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Tonight’s the night – she’s going to lay it all out.
I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you at the coffee shop. I tried to stop myself from falling for you, but I couldn’t. I’ve never felt this way before. I’m in love with you.
Stef’s hands shake in the pockets of her trousers, palms clammy despite how many times she’s wiped them off.
She lingers off to the side behind the cameras with the rest of the production assistants and interns, sipping on mocktails and nibbling on cheese cubes. The cast of season two roams around in small clusters, their groups being directed beforehand.
Manufactured drama was the theme of this season – following Cherrygate, they were doing all they could without outright paying someone to steal someone’s partner to get the ratings up.
Despite the record-breaking ratings, they insist on putting blinders on the contestants while nudging them towards conflict. It’s not their fault they don’t know these things are preplanned.
She downs the rest of her mocktail and grimaces, wishing desperately that she was allowed to drink on the job. It’d make this so much easier.
Scanning the lawn full of gorgeous gowns and suits, with the occasional cameraman flitting between them, she finds him.
He’s perched on the kitchen counter alongside another boy, throwing in one-liners whenever he can, effortlessly entertaining the group around him.
His laugh is her favourite. It always ricochets through the air like a bullet, tapers off with a raspy wheeze, and ends in a combination of a breathy-cough-chuckle, that of a smoker, despite him not being (an avid) one.
Gary throws an arm around him and they tap their champagne glasses together in a toast. They erupt in raucous cheers, drawing the attention of every camera on the lawn. A picturesque moment to the end of a perfect summer and the beginning of their celebritydom.
“Are you psyching yourself up to finally tell him?” Marisol asks.
“What – don’t be silly. I’m just… observing,” Stef lies, smoothing down the lapels of her blazer. “Making sure everything’s going smoothly.”
“Right.” Marisol drags out the “r” with the subtlest quirk of her brows. “Not to shove you towards the cliff’s edge, but this might be your last chance.”
“I…” Stef deflates, running a hand through her dark hair. It’s been a bad habit of hers ever since she hacked off 25 cm for charity, leaving it chin length and tempting to fiddle with.
“I just don’t know if this is the right thing to do,” Stef shakes her head, her hair coming with it. She tucks it behind her ear again, hands trembling. “I could lose my job… This is the best job I’ve ever had.”
Marisol’s expression softens, her mildly clinical gaze replaced with a sympathetic one. “Is it a good job because of the job? Or because of him?”
She’s right.
Producing is a shit deal most of the time, because every gig is a shot in the dark. Long hours, verbally abusive bosses, and unfathomable deadlines. It’s a mess of an industry, but the only place Stef’s ever wanted to be.
She got her first camera for her tenth birthday and the rest was history. Every night for six months straight, she filmed some kind of video – dancing, singing, an extensive diary entry about the woes of year five – and from there, her love for entertainment grew.
After being an intern (a glorified coffee runner) for a James Bond film, she spent years working nonstop in the entertainment industry – through lunch breaks, weekends and the occasional holiday. It’s not the easiest job, but it’s her dream.
Landing a job on Love Island was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It was the stroke of luck that forced her out of a rut of the constant flow of rejection emails she’d received for three months straight.
Her charisma and easygoing personality made her a frontrunner for a production job, and made her the top contender to handle one-on-one interviews with the islanders.
She handled the initial applications, the second round interviews, and the initial pre-villa promotional shoots. And beach hut confessions were supposed to be a seldom occurrence, shifting to be more frequent over time.
Anytime there needed to be a voice of reason, they blew up Stef’s phone and pressured her to be the villa therapist, a shoulder to cry on, a friend. It was taxing, knowing the intricacies of every relationship but not being able to reveal anything to the person in distress.
But regardless of how shitty aspects of the job have turned out to be, it’s how she met Bobby Mckenzie. The shitiness was outweighed tenfold the moment he walked into the coffee shop that first time.
“Miss, uh – Est – Zamora?”
She glances up from the stack of papers, latte in hand, and tries not to gape.
He’s not a beefcake like most of the other guys. The other contestants she’s spoken to over the past couple of weeks have been usually either tall or buff, or a combination of the two – and yet Bobby’s neither of those.
