Page 62 of Home Grown Talent
“Well,” she said in an arch tone, smirking at him, “if you remember, you had quite the flirtation going with one of our guests a few weeks back—let’s remind ourselves of just how that went down.”
An edited version of Mason’s debut slot on Weekend Wellness began to play. It had been made to look much more flirty than it actually had been on the day and culminated in Mason’s ‘boyfriend material’ joke. When the camera cut back to Marc and Leah, Leah was laughing, and Marc was pretending to be mortified, though you could see he loved being the centre of attention.
“Oh, my word,” Leah said, fanning herself with one hand. “You were loving Mason’s chat!”
“What can I say?” Marc replied, shaking his head. “He's a cutie, for sure.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, you’ve got a rival for Mason’s affections.”
Marc pointed at her. “Hey you, I’m a happily married man,” he said, then winked and added, “but tell me who this rival is.”
“He’s a hot, buff gardening hunk,” Leah said. “And he’s on a mission to teach our lovely—but, let’s face it, pretty flaky—Mason how to design and create a garden from scratch. Let’s take a look at how their first day went.”
Flaky?
Mason’s mouth felt suddenly dry, his stomach twisting with nerves. And then there he was, on the TV screen. Doing that cringey intro part.
“Hi. I’m Mason Nash. I’m a model and influencer, but today I’m trading in my Dior high-tops”—he held up a pair of incredibly expensive trainers that were not actually his—“for these.” On-screen Mason lifted his other hand, displaying a pair of muddy green wellies, and made an Ew face at the camera.
Lewis and Aaron both laughed, and Owen shot Mason a quick grin.
The shot cut to Owen then, who looked bloody delicious, rough and wind-rumpled in his open-necked tattersall shirt, hair delightfully messy, blue eyes all smiley and honest. “Hi, I’m Owen Hunter,” he said. “I’m a gardener, and over the next eight weeks, I’m going to be teaching Mason how to design and create a small garden full of amazing plants, flowers and kitchen produce.”
The film cut away then to a short montage of them doing stuff in the garden—Mason digging ineffectually while Owen laughed; Owen demonstrating correct digging technique; Owen lifting a heavy bag of soil, muscles straining, while Mason watched admiringly; Mason doing an impression of a puppy capering after Owen; Owen very obviously eyeing up Mason’s arse as he bent down to pull up a weed.
“Oh my God,” Lewis said, laughter in his voice.
Mason wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Part of him was thrilled—this was exactly what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?—but part of him was appalled, his stomach churning unpleasantly as he watched. Whatever he thought of it, though, there was no doubt it was cleverly edited. In less than thirty seconds, the story Misty wanted to tell was clearly established: Mason was cute, clumsy and spoiled; Owen was hunky, competent and kind. And they fancied the pants off each other.
Mason glanced at Owen. His grin had faded. Now he was watching intently, a slight frown between his brows. What was he making of this?
Mason jerked his gaze back to the TV as the music faded out and the actual slot began.
That part was better: straightforward and actually pretty informative. The editor had crammed in an amazing amount of content, partly because the format moved much more quickly than a typical gardening programme. Even with all the content, though, there were still plenty of Mason-Owen moments: Mason asking funny, and sometimes silly, questions and both of them laughing a lot. Mason tripping over and Owen helping him up, his gaze fond.
Mason’s chest ached, seeing Owen like that, on TV. So open. Wide open.
Vulnerable.
God, why was he being so weird about this? He’d been teasing his followers on Insta about Owen for weeks and weeks, but now that he was seeing their relationship actually play out on-screen, he felt oddly stripped, his feelings for Owen—and Owen’s for him—too obvious for comfort.
He glanced at Owen again, and this time, Owen met his gaze. He smiled at Mason, but it seemed a little forced.
On-screen, Owen was summarising what they’d covered and outlining what they’d be doing “next time”, and then it was over, and the show cut back to Marc and Leah in the studio.
“That was great,” Leah gushed. “Don’t you think, Marc?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Those drainage tips will certainly be useful,” Marc said. “I’ve been having some bother with my raised beds, and now I can see where I’ve been going wrong.”
Leah playfully swatted him. “I don’t mean that. I mean Mason and Owen. Was it me, or were things starting to sizzle in that garden?”
Marc rolled his eyes. “Are you matchmaking again?”
“I can’t help it!” Leah cried. “They’re so cute together.” A couple of the crew behind the cameras laughed—that was a gimmick they used a lot on the show, to make it seem more homey and friendly.
Leah turned to face the camera square-on, addressing the viewers at home. “Let us know what you think of our gardening hotties.” She rattled off the show’s Twitter handle and Insta details.
When she was done, Marc stood up and began walking off, a camera following him.