Page 37 of The Quirky Vet

"Nah. It's fine. I need to pick up some supplies, too. Plus, my parents will be there."

"Oh, yeah. Of course they will."

My family's been running the Scuttlebutt Farmers' Market for four generations, and since I need to tell them I got drunkenly married to Muir before they find out from somebody else, now's as good a time as any to break the news.

"Might as well get it over and done with."

"Are you worried about it?"

"Nah, not really. Just…you know…their whole reaction."

Muir nods like he knows what I mean, because he does. He's seen my parents in action, so he can predict their response perfectly.

We pull up at the market a couple of hours later, and if there's a Taylor Swift-inspired trivia night happening somewhere in the world, I need to be there because I'm confident I could own it.

I grab a few reusable shopping bags from the back and chuck a couple at him.

"Thanks," he says, pulling out his phone and aiming it at me.

"What are you doing?"

"Got an idea for a new video," he answers with a broad smile. "Hungover vet at the farmers' market!"

I groan, but my analytical brain reawakens, running through the possible engagement metrics a post like that could get. "Fine."

"Gee, don't sound too enthusiastic. And do something about your face, please."

"What's wrong with my face?"

He catches my eye, his smile growing wider with each second. "How much time have you got?" I give him the finger, and he laughs. The sound washes over me, and for a moment, I just stand there, transfixed by the sight of him. "Might I suggest taking your shirt off?"

"If you want to check me out, all you need to do is ask."

He rolls his eyes. "It's a face-distraction tactic."

"Sure, sure," I chuckle, undoing the top half of my button-up, because sex sells, and I have no shame.

"You ready?" Muir asks, and I finish fiddling with my hair and beard.

"Ready."

He nods and gives a thumbs-up to indicate he's started recording.

"Ever gone to a farmers' market the day after you might have had a few too many drinks at a friend's wedding?" Muir asks, providing the voiceover as he approaches me, phone held up.

I turn to the camera, smile, and wave. "G'day, g'day. Quirky Aussie Vet here coming to you live and hungover from the Scuttlebutt Farmers' Market. Before we get started, I'd like to acknowledge the sponsor of this video, my very evil and soon-to-be ex–best friend Muir Landers, who as always, refuses to show his mug on camera but is the architect behind many of the most personally humiliating videos that you all seem to love the most."

"What are soon-to-be ex–best friends for?" he calls, and my smile widens.

I fucking love him so much.

"All righty, then." I clap my hands together. "Let's see what we've got here."

I step into the first row of stalls, and the sun's already too bright, stabbing through my still-throbbing head like a spotlight I can't escape. The smell of fresh bread and sizzling sausages hits me, turning my stomach. "Ooh, yum. Nothing says Aussie farmers' market like the smell of barbecued sausages and onion."

I move away before I throw up and walk past a few stalls, proudly pointing out the handmade leather belts, bright sunflowers in rusty tin cans, the lavender and eucalyptus scented soaps that almost—almost—cut through my headache, and the stall draped in vibrant fabrics, showcasing the colourful, handwoven baskets and wool hats. Scuttlebutt may be a small town, but we punch above our weight when it comes to the weekly farmers' market. People drive from hundreds of kilometres away to check it out.

The air is thick with dust and heat, and a light breeze kicks up, rustling the makeshift tarps overhead. The only place I want to be is under a shady tree right now, and I'm about to call time on this video when I spot a small butterfly with a torn wing near one of the stalls, struggling in the dirt.