He looks like the lad you’d meet in school that never had his homework finished but always tried his hardest to carry his weight in group presentations. He’d make the teacher laugh to get an extension on an assignment he’d never turn in, but would be on time to class every single day.
“Hi, just call me Stef. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Stef flashes her winning smile and outstretches her hand. Like an exec would, she thinks.
“Oh – Stef – sorry ‘bout that. I know I absolutely butchered your name. The accent isn’t too forgiving to new names,” he says and pulls the chair back, wincing at the whiny scrape of the legs against the tile.
“Ah, give it time. It’ll warm up to me,” Stef winks, tapping the stack of paper against the table to realign the messy pages.
Bobby laughs, and relaxes a bit. His eyes twinkle a bit, and he takes her in, watching her closely. “I was bricking it before I walked in here. Almost had a full on panic attack. I had to give m’self a pep talk – paced around like a right eejit. I even thought to m’self, ‘Where’s your inhaler?’ Funny thing is, I dinnae have one!”
He chuckles, then stops himself and cringes. “Sorry. The accent is a lot heavier when I get nervous,” he sighs. “Gotta work on toning that down a little so the gals can understand me.”
Stef shakes her head. “No need to apologise. The more authenticity, the better. It sounds unbearably corny, but it’s crucial that you be yourself.”
His body relaxes again, and he settles back against the back of the wooden chair. “Oh,” he smacks his forehead. “I’m Bobby, by the way. Shoulda started with that one.”
She can’t hold back her laugh this time, covering her mouth with her hand. “No worries. I could tell it was you when you walked in. I helped select your application for the second round.”
Tapping the pen against the stack of papers in front of her, she cocks her head to the side. “Bobby. Is that short for anything?”
“Nope. Not a Robert or a Bobbert or a… Glob…bert. I dunno what I was trying to do that time,” he shakes his head, locs flopping over as he does so.
She chuckles, sipping her beverage before placing it on a coaster. “Bobby suits you.”
“What about yours? Stef is short for… sorry, still can’t pronounce it.”
“Estefania Zamora,” she says, her legal name rolling off of her lips with the rusty Spanish accent that’s worsened over the years. “Stef is just easier.”
“It suits you.” The grin he wears is warm and snug, as inviting as a toasty blanket on a chilly day.
Her heart thumps in her chest, the resounding thuds echoing in her ears.
So far, she’s travelled to interview half of the top contenders, all ridiculously attractive, yet none of them had lit a flame in her like this.
He’s not even flirting and somehow he’s managing to make her hands damp with sweat.
Despite this, the conversation goes smoothly, and from there, he nails it. And the rest is history.
Kind of.
The execs get the final say, and they push back on Bobby quite a bit.
“He’s a run-of-the-mill guy with a run-of-the-mill occupation,” they argued. “No one knows him.”
“That’s the point. He’s our ‘boy next door’,” she defended.
And it’s true. His awkwardness, humour, and vulnerability skyrocketed him to the top of the Love Island social media tags within the premiere of season two.
Stef’s a huge part of the reason he’s beloved by millions. He's got endless options of women in front of him now since he left the villa as a bachelor.
It’s kind of a sick joke in hindsight, really, considering she’s fallen for him and he has no idea.
“You’re right,” Stef says, shoving her hands in her pockets again. Can everyone around her notice her trembling?
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m thoroughly convinced he’ll take it positively,” Marisol says, readjusting her belt with her free hand. “He’ll let you down gently, if at all.”
Of course she’d hypothesise that. She was never on the receiving end of Bobby’s dumping.
He’d consistently been the one that the girls used for safety to not risk being dumped.
“I guess,” she mumbles, still watching Bobby as he tells an animated story, a camera panning around them, probably for B-roll footage of the finale after party.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with Graham, Elijah, and Arjun? I remember you being assigned that group –”
Marisol tuts, waving Stef’s concerns away. “Elijah and Arjun seemed pretty into each other this time around. I think they could tell I picked up on it. They seemed nervous. I thought I’d give them some space to work it out.”
“Anyway. I’m going to make my rounds,” she tips back the rest of her champagne. “You should tell him.”
