Yeah, I could never give these to Icons Only. They’re pretty, but they’re too whimsical and off-trend. I should draw some new ones.
I rummage for a pencil and then tap it against the blank page. My head is suddenly completely empty. I have no idea where to start.
My stomach squeezes, and I realise I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I hop off the armchair and cross over to the kitchenette. Peering into the fridge, I find a loaf of bread, a glass bottle of milk, and six eggs. Perfect. I find a pan and get some eggs cooking. My mind wanders as they sizzle. I wonder how my latest post is doing. Does it have less likes than normal? What are people saying?
I give in to temptation and open my Picturegram account. My stomach sinks as I scroll through the comments.
Is makeup all you think about???
The silver is my favourite shade! That swatch!!
I hope she breaks this palette and cries
Shit. I feel my face getting hot. It was a bad idea to post a makeup review. Now everyone is even more convinced I’m a shallow airhead.
My eggs are sticking. I reach across to grab the oil. I need to come up with a plan. A way to prove to everyone that I’m not just some superficial, silly?—
My hand knocks the bottle of oil over, and the pan bursts into flames.
TEN
CAMERON
I’m making tea in the farmhouse when I hear the fire alarm in the cabin go off.
I don’t think.
I just run.
By the time I reach the cabin, I’m half expecting the place to be up in flames. It’s not, but I can hear the fire alarm screaming inside, and the clatter of metal. I unlock the door and kick it open.
Summer is standing by the stove, staring in horror at a flaming pan of eggs. I grab her by the waist and shove her out of the way.
“Cameron!” she shouts. “I don’t know what happened?—”
“Move,” I order, grabbing the fire extinguisher from under the sink. I twist the nozzle and spray it over the charred mess. White foam erupts over the pan and sizzles. I open the window to let the smoke out and then reach up to switch off the alarm.
For a few moments, silence rings through the cabin. We both stare at the remains of her food.
I turn to Summer slowly. “Seriously?” I ask.“You’ve never madeeggsbefore?”
What is she, a child? What grown adult can’t fry an egg?
“I’m so sorry.” Her face is tomato-red. “It was an accident, I got distracted. Here, let me clean this up?—”
She reaches for the pan, and I bat her out of the way, catching sight of her palms. They both have a red welt across them. “You burned yourself.”
She looks down. “Oh. Yes. I guess when I was trying to take the pan off the stove?—”
I shunt her over to the sink, turn the tap on full blast, and shove both of her hands under the icy stream.
She quivers against me. “Um, you really don’t have to?—”
“Stay. You need to get the heat out.”
She goes still. I hold her steady, my grip tight on her wrists to keep her hands under the tap. The wee jewels on her nails sparkle at me under the water.
For a few long minutes, neither of us moves. My knee burns from the sudden run, pain shooting down to my foot. I feel Summer breathe against me. Her hair tickles my face, filling my nose with her sweet vanilla scent. She’s put the shimmer on her lips again. Which makes no sense. Why would you put the shimmer on if you’re about to eat? It’d just wipe off.
