As adrenaline leaches out of me, I become more and more aware of her. I can see the swell of her chest rising and falling rapidly in her little lacy top thing. I grit my teeth.
I don’t like Summer. She’s messy, a liar, and apparently completely incapable of taking care of herself.
Still. I can feel my body reacting to being pressed up against her like this. My jeans are suddenly too tight. As I turn her hands under the tap, I notice a shiny white scar stretching up her forearm. It’s a surgery scar, faded with time. Without thinking, I touch my thumb to it.
“Um,” Summer says, shivering all over. “I think I have frostbite.”
I turn off the tap and step back. She crosses her arms over her chest and offers me an awkward smile. “You know,” she says. “That was pretty heroic. You kicking in the door like that.” She flashes me a hopeful smile.
My insides harden. She’s doing it again. Flirting. Trying to make me like her. It won’t work. “Don’t touch the stove,” I order. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
As if on cue, I hear her stomach rumble. Her cheeks flush.
“Stay. Here.” I pick up the destroyed pan and head for the door. Fraser’s voice echoes in my head.
Ooh. Getting under your skin, is she?
I step out into the cold night air and slam the door behind me.
Summer isn’t getting under my skin. I’m just making sure she doesn’t starve on my watch, since she clearly can’t manage to feed herself. I readjust my jeans as I stomp back up to the farmhouse.
This week can’t end fast enough.
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 neverstarted a firebefore. 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.