Marisol’s hips sway gently as she walks. A cameraman spins around to watch her as she goes.
The party is in full force now – the alcohol’s hit those who’ve indulged in it.
Chelsea, Henrik, Hannah, and Emily are dancing in a cluster in front of the DJ’s booth.
Lucas and Blake are cuddling close around the firepit, holding hands and talking in each others’ ears. Stef wouldn’t be surprised if they slipped away to fuck in the bathroom since they could easily get away with it.
Felix is trying it on Siobhan, and all of the other girls he didn’t have a chance to flirt with. Priya is chatting with Rahim and Jo, laughing about something. Hope, Noah, Gary, Lottie, and Bobby are still in the kitchen drinking and dancing and cackling about something.
Bobby’s grown so much since the introduction photoshoot.
“So, to sum it up, we’re trying to get a glimpse into who you are and what you’ll bring to the villa,” Stef explains. “We’re going to treat this like a conversation between friends, so just talk to me like you’d talk to your mates back home.”
“Jonno,” he nods, tapping his foot anxiously.
“Is that your best mate?”
“Aye.”
“Okay, then. Pretend like I’m Jonno.”
He scrunches his nose, rasps out a few chuckles. “You’d have to be a bit of a numpty and a whole lot more daft to be my Jonno.”
“Use your imagination. I know you’ve got it in you.”
“I dunno…” he lilts, lifting his shoulder in an exaggerated shrug.
With a cheeky grin, she twists her waist length hair into an updo and sticks a pencil in it, it holding just long enough for her to deliver the joke.
“Aye, Bobbo! Awright ya wee bawbag?” She puts on her worst Scottish accent and does a little jig in her seat.
Bobby’s in stitches at this point, taking a moment to collect himself. His face is flushed, eyes crinkling at the corners, lips parted in a toothy open-mouthed smile.
He’s gorgeous when he laughs.
“Your hair’s quite cute when it’s short. Shows off your sharp-as-a-tack jaw,” he beams, mocking the pricking of the pad of his finger, shaking his hand to rid himself of the phantom pain.
She fingers the faint scar there, chuckling nervously. “Right – the ole mangled jaw. Not too keen on showing it off, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, sorry, that came out wrong. You’ve just got a pretty face, that’s all. Don’t hide it all the time, you know what I mean?” He smiles apologetically, nervously scrubbing a hand across the leg of his floral swim trunks.
Heat creeping up her neck, Stef tries to keep the butterflies in her stomach at bay.
He’s a contestant, she’s a producer. This can’t happen.
But… he’s flirting. Yet as conflicted as she is, she likes it.
“Thank you. You should save your best lines for the Villa! Don’t use them on me,” she jokes, pulling the pencils from her hair.
“Did that sound like a line? I meant it as a genuine compliment,” he groans, palming his forehead.
So, he’s just naturally charming to everyone. She’s not special. Noted.
“I think I’ve gotten so used to being seen as a friend by the girls I fancy that the lines are blurred for me. I’m so bad at this.”
“You don’t have to apologise,” she assures him. “You’re fine. And you’re not bad at this. Lots of girls fancy a bit of a sweet goof.”
Herself included.
“I hope you’re right,” he says, a hint of nervousness still lingering in his voice.
“Y’know… I was sloshed on whisky when I applied for Love Island…” He trails off, takes a second to drink in the room, filled with cameras and crew. “It was supposed to be a dare, and a laugh. Part of me liked the idea of going on a show, but the other part was – is – terrified. I dunno if I’m ready.”
“The experience is what you make it, Bobby. If you don’t find love, that’s okay. You’ll make friends and lots of fans.”
He squirms in his seat. “What if I want to though?”
“I think it’ll find you if it’s there,” Stef says, voice sincere and low as a whisper.
He relaxes yet again, and nails the interview. The photoshoot is a bit rough, but the awkwardness is so endearing that there’s no way every viewer worldwide won’t fall in love with him (and they do).
It’s been a few minutes since Marisol’s left her, her statements echoing in Stef’s ears.
This might be your last chance. You should tell him.
“We need you to do a lap.”
“Hmm?” Stef wheels around towards the voice, flinching when she realises how close they are.
