Summer blinks at him. “What?”
“Skooshy cream. You know.” He mimes either shaking a can of spray cream or jacking off. It’s hard to tell. “What do you call it in England?”
“Squirty cream?”
“You’re allfilthy,the lot of you.”
Summer looks down. “Um, Cameron said he got me a nail appointment, so I should get ready for that?” She tugs at the dress. “I’ll just put this back, and then we can go.”
I frown. “You don’t want it?”
“I don’t need it. I have nowhere to wear it.”
“Wear it around the house.”
She shakes her head. “No, no. It’s silly. Over the top. I should be sensible. I already bought so much stuff.”
Alec, Fraser, and I share a look.
Suddenly, I’m mad. I’m mad she gets made fun of for what she likes. I’m mad her mother threw away her sketchbook. I’m mad she constantly feels like she has to hide shit about herself.
I yank the tag off the dress. “Give me the shoes.”
Summer’s shocked. “Cameron!”
“Just scan the box,” Alec says, handing it to me.
Summer sputters. “Wait, Cameron, you can’t buy those for me!”
“I like the dress,” I say. “And I’m the reason your favourite shoes got ruined. I owe you a replacement.”
“That’s not even true, you just…didn’t tell me there was mud. Cameron, that dress is, like, expensive?—”
I don’t care. I’d pay anything for a gift that makes her as happy as this dress. Besides, I have plenty of money. Fraser and I get free bed and board at Lochview, and Alec pays us a ridiculously generous salary on top of that. I’ve never had anyone to spend it on before. “Bye,” I say, heading out of the changing rooms. At the counter, I hand the cashier the tag and the empty shoebox.
“She’s still wearing ’em,” I explain at her confused look.
“I see.” She scans the barcodes. “Did everything fit her okay?”
“Fit her perfect.” I hand over my card.
She rings me up and passes me the receipt. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“Aye.” I lean in. “Do you know what a cake pop is?”
FIFTY-TWO
SUMMER
Later that evening, I stand in the shower, scrubbing deep conditioner out of my hair. Hot water pours over my body, and my strawberry-scented shampoo fills the air with sweet steam.
We got back from Inverness about an hour ago. Fraser left to check on the lambs. Cameron’s in the kitchen, cooking. Alec is on the phone with the council. So I decided to take a shower and try to get my head on straight.
I feel…confused.
After I got accosted by that teenager in the changing rooms, the three men took me to a café until it was time for my nail appointment. In a very obvious attempt to cheer me up, I was plied with a frappuccino and cake pops. Even Cameron tried one, although he was very unimpressed.
It’s cake on a stick. Why does the cake need to be on a stick? How does the stick improve anything?
