Summer Mist

Summer has always lived with her grandparents, but has never felt at home there. Her whole life seems to have been a lie, and she has never been able to open up to anyone. That is, until she meets Cameron, and all of her secrets begin to unravel.


3. The First Sighting of Him

That's how the majority of my home life is spent; down at the strawberry field, with only my set of watercolour paints and my sketch pad for company. The last thing I want to do was lumber Gran and Grandad with a teenager all of the time, they needed some peace and quiet. Plus, I don't mind being on my own. It's something I've got used to over the years, I mean, even being pretty much abandoned as a baby was the start of it. My grandparents would never tell me to leave their house (I know it's my home too, but I still feel like an intruder even now) but I like to give them time to themselves. That's what I would want anyway.

It's a Thursday evening, and as usual I'm down at the strawberry field. I've almost finished my painting now and I'm quite pleased with how it's turned out. It's almost so dark that I can barely see the page, and I'm thinking about calling it a day and heading back up to the bungalow. I hear footsteps behind me, and naturally, being an anxious person, my heart begins to race. Relax, Summer, I tell myself. This is a quaint village in rural Cornwall, no one would try to kidnap you here. I turn my head around gingerly and that's when I see him.

It's a boy about my age, with dark floppy hair and a blank expression. I've never seen him before which is unusual; Everyone knows everyone in little villages like the one I love in. I try to smile welcomingly, and swallow nervously.

"Hi." I manage, and mentally congratulate myself on not saying anything ridiculous.

"Hi." He replies. He stares at my painting and I feel my cheeks redden. He pauses, as if he's going to say something, but he presses his lips together, thrusts his hands in his pockets and trudges on.

I watch him as he walks off towards the horizon, where the sun is pretty much touching the furthest hill. I follow his silhouette until eventually the sun's light engulfs his figure and he disappears from view.

I've never been a fan of clichés, fate, or the idea of love at first sight before; I've always been far too sceptical to believe in those supposed myths. But suddenly, one thing is crystal clear and I can't think of anything else.

All I need is love. From that boy.

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