Page 43 of Love from Pretty Beach

D arby stood in the kitchen with a cup of lemon and ginger tea, looking out the window and around at her garden.

As the steam from her mug curled into the air, she smiled at what looked as if it would turn out to be a lovely Pretty Beach day.

She had loads to do in the garden and the nice day would mean her being able to get stuck into it.

On a roll with so many things in the house, because of the video content prompting her, she had a whole section in her diary on how she was going to improve her surroundings.

Not only that, she’d realised that even a small effort went a long way.

Pulling out her phone, she tapped onto her channel and nodded.

The night market vlog had gone gangbusters.

Someone at work had messaged her that a local podcaster had mentioned on his Instagram page that her video showed Pretty Beach’s markets at their finest, which had resulted in a huge influx of new subscribers and views.

Darby continued to mostly not have a clue what she was doing or what she thought about it, but felt as if she was doing something right.

There was one disconcerting thing about her latest video. Her eagle-eyed viewers had clocked that she was with someone and were all over it like a rash.

WHO IS THE MAN?! We need a boyfriend reveal, Darbs!

He’s giving dreamy feels and I’m here for it.

Darby had laughed at first. Silly internet.

However, it hadn’t stopped and more messages had come in.

It made her mildly uncomfortable and she’d watched the video back just to make sure.

Archie wasn’t clearly identifiable if you didn’t know him, but if you did, you would possibly recognise him.

She thought about removing the vlog, but it had done so well and the comments had made it very obvious there was a man in it.

Her phone buzzed again. She flipped it over.

Penny: Loved the vlog. Archie looked good.

Darby: Thanks. I didn’t expect anyone to notice!

Penny: Too late now.

Darby: I know. Should I be worried?

Penny: About what? That people can see you're happy?

Darby: About putting him in a video without asking. What if he minds?

Penny: Did you identify him by name? Did I miss that?

Darby: No, but think maybe you can see it's him if you know him.

Penny: Darbs, you were at a public event. It's not like you filmed him in his pants.

Darby: True. **** I have a feeling about this. I knew I should have checked.

Penny: Fair point. What does he think about the channel generally?

Darby: We haven't really talked about it. He doesn't do social media.

Penny: Ahh. That could be interesting.

Darby: What do you mean?

Penny: Nothing. Just that some people find it all a bit much.

Darby: Now I'm properly worried.

Penny: Don't be. If he likes you, he'll be fine with it. If he doesn't, better to find out now.

Darby: Helpful, thanks.

Penny: I'm just saying, don't change what you're doing for a man. The channel is yours.

Darby: I wasn't planning to.

Penny: Good. How was the lighthouse thing?

Darby: Lovely, actually. Really lovely.

Penny: See? Stop worrying.

A couple of days later, the video had continued to do well.

It had gathered views, subscribers and comments and Darby had received messages from all over the place.

What she hadn’t had was a message from Archie.

Assuming that he was busy with work, she’d sent a few texts with absolute radio silence in return.

Things did not bode well. The next day, he cancelled dinner.

Archie: Hey. Bit snowed under with a build. I need to cancel dinner.

No kiss. Blunt and direct. Just that.

Darby had stared at the message, heart thudding and had known that something was up.

She’d responded, but had received nothing back.

Trying to put it down to the fact that he was busy, something told her it wasn’t that at all.

After a day of torture, she’d cracked and called him.

It had rung four times and then gone to voicemail.

After another try, the same thing had happened, so she’d decided to leave a message.

As she’d finished her message, which had come out all wrong, she’d realised it was pointless and had regretted it instantly.

Darby felt as if she’d cooked her goose.

There’d been no dinner, no calls, no popping by for a cup of tea, no beds.

Just a whole lot of horrible silence. Had she, in fact, been ghosted?

She’d repeatedly mulled it over and had ended up not knowing what to think. Of course, things had gone wrong. Of course.