Chapter 13 Summer
THIRTEEN
SUMMER
My face is red as I finish shoving the last of my clothes in my suitcase and yank the zip shut.
It’s been almost an hour since the van incident. I’ve spent the time packing up all my crap for when Alec inevitably comes to chuck me off his property. There’s no way he’ll let me stay now. I shudder as I remember his face. He was furious.
I can’t be here. I’m going back to London, and I’m going to lock myself in my flat and Uber Eats all of my groceries until this has blown over. The thought makes me feel a bit sick, but I push it down, yanking my suitcase off the bed.
There. Ready for my eviction.
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the cabin door.
“It’s open,” I call nervously. I’m half expecting Alec to step inside. Instead, Fraser shoves his way into the cabin holding a stack of the PR boxes.
He grins at me. “Hiya, London. Where d’you want these then?” He looks around the small cabin and plops the boxes by the kitchenette. “That’ll do for now. The rest are in one of the sheds. Let me know if you want any of ’em.” He pats the top box. “I’ll admit, I picked my favourites.”
“What?” I say, confused.
He shrugs. “Well, I figured you’d want some here. You know, in case you need a spare bra, or an extra butt plug, or something.” He frowns at my suitcase. “Unless you’re going somewhere?”
“Am I not getting thrown out?”
He scoffs. “Pfft. Course not.”
“But Alec was so angry.”
He waves a hand. “Don’t mind him. It’s a tough time of year for him, what with the stormy season. Not your fault.” His smile softens. “Now, come here.” Before I can move, he crosses over to me and pulls me into his arms.
It’s a hug so good it steals my breath. Warm and solid and safe. I feel his heart beating steadily, and I want to cuddle into him and let him carry me for a bit. “Um,” I say. “What’s happening?”
“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, his breath brushing my hair.
My stomach flip-flops. “Oh. I guess you saw the video?”
“Aye.” He pulls back, frowning. “Although I dunno what I saw, to be honest.”
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” I admit. “I got really drunk at a party and cried myself to death over my lipstick breaking.”
His frown deepens. “That’s it? Christ, I read the comments. They’re on you like hounds.”
“Yeah.” I sniff. “It did make me look shallow—”
“No,” he says immediately. “It didn’t. Who hasn’t gotten steaming and had a wee cry? You didn’t hurt anyone, right?”
I pull a face. “Well, no. But it was dramatic.”
My mum’s voice echoes around my head. Stop being so emotional, you look ridiculous.
“Hey,” Fraser says softly, his big hand coming to cup my cheek. “You want to talk about it?”
“I just…” I mean to say no, but his eyes are so kind that I can’t help myself.
“I just get overwhelmed sometimes,” I blurt out, the words suddenly streaming out of me.
“Especially at parties where there are so many people. I’d barely slept in days.
I was so tired and anxious, and everywhere I went, people were filming me.
So I ducked into the bathroom to pull myself together.
But because it was an influencer event, these girls were in there taking mirror selfies.
I couldn’t pretend to pee too long, so I came out and tried to fix my makeup, and… ” My cheeks heat.
“And your lipstick broke,” Fraser says sympathetically.
“Yeah. It was like the last straw. I just couldn’t stop crying.
” It happens sometimes when I’m really stretched thin.
I’ll be trying to hold everything together, and then a tiny inconvenience will send me over the edge.
I’ll suddenly be so flooded with emotion I feel like it won’t fit inside me. “I know it’s not an excuse, but—”
“You don’t need an excuse,” Fraser says simply. “You did nothing wrong.”
“But—”
His voice deepens. “Listen. When I watched that video, all I saw was a sad girl crying her heart out. It’s messed up that someone would film that, let alone post it. I’m sorry it happened to you.”
My heart lurches. “Oh.”
He bends to press a kiss to my forehead. My eyes prickle. “Fancy a cuppa? I nabbed some shortbread.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have work to do, do you?” I don’t want to piss Alec off even more.
