“I hope that’s okay?”
“What are you taking pictures of?”
“Oh. Um. You know. Myself. I figured it would be a cute, like, apple-picking vibe. I won’t actually pick anything, obviously!” I wince. I just said “a cute apple-picking vibe” to a literal farmer.
“Aye,” Alec says slowly. “Because it’s spring. Apples don’t grow until summer.”
“…Then it will be a cute tree-admiring vibe!” At my feet, Scout wags his tail happily, nudging his face into my dress.
“Please don’t pet him,” Alec says. “He’s working.”
“Er,” I say, as Scout snuffles me. “I feel like he’s pettingme.”
“Get back, Scout,” Alec orders in his thick Scottish burr. Scout ignores him, licking my hand. Alec frowns. “You must smell of something.”
“Aw.” I smile down at the dog. “Do you like Black Opium too? You’re clearly a dog of fine taste.”
“Excuseme?” Alec snaps. Oh shit. He’s looking at me like I’ve just confessed to having a baggie of cocaine shoved down my bra.
“That’s my perfume,” I say quickly. “Vanilla with notes of coffee. Promise I didn’t smuggle drugs on your property.” Okay, that’s technically not true, so I correct myself. “Well, nothing stronger than Ritalin. But I swear that’s prescribed. I didn’t, like, buy it off a sketchy website, or pay off some poor ADHD uni student, or something…” I trail off, face flaming. “I’m…um. Going to stop talking.”
Alec studies me for a few long seconds. The trees rustle their leaves all around us. I feel pinned in place, like a butterfly to a board.
Eventually, he whistles sharply, the sound piercing the cool air. “That’ll do, Scout.”
Scout decides he’s sufficiently humiliated me. He trots back, and Alec lays a fond hand on the dog’s head, gently stroking his soft ears. I try to sink into the earth.
“Be done with your pictures by three, please,” Alec says. “We have people coming to harvest.” He picks up his barrel. “And, Summer?”
I feel like a schoolgirl getting scolded. “Yes?”
“Please try not to set off the fire alarms again. It was disruptive to the farm schedule.” He leaves.
After he’s gone, it takes a few seconds for my heartbeat to go back to normal. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so intense in my life.
I shake myself out of it. I need to get my head on straight. I have work to do. Operation: Make People Like Me Again. Here I come.
Two hours later, I’m hot and frustrated. I swipe through the photos in my camera roll. I’ve taken almost three hundred. And they’re all unusable.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I used to find making content so easy. Now, whenever I try, nothing seems to work. As soon as I start, my head gets all foggy and everything feels so difficult. In every picture, my body is positioned weirdly. Or my teeth look crooked. Or my hair is doing something odd.
What will people say if I post these? I can only imagine.
Why do people like her? she’s not even pretty enough to be an influencer
Um bestie maybe don’t wear a dress that short if you have cellulite
My chest suddenly feels tight. I lean against the tree and try to breathe.
“All right?”
I look up. Fraser is crunching through the orchard carrying two mugs. He’s wearing a forest-green plaid shirt stretched over his wide shoulders, and his auburn hair is knotted in a low bun. Something tight in me relaxes.
“Hi,” I say, probably too eagerly.
“Hiya, London. Thought you could do with a break.” He hands me a mug of cider and flops down on the grass, stretching like a massive animal. “You’re clearly hard at work.”
“Ha,” I say, sitting at his side. “Yeah.Superhard.” He probably just got done splitting logs or something. I take a sip of the cider, and my eyes widen as sweetness bursts over my tongue. “This is amazing.”