Another producer is standing right behind her, walkie in hand. “Ask a few questions, get some footage. Maude will follow you around with a handheld.”
Maude waves, a camcorder balanced on her shoulder. “Alright?”
“Give me some examples.” She’s not exactly in the mindset to be the best producer at the moment, but it’s second nature at this point. She can’t rid herself of the instinct no matter how dire her love life situation is.
“Favourite moments, biggest regrets – anything sound bite worthy,” they say, turning away and wandering off, mumbling something into the walkie.
Stef the producer and Maude the camerawoman make a loop, interviewing the drunken islanders as best as they can. They’re either buzzed on alcohol or adrenaline, all smiles and good vibes.
“Biggest regret…” Rocco hums, scritching at his stubble thoughtfully. “Contrary to popular belief, I still don’t have any.”
“My favourite moment was meeting Marisol,” Graham smiles cheekily. “I don’t care if it sounds corny. The gal’s changed me for good already.”
“Babe,” Marisol’s cheeks are flushed, glassy-eyed stare full of complete adoration. “My biggest regret is the producers not making you an original boy.”
“That’s not how that works, love, but I’ll take it,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
“My biggest regret is not taking anyone back from Casa,” Priya shrugs. “I could’ve had a laugh with Felix. Oh! And kissing more boys. Wish I would’ve done that.”
“My favourite moment is when Priya topped me.” Felix’s cheshire grin is bold.
“Oh my days, it’s so hard to choose,” Chelsea huffs, tapping her acrylics across the surface of her copper mug. “I really liked my entrance, and meeting everyone, but I also loved Casa Amor and the lazy days by the pool, which is, like, every day, but –”
Henrik stops her with a gentle hand. “I think what Chels is trying to say is, it’s hard to choose a favourite when every memory of the villa is a fond one.”
“Took the words right outta my mouth, babes,” she grins, pressing a quick kiss on his lips.
He’s stunned, but smiling as widely as she is.
It’s confusing, considering Henrik just finished out the show with Ruby, another fan favourite.
They must’ve just called it quits , Stef thinks. Interesting.
Near the end of her lap, she makes it to Bobby. He notices her first, half lidded dopey gaze struggling to stay focused on her.
They probably downed a few shots before Stef made her way over.
“Oi! It’s Stef!” He whoops, tipping his glass towards her.
The group cheers at Bobby’s introduction, welcoming her into the circle with open arms. He winks once and tips the rest of his glass back.
Possible love confession aside, she’s so comfortable with him. It’s hard not to feel at home with someone as warm as Bobby.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt the celebration – just asking a few questions for the Post-Villa Special,” she starts, tucking a face-framing strand behind her ear.
“Goddammit, I hope Nan doesn’t notice I’m plastered. Do I sound normal?” Gary slurs in Lottie’s face, blinking slowly.
She cackles, pointing to Maude. Gary’s face drops, and he starts garbling apologies. Stef turns to the winning couple of season two.
“So, Hope… Noah. Can you tell me a favourite moment from the villa? Or your biggest regret?”
Noah glances at Hope thoughtfully, but waits patiently for her to speak.
“Ah, biggest regret is any fight we had. I think I speak for both of us when I say that our emotions were heightened, and that in any normal circumstances, we’d work things out in a civilised way but…” She trails off, and mirrors Noah’s kind smile.
“But how were we supposed to know we were going to find our soulmates this summer?” Hope finishes, leaning over to press a kiss on his cheek.
“My favourite moment was that time we snuck off to the rooftop for some alone time. Nothing physical happened, we just sat with each other, watched the stars, and chatted about anything and everything,” he says, wrapping an arm around Hope’s waist.
Hope nods. “Agreed. That’s my favourite, too.”
Stef moves on to Gary and Lottie, who give pretty generic answers that go in one ear and out the other. She’s so eager to speak to Bobby that she could burst.
“How’s it goin’?” He asks, his Scottish accent thicker than usual.
“Good, thanks. What about you?” Stef matches Bobby’s sleepy smile, tucking the walkie in her back pocket.
