fixed on my legs. Heat pools in me as his eyes meet mine slowly.
Then, out of nowhere, there’s a rustle in the branches overhead, and something warm and furry jumps onto my chest.
I scream, letting go of the ladder as the fluffy thing lands heavily on my boobs. I get a brief impression of bright black eyes and a fluffy tail, then the ladder jerks underneath me. My arms windmill as I feel it topple slowly away from the tree trunk.
“Oh shit!” I hear Fraser yell. I close my eyes, bracing for impact—
And I’m caught. Grabbed in two muscled arms and pulled tightly into a warm, solid chest. I open my eyes to see Fraser holding me, shock all over his face.
“Christ,” he chokes out. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, catching my breath. “Woo, that was a close one!” In my periphery, a giant grey squirrel scampers off in the grass. “That squirrel touched my boobs.”
“You could’ve broken your neck,” he growls. “You’ve got enough pictures for the day, I think. You ain’t dying for a blog post.” He squeezes me tighter to him. “You sure you’re okay, sunshine?”
Sunshine. The word strokes over my skin. Our faces are so close together I can feel his breath on my cheek. He smells like fresh air and apples. I feel warm all over.
His lips twist. “I mean,” he says softly, “you’re looking at me like you’re feeling okay.”
Without thinking, I open my mouth. “Are you ever actually gonna kiss me?” I blurt out.