I hate those moments when I become hyperaware of everything. The hard edge of the mahogany dining chair pressing into my lower thigh, the two eyelashes on my left eye that repeatedly and irritatingly stuck together each time I blinked. Ten minutes ago, the constant hums and creaks of the heated oven wouldn't have even made me flinch - but now, in the silence of the kitchen, I could hear them louder than ever.

"He's not much of a talker, our Shane." Marnie finally interrupted the quiet with her warm, softly-spoken voice as she dressed her small hands in a pair of red gingham oven gloves. "But he warms up to you once he knows you better."

I think there was a greater chance of a giant meteorite striking my farm than that ever happening.

Marnie peered quizzically over her shoulder at me as she slid the trays of freshly baked goods out of the oven and onto a dark marbled cutting board that sat on her kitchen counter. Damn, could she read my mind? Look, I know it sounds silly, but I can't be the only one out there that has asked that question. As a child, I would sometimes convince myself that the older people around me had the ability to see right into my head, to read my thoughts as if they were simply flicking through a magazine. To test my theory, I would make the voice in my mind scream at the most unexpected time, and see if anyone in the room flinched. But what if they were trained by MI5 to resist such attempts to expose them? My last and only remaining option was to repeat nonsense over and over in my mind to hide my true thoughts. That was until I got bored and wandered off to play animal crossing: wild world under the tangled covers of my bed.

Maybe Marnie couldn't read my mind. Because if she was listening in right now, her face would look far, far more concerned.

Three plates were laid down on the table in front of me, boxed in with neatly placed cutlery. The gentle rhythm of a song danced through the air from a small stereo system in the corner of the room, where plastic CD cases and porcelain knick-knacks littered a red-painted shelf above. The dull white-noise of the shower had come to a stop for a few minutes now. I saw Shane enter my vision for the second time this evening - his rain-soaked clothes had been switched for a grey, short-sleeved t-shirt that hugged his upper-arms and a pair of black jogging bottoms.

"Mm, doesn't this look delicious." Marnie sung to herself, transferring piping-hot peppers and handfuls of golden potato wedges onto plates using a wooden spatula. A large, plastic bowl of mixed salad sat in the middle of the table, a pair of tongs poking out the top ready to be useful. Marnie turned to her nephew and pointed to the spot next to me. "Sit down, Shane."

I watched as his eyes trailed along her arm and rested on the seat she was pointing at. As he took his place next to me, I felt his right arm brush against mine for a split-second before he increased the distance between us with a few drags of his chair. We were still sitting quite close to each other. Close enough for me to see the tips of his hair on the nape of his neck still damp from the shower, his cheeks flushed a little from the heat, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"What?" Shane spoke in a harsh tone, his eyes flitting to meet mine for the first time since he emerged from his shower. "Is there something on my face?"
"I- no."
"Then stop staring at me."

He said it so matter-of-factly, his attention immediately dropping me as soon as the words left his mouth, leaving me no time to react. I didn't know what on earth to say in response anyway. I wasn't even staring at him. Like, talk about self-obsessed. I just hadn't seen him close up before, to properly study each feature of his angsty face. Now, I was determined not to lay my eyes on his stupid head for longer than three seconds all night.

"Shane, be nice for once." Marnie scolded him softly from across the table. "Sophie's new in town. You remember what that's like, don't you?"
"Mm." Shane mumbled through a mouthful of food.
"She's moved into Gerald's farm. Remember him?"
"Mm."

Damn. This man had the conversational skills of a dying fly.

I started to sprinkle some salt and pick at the golden potatoes on my plate as Marnie spoke - they were hotter than I expected, and I had to discreetly suck a little cool air in to stop them from burning the side of my cheek. "Have you met many others in the valley yet, Sophie?"
"Yes! Some." I explained enthusiastically, staring off as I recollected the faces I had catalogued in my mind. "Like Demetrius, and Robin- and you know I already know Lewis."

Shane smirked against the glass of water he held to his lips. "Oh, Marn knows Lewis well."
"Stop it." His Aunt snapped as her cheeks started to streak crimson. She shook her head and then turned her gaze to me again. "You'll need to mingle a bit more, dear. These neighbours will soon be all the friends that you have."