“On top of the world, really,” he’s smiling, but it definitely doesn’t reach his eyes. “I dinnae know what I’ll do when I wake up tomorrow and it’s all over.”
“You’ll still wake up Bobby McKenzie, so tomorrow should be as good as today.” She’s emboldened by the finale being nearly over. Yeah, she could lose her job, but Bobby’s right in front of her and it almost pains her to keep all of her love for him under wraps.
He chuckles, the rasp music to her ears. “You flatter me, Stef.”
“Same questions for you, Bobby. Favourite moment? Biggest regret?” Stef glances back at Maude to make sure she’s focusing all her attention on Bobby.
“I think my favourite moment is when Gaz ate that raw onion,” Bobby snorts, body wracked with laughter.
“My biggest regret is eating that bloody onion,” Gary shivers, tightening his arm around Lottie.
“And my biggest regret is still coupling up with this wanker after watching him willingly eat that onion,” Lottie’s nose scrunches in disgust, but she still giggles and leans into Gary’s touch.
“I loved winning Mr. Love Island. It’s my crowning villa achievement.” He puffs his chest out, beats a fist against the front of his jacket.
“Oh, yeah, and that one morning Ruby and I made breakfast for everyone. Those were the best muffins I’ve ever made.”
“Nice. Thank you so much, Hope, Noah, Gary, Lottie… Bobby.” She doesn’t mean to linger on Bobby’s name, but she does – and thankfully, no one notices. They’re too buzzed to pick up on Stef’s unsubtle signals.
The last stop is Ruby and Carl, who’re just chatting quietly near the pool. Carl opts out, waving nervously before booking it to the open bar.
“Hey, Stef.” Ruby’s smile is inviting, warm, as she pushes herself up from the ground to her feet. “Interview stuff?”
“Hey Ruby. Yeah, you guessed it.”
Stef’s always liked Ruby.
She’s introverted, and a villa mediator, maintaining a neutral stance to help smooth things out every week. It’s her level head that’s kept things from turning into full blown fights.
People love her because of her story – she’s a single mom, jumping to adopt her late sister’s son as soon as she passed. She’s beloved by the islanders, by the producers and crew, and most importantly, by the United Kingdom.
They’ve been rooting for her to find her match, and public opinion-wise, they believed she’d found it in Henrik.
“Before I ask, are you and Henrik separated? This is off the record,” Stef asks, jabbing her thumb towards the lawn.
Ruby sighs, tired eyes casting down. “Yeah, we talked about it a while ago, actually. Before the final recoupling.”
Stef’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “Oh?”
“Sorry,” she apologises sheepishly. “I think we both realised we’re better as friends.”
“That’s a relief,” Stef blows air out of her cheeks. “I saw him and Chelsea kiss.”
Ruby’s face lights up. “That’s great! I can’t wait to tease them about it.”
“You’re taking it awfully well. Others wouldn’t be so kind,” Stef chuckles, glancing back at Maude, who’s smiling knowingly.
“Yeah, I dunno. I guess I’m just… uh. I’m preoccupied,” she says, seemingly a bit nervous at Stef’s lighthearted prodding.
“Hey, Stef, I think they need us to report back in a sec,” Maude says, shifting the camera on her shoulder.
“Of course. Alright, Ruby. Can you tell us a bit about your favourite moment in the villa? If you can’t land on one of those, what’s your biggest regret of the summer?”
Despite the buzz of conversation enveloping them, Ruby’s silence is palpable. She glances everywhere but at Stef or Maude, toying with the strap of her dress.
“You alright?”
Half a minute passes before Ruby speaks.
“I don’t know if I should say this on camera.” She twists the end of her dark braid between the tips of her fingers, letting it rest on her chest before lifting her head to meet Stef’s.
“Maude,” Stef nods towards the crew. “We’ll just say you opted out, yeah?”
Maude gives her a thumbs up and heads off, leaving it just the two of them.
“Did something happen, Ruby? Anything you want to discuss stays between us if you would like it to,” Stef encourages.
“I have feelings for someone here, and I’m scared that if I don’t tell them tonight, I’ll never have the chance again.”
Stef knows this all too well.
Over the past month, she’s fallen for someone who’s contractually unattainable. Someone who’s competing on a dating show. Someone whose primary goal is actively seeking love.