He waves at the bed. “Sit down. Won’t be a moment.”
Dazed, I do as he says, watching as he moves around the small kitchenette making tea.
He’s so big he takes up most of the cabin.
The mattress sinks as he comes to join me, passing me a steaming mug and a tin of biscuits.
“There you go. Get a couple of those in you. Cameron’s shortbread will make you see God. ”
I take a bite, and my insides light up at the buttery sweetness. “Cameron bakes?” I manage. “He doesn’t seem like the type.”
“Oh aye. He loves to cook. A real homebody.” He leans back on the bed, his massive biceps flexing, and grins at me, biting into another biscuit. “So. Five million followers, eh?”
“Four point nine,” I correct automatically and swallow a groan. “I’m really sorry I lied to you—”
“Please. You don’t owe us anything. I saw your page. It’s very impressive.” He jerks his chin at the boxes. “How’d you even get into all of this?”
“Well.” I set the mug down on the bedside table.
“I’ve always been interested in fashion.
Since I was a kid, it was all I ever really cared about.
I used to be…very adventurous with my clothes.
” As a child, I’d put together the wildest outfits.
I’d happily wander around in a tutu, jelly shoes, and beret I bedazzled with a glue stick.
I wasn’t much better as I got older. It was not odd for me to attend a uni class in a corset I’d boned myself and sparkly cowboy boots.
Sure, everyone looked at me like I was a bit odd, but I was a fashion student, so I got away with it.
And experimenting with clothes made me so happy.
It used to anyway.
Fraser smiles. “Aw. Tiny Summer wanted to be an influencer?”
“A fashion designer,” I correct. “I always wanted to create my own label. I even went to fashion school for a bit, but…” I pause, my stomach sinking at the memory. “It didn’t work out.”
Fraser makes a curious noise. I elect to ignore it.
“Anyway, I didn’t have much money. The only way I could get cute outfits was by buying secondhand stuff at charity shops and altering them.
Turn scarves into skirts, bedsheets into tops, that sort of thing.
I’m good at sewing.” I fiddle with my bracelets.
“A few years ago, I started posting videos about what I made online, and one of them just…blew up.”
It wasn’t even a particularly cute outfit. An old nightdress that I’d turned into a Gucci dupe dress. But for whatever reason, it took off.
I still remember the mixture of excitement and shock overtaking me as I lay on my broken bed and refreshed and refreshed the app, watching the number of views jump by thousands every time. Reading the comments that were flooding in.
Wait this is so cute!
You’re so talented!
I love this!!
It seemed impossible that this many people liked me. That they thought I was good at something. It was addictive.
“After that, my videos kept going viral. My followers kept going up. I started getting sponsorship offers from brands. After a while, I stopped altering clothes and starting just modelling for brands, since those posts did way better. And now here I am.” I shrug. “It all happened really fast.”
Fraser’s eyes are soft on my face. “You’re amazing,” he says frankly.
“I got lucky,” I say. “Ridiculously lucky.”
Fraser picks up another biscuit. “Oh aye. Very lucky,” he mutters. “You’re only getting bullied by half the internet.” He feeds me the shortbread. “So what happens now? You hide up here until all this rubbish blows over?”
“Yep,” I say. “I’ll keep posting, and hopefully, things will just…go back to normal.”
“You should take a break for a bit. Make a wee holiday of it.”
My eyes widen. “Oh no. I need to keep up momentum, or the algorithms will stop showing people my content.” His face scrunches, and I suddenly feel defensive.
“I know it might seem silly that I care so much about my Picturegram, but I’m not just posting pictures of myself for fun—it’s literally my job.
My business. I built it from nothing. It’s the most important thing in my life.
I’ve put thousands of hours into it; I’ve worked weekends and holidays and nights on it.
I know it’s not a big multi-generational operation like Alec owning the farm, but it’s still the biggest thing I’ve ever done. ”
“Aye, right,” he says reluctantly. “I get that, I guess.”