"What a depressing thought." Shane commented before tilting his head upward and throwing three chips into his mouth like he was a seal being fed by its zookeeper.

Some insignificant, miniscule cell inside of my repulsed body was happy to know that Shane's disdain didn't start and end with me - he just hated everybody, it seemed. Why? I didn't have a clue. And I sure as hell didn't want to converse with him long enough to find out. Not that he would string a sentence together to confide in me, anyway. No, I was glad that I didn't share the blinding pessimism that shone around his body like a dark aura. It took me some time to admit it, but I was beginning to look forward to the friendships I could cultivate here.

"Hopefully I can get to know everyone a little better. Soon." I committed myself to the words as soon as they had left my lips.

"Everyone will love you, Sophie." Marnie reassured me in her soothing, motherly voice, before her head snapped to her left to follow the sound of a frantic knock on the front door. She excused herself from the table with an apologetic tone, but before she exited the room, her eyes landed on the plate before me. "You should really try the peppers, before they go cold."

Nothing like a little peer pressure to get your appetite going, eh? And now the safety of her company had gone. I let out an awkward laugh and pierced one of the scarlet peppers with the serrated edge of my knife, watching the soft skin deflate around a spilling inside of melted cheese. The bite lasted all of three torturous seconds inside my mouth before I swallowed it whole in an attempt to stop the spice from lingering on my tongue. It had already done its job, however. I coughed, and I coughed a little more, and I downed a glass of water in impatient gulps.

"Are you serious?" Shane taunted from my left, a giant smirk plastered across his tired face - the kind that I was beginning to despise. He looked at me in a way that I just couldn't put into words. Was it disgust? "You don't like spicy food?"
"I never said that." I responded flatly, the words coming out much more quiet and meek than I had intended.

"Oh, you're just really thirsty, huh?"

His eyes hadn't moved an inch from my face, and I couldn't help but keep them company. I hadn't noticed before, but the glow of the overhead lamp lit them up in shades of jade green. I was aware of the rise and fall of his chest again, and how the edges of his shirt sleeves had started to bunch up near his shoulders.

"I don't know anyone over the age of five who chokes when eating pepper poppers."
My eyes shot away from his as soon as his low, cutting voice interrupted the seconds of silence between us, but he didn't follow suit. "Don't be stupid. I didn't choke."

I hated that my words still sounded feeble and unconvincing. I hated how he wouldn't look away. I hated how he leaned in to speak to me in a hushed tone even though it was only us two in the room, with his lips curling upwards, as if he enjoyed seeing me uncomfortable under his influence.

"It's okay. Not everyone can handle it."

"I can handle it."

Reader, I cannot express to you in words how much I could not, in fact, 'handle it'. The back of my throat was burning like an over-enthusiastic campfire after just the first two bites, and yet I continued to stuff forkfuls of breaded pepper into my mouth like it was my reason for living. Ever since I could remember, I have hated spicy food. I mean, the mildest of spices ripple on your tongue like a crackling firework, but anything stronger holds the power to burn down the walls of your mouth with more ferocity than the big bad wolf. And in the fairytale world of the three little pigs, my mouth was definitely built out of straw.

Shane had balanced the weight of his stupid, smug head on the palm of his hand, the very tips of his calloused fingers curling around his chin. The signature smirk still took pride of place on his taunting lips as he watched me eat. It was revolting. Strings of melted cheese decorating the roof of my mouth like bunting, breadcrumbs sticking to my lips in an attempt to escape their impending fate. I was blinking through the discomfort of flames licking at the back of my tongue when the coughs began again. I tried to hold them back initially, but as my frame shook with each wheeze, they came tumbling out like an attack force. I reached out for my glass of water in desperation.

Just at that deeply unfortunate moment, Marnie re-entered the room with a young woman in tow. She appeared so beautifully out of place than anyone I had ever seen. Electric blue hair nestled around a beaming grin that seemed to engulf her entire face. She smoothed out the a-line skirt of her vintage, raspberry red pinafore as she peered around the room.