At first, she’s chalking it up to a silly crush.
Stef’s had silly work crushes before. They’re always innocuous, just a silly way to pass the time when her motivation to work wanes.
But with Bobby, it’s not a fleeting feeling. It grows over time, expanding in her chest till her heart aches at the mere thought of not being the couple she’s already daydreaming them to be.
When he comes into the beach hut for confessionals, he lights up, despite his current state. He does it each time, consistently, so much so that she finds herself wondering every week if she’s the reason he’s smiling.
It’s always the same – him plopping down onto the padded wicker chair, hiking a leg up, swinging the other like a pendulum, his heel rhythmically tapping the rattan.
He gives her all his attention, honey irises trained on her, toothy grin firmly in place.
His first confessional and last confessional are seared into her brain.
That first time, he enters the small room and beams at her. “Your hair – it’s so short! I love it.”
“Thanks. I’ve been needing a change.” She doesn’t admit it to him, of course, but ever since he complimented her on her jawline, she was itching to lob it off to her chin, any of her prior insecurities at her facial scar overshadowed by his kind words.
Bobby sits the same, like he’s not sure how a chair works, and picks at the seams of the padded cushion under his bum. He’s tense.
“Don’t be nervous, Bobby. It’s going to be pretty straightforward today – the usual ‘how are you feeling about your couple?’ And ‘what do you think about the other couples?’” Stef shuffles through the stack of papers pinned to her clipboard.
“Sounds good.” His delivery is short and humourless.
“It’ll get easier every day, I promise.”
He scratches at the waterproof tape holding the mic to his chest, seeming as if he’s debating speaking with that thing strapped to him.
“Stef… Do you really think people are gonna like me?”
The tone that comes from him is unusual, so foreign that she can’t place it at first. When he searches her eyes for an answer, it dawns on her that it’s more familiar than she’s previously thought.
It’s vulnerability, that of an adolescent, voice shaking like all of his boyish insecurities have resurfaced at once.
“The whole world’s gonna fall in love with you,” she says, and does something that could be classified as a breach of contract.
Stef leans forward in her creaky folding chair, and gently grabs his hand. Squeezes lightly.
It’s as if that’s all he needed.
The nervousness is gone, evaporating as soon as her brown skin touches his own.
Briefly – so brief she’s sure she’s imagined it – he squeezes back. Lets go.
“Thanks, Stef.” His eyes gleam appreciatively under the fluorescent lights.
Come to find out, the childhood insecurities ran deep, stemming from being seen as friend material but never boyfriend worthy. As an added bonus, he grew up feeling as if the only way he could earn attention was by making people laugh – his only value lay in the entertainment he offers others.
He confides these things in Gary, who’s struggling in his own ways. It’s a bonding moment that’s regarded as a peak of the season.
Over the span of the season, Bobby blossoms like no one could’ve anticipated – showing vulnerability, making mistakes, prioritising friends, and ultimately, setting the bar for seasons to come.
The entire cast is beloved by millions, and they hang on to every word that’s said, micro analysing friendships in hopes it’ll become more, fights in hopes that they’ll break up. Most contestants seem to hit their stride at some point, finding someone that they can comfortably kiss and snuggle, even if it’s just for the summer.
Bobby, though, hadn’t quite done that.
The morning he’s dumped from the villa, he comes in for his last confessional.
The cheery veil he normally wears is gossamer-thin, the only crack in his armour being the heaviness in his eyes. Her will to resist him has dwindled significantly, and seeing him like this pushes that last bit of her restraint out of her mind.
“Stef! Long time no see,” he jokes with a wave, settling in the chair like always.
“Hey, Bobby.” She wags her hand in a shy gesture, pushing her reading glasses up her crooked nose with the other.
He doesn’t seem to know how to get comfortable. Shifting his weight from one side to the other, tilting back and forth, rubbing a palm up and down his leg nervously – it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here.
“I, uh, have a bad feeling about today,” he says, rolls his lips together, sucks his teeth and sighs.
“Why?”
He glances at the camera and runs a hand through his locs. “Off the record?”