“Besides.” I pluck at the quilt. “I can’t take a break. I’m almost at five million followers.”
He arches an eyebrow. “And what happens at five million? Letter from the king?”
I kick him. “I get better brand deals. I have one lined up with Icons Only. Have you heard of it?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“They’re a fashion brand that does collaboration lines with influencers. If I get this deal, I’ll be able to design my own dresses. People will be wearing clothes I’ve designed.” Excitement squirms in my stomach. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Fraser is unenthused. “Can’t you do that without them though? Sounds like they just want the credit for your work.”
“It’s so hard to start your own clothing business,” I argue. “I couldn’t do it alone. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs. “I just worry about you, is all.”
I’m taken aback. “You’re worried?” No one ever worries about me. My life is a dream. I take pictures of myself in nice clothes for a living, for God’s sake.
“Aye,” he says. “I read those comments. I know people who’ve gone off the deep end for far less. It can’t be easy to handle.”
“It’s fine,” I say quietly.
“It’s not. It must be exhausting to have to act all nice and grateful and happy all the time, especially when everyone around you is treating you like crap. You never get a break, do you?”
I blink. For some reason, my eyes are getting hot. I feel exposed, like he’s peeled me open and seen right inside me.
He sets aside the plate. “Aw, honey. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I say honestly. A different feeling is pulsing through me.
He tilts his head. “No?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” He leans in, brushing his massive thumb under my bottom lip. “You got a few crumbs,” he murmurs.
Something in me snaps.
I don’t want to talk anymore. When he goes to pull away, I slide closer. He moves immediately, his big thighs parting so he can pull me between them.
“All right?” he asks, his breath warm on my face.
I swallow. “I think you’d better kiss me before your radio goes off again.”
It’s bold, but he just laughs. “I reckon you’re probably right,” he says, cupping my cheek. “C’mere, baby.” Then finally—finally—his lips press over mine.
Kissing Fraser feels warm. It’s like going on a hot holiday after a long winter and finally feeling sunshine spill onto your skin. I sink into him. He groans, and his hands come to wrap around my waist. Tension curls in my belly, and dampness blooms in my underwear.
Jesus. It’s been way too long if I’m getting wet off a kiss. But then again, who can blame me? Fraser is so big, all muscle and strong bones. I want to climb him. I press closer, and he shudders.
“Sweetheart.” He drags me onto his massive jean-clad thigh, and my brain stops producing thoughts.
“Wow,” I say roughly. “I. Um. Your legs.” I pull back to look at them. They’re as big as tree trunks. “Wow.”
He sucks at my bottom lip. “You like ’em?”
I want to die on them. “Big fan.”
“Not a patch on yours.” He strokes a hand over my calf reverently. “Christ. You are so, so pretty,” he says. “Everything about you.” He buries his face in the curve of my neck. “And you smell like a goddamn bakery.” I gasp, shuddering as he sucks on my throat and rocking closer into him—
His radio bleeps. He swears extensively. I make a crying noise, twisting a hand in his shirt. This can not be happening again.
“Maybe if we just ignore it—” he starts, but it fizzes with static.
“Fraser.” Alec’s voice sounds strained.
Fraser rubs his face and then answers the call. “Aye, boss?”
“Can you check on Viola’s girl?” Alec asks. “I just checked the video feed, and I can’t see her.”
Fraser tugs on his hair. “Aye. Will do. Over.” He reclips the radio. “Sorry, honey. Guess I got to see a man about a lamb.”
I try to catch my breath. “He means Crumpet, right? Is she okay?”
“Probably just hiding. Don’t worry about her. I’ll see you later, yeah?” Fraser kisses me one last time on the mouth, tucks back my hair, and heads out of the cabin, shutting the door softly behind him.
I sag against the mattress, heat burning under my skin.
Well.
My holiday is really looking up.