"Marnie, I think you did a great job with the cooking tonight." Shane sung to his aunt, signalling toward me with a nod of his head. "Your guest has eaten every last bite."

My lungs were on fire now, my left hand clutching at my neck as my mouth hung open like a fly trap, releasing short bursts of coughs into the warm kitchen air. Great. I think any hope I had of upholding a respectable reputation as a normal person was quickly disappearing as Marnie and the colourful woman stood staring at me with bewilderment. "Oh, love. Here, quick, have some milk - it helps with the heat."

Two glasses of fresh cows milk later, I had finally calmed my coughs to the occasional clear of the throat. Shane had finished finding humour in the situation, and had resumed his earlier mission of devouring the food before him. Marnie had produced a proud Victoria sponge cake and a tub of cream from the confines of her trusty fridge, and laid them down like a centre piece on the aged wood of the dining table. It was clear she had invited the blue-haired woman to join us.

"Hello! I'm Emily. It's nice to finally meet you." She greeted joyfully, stretching a hand across the table to tenderly rest on mine for a few seconds.
"Emily." I repeated in an attempt to commit the name to memory. "I'm Sophie, the new farmer."

It felt strange, almost deceitful, to introduce myself as such. Afterall, I don't think that sleeping within the rickety walls of my grandpa's old cabin magically bestowed in me the qualities needed to till, to harvest - to bring life to dead earth.

"Yeah, I've heard all about you." She laughed, her glistening eyes squinting together as she twirled her spoon through a puddle of ivory cream. "I've been dying for you to crawl out of the farm so I can actually see what you look like. Call me nosy, I don't care."

"Heard all about me!" I laughed. "Like what?"
"Well, you know. Just that you're a woman and you're growing vegetables."

"Wow Emily, you're even better than Sherlock Holmes." Shane's sarcasm was unnecessary, but in all honesty, understandable. Not that I would ever in a billion years let him catch me laughing at his humour, of course. For one thing, he was beginning to crawl up my list of the most irritating people I know. And another - I was too busy feeling overjoyed that the only thing anybody here knew about me was that I was female and I was reviving my grandpa's land. I could reinvent myself. It was like I was the manic pixie dream girl from a quirky indie film - I could be known for being cool, and mysterious, and walk about in a rush as if my schedule was full of, well, totally cool and mysterious things.

Or I could be known as the girl who choked on pepper poppers in Marnie's kitchen.

The next two hours flew by rather quickly, as if the ticking hands of Marnie's kitchen clock were set to fast-forward. Everybody had eaten copious amounts of soft cake and rich cream, little patches of powdered sugar sticking to lips to serve as evidence. Conversation had flowed from at least two of the people in my company, and I did my best to keep up with the short tales and gossip they shared about people I hadn't even met yet.

"Well, Marnie, I better get going. Gus wants my help shifting kegs at the saloon tomorrow morning. Thanks for having me - I didn't mean to crash your evening!" Emily explained, shuffling out of the grip of the wooden dining chair.
"Oh, I should get going too." I agreed, standing up to join her.

Marnie reached out, enveloping us in a warm, comforting embrace. "Thank you for coming, Sophie. And thank you for the potatoes."
"No, thank you for inviting me!" I pulled away from the hug and gave her a caring smile. "It was really nice to share a meal with company for once."

Once Emily and I had parcelled ourselves up in raincoats and water-stained boots, I opened the front door and peered out into the night. The rain had died down now. It was 10PM, but you wouldn't have guessed from the golden light that still lit up the tumbling verges and paths in my vision. That was summer for you. The sun refused to go to sleep until much later than it's usual bed-time, and I was thankful for it, as it assured me a safe journey home.

Marnie had ordered Shane to sort something out in the cattle pen situated out front, and I felt his presence follow us out of the front door and into the petrichor that laced the cool outside air.

"Good night Emily, it was nice to meet you." I shared my farewells with the extroverted bundle of energy before turning to Marnie's nephew, who was fiddling with a large, wooden gate handle. "Good night, Shane."

He turned his head ever-so-slightly so that his jade eyes met mine, but all he responded with was an expected, "Mm."

I take back what I thought earlier. A dying fly would definitely be more interesting to talk to.