“Off the record, of course.” She stands up and turns the camera off, settling back in her folding chair with an encouraging nod.
“I dunno what she’s saying exactly, but it’s not good,” he jokes, rubbing his stomach. “I’m not in a couple and we’re so close to the finale so… I have a gut feeling I’m going home today.”
He’s not too far off.
The studio’s still deciding if they want to send home the least compatible couple or who’s single. Stef’s fought long and hard to keep him from being dumped, but ultimately it’s up to the execs above her.
She can’t tell him this, of course, so she just comforts him.
“If you go home tonight, you better make an exit,” she winks, and he laughs humorlessly in response.
“It’s that and… something else.”
For a split second, her heart drops to the pit of her stomach. Maybe he’s got something to say to her.
“Yeah?”
“I thought for a second that maybe this whole thing was a waste.”
She shakes her head. “There are so many good things to come out of being on Love Island. Just wait till you get out and see how much people love you.”
“Ugh. Why are you always right?” He asks, relaxing into the chair. “I sound like a dickhead.”
“No, never.”
The confessional flies by, and before she knows it, she has to usher him out for the next person.
“Stef –”
She looks up from her pad of paper and sees him with outstretched arms, gesturing for her to bring it in.
He smells like sun cream with a hint of cinnamon, and feels like home. The hug is brief – tight, soft, gentle – but so very warm. And she’s so very in love with him.
When he pulls back, he squeezes her shoulder with a freckled hand, his face as sincere and vulnerable as when she interviewed him outside the villa.
“If I don’t see you again –” he stops, brows furrowed. “I don’t know if I could have made it through this month without you.”
“Thank you, Bobby. That means a lot to me,” she says, hoping it comes off as sincere as she means it – she’s gone into aeroplane mode, fireworks going off in her brain simultaneously.
He gives her one last beautiful smile and heads out.
Marisol comes in right after Bobby, curling up on the wicker chair with a nearly empty mug of coffee.
She’s grinning from ear to ear, tapping her manicured fingers on the ceramic.
“Stef, I have such a cute Graham story to tell – wait,” she stops, brow arched. “What’s got you so flustered?”
Stef claps a hand on her cheek, the warmth a relief against her cool, clammy hands. “I don’t know.”
Marisol’s mouth pops open in disbelief and she gestures wildly for Stef to hand her a pen and paper.
She scribbles out a quick note on the notepad and hands it back.
It reads, “Bobby?” With a “yes” and “no” next to it.
She could be fired over this. But… Bobby’s single, and she knows there’s a dumping today.
Marisol has been another rare case like Bobby – she’s found herself drawn to Marisol. She’s a voice of reason in the chaos, always offering Stef a fresh perspective on the villa in every confessional.
They’ve bonded, so Marisol’s developed a keen sense of who Stef is – it’s why she noticed right away that something was off.
Stef circles “yes”, stands, turns the camera off, and flashes the notepad at Marisol.
“I knew it!” She laughs gleefully, leaning over to grab her mug from the floor, downing the last bits. “Incredible. You like him.”
“But I can’t do anything about it,” she counterpoints. “It’s unprofessional.”
“‘Unprofessional’. Bollocks,” Marisol huffs, rolling her eyes. “If anyone on this show cared about professionalism, it’s not the producers. Certainly not me.”
“Well, they care to a degree.”
“To a degree . As long as you’re not technically acting on your feelings while he’s here, what’s so bad about telling him?” She shrugs, readjusting her glasses.
Employment contract aside, there’s an endless list of bad things. He could not reciprocate her feelings. Worse, it could ruin the blossoming friendship between them.
This should’ve never become more than a crush, because at the end of the day, she watches from one-sided glass day in and day out, and he’s both eligible and the total package.
So yeah, it’s most likely one-sided. And it could end badly.
But somehow, in the brief conversation with Marisol with the cameras off, Stef is worn down. She doesn’t let Marisol know it, of course, but she’s decided she’ll tell him – at the finale. No sooner, no later.
He’s dumped that day, and Marisol and Graham follow suit soon after, and before Stef knows it, her last chance is staring her directly in the face, taunting her towards the edge.
“It’s Bobby.”
