He leads me to Dawnette's farm after we lock up. It's just about 2:30 in the afternoon, Saturday. I can't help but think of what he's going to surprise me with.

What if he confesses his love to me?! That'd probably be too convenient. Maybe he'll tell me he's getting a new building? That would make working there better. Maybe he's gonna give me a raise! At first I think that sounds great, but then I'd move out sooner, and have to leave. I'm not sure I want that yet.

"So when did you graduate?"

The question catches me by surprise. I take a second to answer, trying to remember. "A little over a year ago now." Suddenly thinking about my approaching birthday. It's not that close, but I'll be twenty this autumn.

"Oh right," he grins, "you were just ahead of Minty."

"More like she was just behind me," I say. I didn't mean for it to sound bitter, afraid that's how he took it.

"I guess that makes more sense."

He's quiet for a while, so I let my mind wander. Somehow I get to envisioning him jumping out of Dawn's giant birthday cake with this flirtatious look, staring right at me. I shake the image quickly.

"What kind of things do you like?"

Caught completely off-guard yet again, I'm not sure how to respond.

"Well, obviously writing," he guesses.

I adjust my glasses, "How'd you know?" I'm sure I've never told him.

"You're cutie mark."

I look back at the swirl circling in toward the tip of the glittering quill. He's looked at my flank! I mean, that's not weird... We're ponies, we have cutie marks. If we want to know what they are, what they look like, we look at where they are. His looks just like one of his butter mills, with some cream splashing out of the top, probably because it's also tipped sideways, just a bit.

I notice I'm staring at his rear end and snap back to attention.

"Was I way off?" He asks.

"No," I respond plainly. I take a second to remember the question. "I don't really have a lot of time for hobbies, so yeah, writing's pretty much all I do."

"What kind of things do you write about?" I try not to feel like he's prying; he's just making conversation while we walk.

"Well... can you guess?" I play a little mischievous. "Based on my cutie mark, that is."

"Hmm," he turns his head to look at my flank. He stays like that, staring for quite a few seconds. I start feeling hot again. "Probably a lot of dramatic mystery stories."

He's not that far off... well, he is, but I give him credit for trying. I haven't written any kind of mystery-based story yet, but a little mystery always makes a story that much better. And drama? Duh. "Yeah, good guess."

"Nice, I know somepony who might really like your books."

I've never called them books, never bound them or anything. They're just stories. Some are longer, with a few chapters and stuff. Some are like, just a few paragraphs of a character walking in the rain, as an example. Almost all of them are stuck in rough-draft hell.

"Well, I dunno," I veer away from it a little, while still playing him in my hooves. "They're not very good. I don't think I've even finished one yet." The second part is true; I never really feel like a story is finished, even if I'm done with it. I like to tell myself that whatever's left of the story is up to whomever is reading. Right now, though, I'm just fishing for compliments.

Surprise: "Well if they're anything like the butter you churn..."

I get hot in the face, embarrassed out of my wits. I compose myself enough to play along. "Oh come on," I shove him playfully, smiling gleefully, while closing my eyes embarrassed, then go to fix my glasses. He shoves me back and I fall, knocking my glasses off into the dirt.

"Oh man, sorry," I have my eyes closed, really in pain. I bit my tongue. The right side, right under my molars. Tears well up while I pick myself up. I didn't notice him extend his hoof to help me. "Really, sorry... uhh." My eyes are still shut tight, holding back tears from the pain, rubbing the right side of my face like it'll heal my tongue. "Here," he says.

I open my eyes and see in very low quality that he's giving back my glasses. I smile, put them on and look at him, expecting to be awe-struck by seeing him in a glorious light, sparkling because of the tears. Instead the sun half blinds me and drenches him in shadow, and the tears just make my eyes feel sensitive to the coming breeze. "Thanks," I say, pushing under my glasses to wipe my eyes. After replacing them perfectly in front of my eyes I thank him again. I'm more or less settled down so I see him normally again, and I'm comfortable with how normal he looks.

We continue walking, he hums a song I don't recognize that sounds like some kind of Bluegrass jig that should be played on a banjo. The melody gets stuck in my head and I silently curse him.

Once we make it to the top of the short hill where the house is he gets really excited, running ahead and stopping at the front door. Peeking inside, he's probably checking on his surprise. I canter up to the porch, where he has the door half open.

"Ready?" He asks.

"For what?" I try sounding nonchalant, but my mind is racing.

"Timber," he says, "meet Velvetine." He opens the door to reveal a mare with a sleek black mane, curled perfectly at the ends, with streaks of blood red running through. Her coat was a slightly lighter red, comparable to a clay brick. Her eyes are out of place, being a faded yellow and even a little too close. Her eyelashes were obviously fake and her eye shadow was too thick, probably because she thought nopony would see it against her dark coat. She is here for him. Churner brought a date. A mare who tried too hard in the wrong ways to be pretty. I wanted right away to tell him she's wrong. But what could I say? That he should be with me? He's obviously not like that.

"You all right pal?" Churner asks.

I'm standing still...

"It's nice to meet you," Velvetine says. She's quiet, talking slow and barely opening her mouth.

I remember my manners and smile, then reach out to shake her hoof. "Nice to meet you, too. I'm Timber."

She smiles with her mouth closed. I'm guessing she's insecure about her teeth. Which would explain why she didn't wear a heavy layer of lipstick; wouldn't want to draw attention to your worst feature.

"I'm sorry," I say, then look at Churner, "my headache's coming back." He frowns sympathetically as I turn to leave.

"You'll come back in for dinner, right?" He insists.

"Of course," I don't know if it's true.

I need to talk to someone. But Minty Swirl is anywhere else in Equestria.