SUMMER
My mouth falls open. The place has been transformed. Gone is the worn, dark hut. In its place is a cute little pink cottage. The roof has been retiled. The path leading up to the front door has been repaved. The windows have been fitted with new white shutters and window boxes spilling over with pink flowers.
I don’t understand.
Parked at the side of the cabin is a silver electrician’s van. An orange cable snakes out of the boot and through the cabin’s open door. I can hear voices coming from inside the building and follow them numbly.
Inside, Alec is standing at what used to be the guest room’s little kitchenette. He’s put Crumpet in the sink and is gently washing her under the tap while he talks to an electrician in a fluorescent vest.
“It’ll be more expensive,” the electrician says doubtfully. “Going for the cheaper option will cut your costs down by a third.”
“I don’t care about the cost,” Alec argues, grabbing a tea towel and using it to buff Crumpet dry. “I want the dimmable daylight bulbs. She sometimes gets overwhelmed when it’s toobright, and I need her to be able to adjust the lighting. It’s why I had them put in the blackout shutters.”
Crumpet spots me and perks up in his arms, bleating happily. Alec goes still when he sees me. “Summer.” He sets the lamb on the floor, and she skitters across to me, giving my calf a headbutt before slinking off to the corner. “It’s not finished. I wanted to get it in better shape before I showed you?—”
I don’t respond. I’m too busy looking around me. Alec’s redone the cabin completely. The walls have been painted a soft baby pink. The carpet has been lifted and replaced with honey-coloured floorboards. The old bed and ancient coffee table are gone, and in their place, a massive desk is set under the window, along with three white dress forms in different sizes.
I swallow, turning. The Singer has been set up in one corner. Next to it is a squashy pink sofa draped with several tartan blankets. My throat closes.
I know this place. I’ve daydreamed about this place thousands of times.
“You made my studio?” I whisper.
Alec sighs. “I want you to have a place of your own,” he says. “For you to sew, or take pictures, or…whatever you choose to do. I want you to know Lochview is yours.”
It all clicks into place. “Alec.Thisis what you’ve been doing the last week? Everyone’s been working on the lambing barn, and you’ve been making me a studio?”
“You’re more important,” Alec says quietly.
The electrician looks between us. “I’m, er, gonna make a move,” he decides, grabbing his tool kit.
Alec doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I’m sorry it took so long,” he says. “I had to get the walls soundproofed. It can be noisy on the farm, and I know loud noises bother you sometimes. I—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I hope it’s not overstepping, but I looked up how to make a workspace ADHD friendly.There’s a white-noise box.” He points. “And weighted blankets. The lights will all be fully adjustable. I have a treadmill desk on order, if moving helps you think. There was a lot of stuff about organisational systems, but I figured it would be better for you to pick that yourself. Anything you want changed, of course, we’ll do. I hope it’s okay.”
I just look at him, shaking. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.
My mind flashes back. To school, where I was always getting berated by teachers for being distracted in the noisy classroom. To uni, when I had to bring noise-cancelling headphones to the studio and was constantly reprimanded for not keeping my workspace in order. Sometimes, the chatter in my design tutorials was so loud that I physically couldn’t focus on whatever report I was meant to be reading or writing. I’d hide in a bathroom cubicle, trying not to cry, to get it finished. I’ve had a lifetime of trying to fit myself into other peoples’ spaces and being criticised when I inevitably couldn’t.
And Alec’s given me my own place, made just for me.
There’s a loud rap on the door, and Fraser and Cameron both step inside. Cameron’s holding a stack of boxes, and Fraser is brandishing a framed photograph. “I brought Summer some gorgeous art to look at,” he says. “Thought a beautiful Highland view might inspire her art.” The picture is a blown-up photo we took for Lochview socials. It’s of him standing shirtless in a kilt, a baby lamb under one arm. He stops in his tracks when he sees me.
“Well, would you look at that. The wee princess has found her surprise early.” Behind him, Cameron sets the boxes down silently.
“You both knew about this?” I choke.
“Oh, aye,” Fraser says. “We’ve been on distraction duty for the past week so Alec could do his secret squirrel shit. We had a very important job. Can’t be understated, if you ask me.”
I gape.
“Summer.” Alec takes a step towards me, offering me something. It’s a silver key on a pink ribbon. “The place is yours. If you want to stay with us. If it’s enough.” He clears his throat. “Is it? Enough?”
I can barely speak. Tingles are prickling over my skin. Slowly, I take the key, wrapping my fingers so tightly around it that the edges dig into my palm. “You really want me to stay,” I whisper.
Alec groans. “Christ, Summer,yes.Yes. More than anything.”
As I process this, a thought pops giddily into my head. “Would you say…” I have to fight down my smile. “That you’rebeggingme?”
It’s a joke. I’m so overwhelmed that my brain couldn’t filter it before it came out of my mouth.
