I roll over, and my eyes fall on my phone charging on the bedside table. My good mood immediately dissolves.
I wonder how the video is doing. Are more people seeing it? Are more people writing stories about me?
I suddenly feel sick. I sit up, heart thudding, and reach for my phone. Sure, I said I’d delete my social media, but it can’t hurt to check what people are saying about me, right? It scares me to think that the hate might be growing and I wouldn’t even know it. I go to Picturegram in the app store, and my thumb hovers over the download button. I bite my lip. I shouldn’t. But…
There’s a knock on the door, and I jump up guiltily to answer it. Alec is on the other side. His black hair is damp from his shower, and he’s wearing a white jumper that looks impossibly soft. He’s silent for a moment, admiring my silky camisole.
“Hi!” I say breathlessly. “Is it dinner?”
He nods. “I have something to show you first.”
“Ooh. My surprise?”
He nods, offering me a hand.
Alec leads me into the living room. Cameron and Fraser are setting the table, but he draws me past them, towards the corner by the fire. “Here.” He’s pulled out the vintage Singer sewing machine and set it up next to a wooden chair and reading lamp. A sewing basket tucked at its feet is overflowing with scraps of fabric and shears. There’s a pile of thread bobbins and tomato pincushions arranged on a nearby table.
For a moment, I can’t speak. “What?” I whisper.
Alec clears his throat. “I looked online for how to service the machine, and I pulled out all of my mum’s old thread and fabric bits,” he explains. “We can go into town tomorrow and buy anything you need.”
I stare at him. “I…You mean…I can use it?”
He nods calmly. “Please.”
Oh my God. I float closer, running my fingers along the wrought iron frame. “Are you sure? This is a collector’s piece?—”
“It’s just gathering dust. My mum would want it to be used. She loved to sew.” He watches as I finger the gold filigree and lightly spin the handwheel. It turns as smoothly as butter. I can’t believe it. “I thought it might help,” he says quietly. “I know you’re disappointed your deal fell through. But I figured you could play with your own designs this way.”
The wave of emotion that crashes over me is overwhelming. I throw myself at him. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
He’s still for a moment and then hugs me back hard. “I just hope it helps,” he says into my hair.
“You two,” Cameron calls from the kitchen. “Dinner.”
We pull apart and traipse over to the dining table. Cameron is ladling out stew and dumplings. He sets a steaming bowl infront of me as I settle down in my seat, still brimming over with excitement.
Fraser flops into the chair opposite me. “Evening,” he tells me cheerfully. “What excellent pyjamas.” I feel his foot trail up my calf. I nudge him back, and there’s an irritatedbaa.
I peer under the table. Crumpet is sitting there, her damp little nose whiffling.
“Oh, hi, baby.” I bend to stroke her ears. She pads in a circle and flops down on my foot. “How’s she doing?”
“Much better now that she’s up here,” Fraser says. “She’s getting into everything. Lively wee thing, she just needed a bit of extra help.” He takes a bite of stew. “So how’d you like your first taste of farm life?”
“I had a really good day,” I say honestly.
He nods at my phone by the side of my plate. “And the work stuff?”
I fiddle with a piece of carrot. “I’m scared of what everyone’s saying,” I admit. “I was actually about to look myself up when you called me for dinner.”
Alec passes me some bread. “Do you want me to take your phone?”
“What?”
“It might help you relax.”
I frown. “I kind of need it. I have my whole alarm system. It’s the only way I get anything done.”