Her picturesque future reality wilts like petals in front of her. Flashes of daydreams blip in and out of her mind – a dinner date with drinks, a walk in the park with their two dogs, a cuddle and a kiss in the dead of night, a cup of coffee passed between them in the wee hours of the morning –
They all die as soon as Ruby utters his name.
“Bobby?”
Ruby takes a deep, shaky breath, and toys with her braid again. “...Yeah.”
“How long?” Stef’s barely managing words, so she sticks to the simplest ones she can mumble out.
“We’ve always been friends, but there were some brief moments where I thought maybe one of us would crack first. When I coupled up with Henrik, I thought that those little sparks with Bobby were nothing, cos I had someone else that made me feel them, too.” Ruby crosses her arms, visibly uncomfortable. “All those sparks with Henrik went away as soon as Bobby got dumped. I spent my last few days in the villa wishing he was there, and it took me a while to realise that I shouldn’t feel that way.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry, that was a lot at once,” Ruby chuckles nervously. “I haven’t told anyone that. Sorry for the word vomit. I’m also a teensy bit drunk right now.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I… think I will. I want to hesitate but… I always second guess myself, and look where that got me. I still ended up alone,” Ruby smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Right now?”
“Should I?”
Stef’s whole body is screaming at her to say “no,” to tell Ruby that she loved him first, to have a discussion with one of the only people she knows wouldn’t fight her back on this.
But… she doesn’t.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to fight for Bobby. It’s not even that she thinks Ruby is more worthy of Bobby’s affection.
It’s because a part of her saw this coming, knew that someone would see the value in Bobby like she has and want to stake their claim before she could. Calling Bobby a prize could be seen as degrading, but it’s true for him.
He’s a bit outlandish, but so honest and compassionate. He has the most endearing laugh, with hugs like a security blanket. He cares about anyone who’ll give him the time of day.
He loves so fiercely, and so much, that it’s an outpour with no one to give it to. And Ruby’s the first one to want to bask in his warm summer rain instead of running away.
Stef’s done nothing but run the entire summer – she’s not even sure she’d be the kind of girl Bobby would pursue. If she entered the villa, would he want her, too?
The answer’s up in the air, so… she doesn’t fight.
“You should.”
Before Ruby can respond, Stef’s walkie crackles with static, and Maude’s voice comes through. “We need you back to brief you on some last minute changes.”
For a brief moment, she wonders what it’d be like if she just said Fuck it and threw her walkie into the pool, ran over to Bobby, and confessed in front of everyone.
It’s a euphoric moment, but then she floats back down to Earth.
“Heading back now,” she mutters into her handheld, and gives Ruby an encouraging smile. “Sorry to cut this short. I’ll be right over there if you need me. You’ve got this.”
Ruby’s dark browns gleam with admiration, and she nods, determined. “Thanks, Stef. I really needed this chat.”
When Stef makes it back to the crew, she’s distracted, her eyes following Ruby as she crosses the lawn, making a beeline for Bobby.
Before she can get there, though, Chelsea screams and launches herself into the pool, Henrik following right after. They come up, laughing loudly, and soon after, the majority of the islanders follow suit, leaping in fully clothed.
One of the last ones in is Ruby, who’s been using Bobby’s arm to balance while she takes off her heels. They cannonball in together, and come up near the edge of the pool.
Stef watches on, heartbroken, as Ruby slides her hand over Bobby’s, locked deep in conversation. He slides his hand out from underneath hers on the pavement and intertwines their fingers, lips stretched into a grin as she speaks.
Everyone’s pulling themselves from the pool, but they float there, still deep in conversation, until he makes the first move – tugs her closer by the hand submerged in water, enveloping her in a kiss.
It’s hard for them to kiss, because they’re both smiling so hard, whispering into each others’ mouths, a tender moment shared between them.
“Wait, are Ruby and Bobby kissing right now?” Maude asks, and grabs her walkie. “I hope you’re getting this – look in the pool – yeah, it’s happening right now –”
Stef tunes everyone out, eyes burning with unspilled tears. She fists the lapels of her blazer to calm her trembling hands, and breathes deeply, attempting to reroute herself.
She forces her altruistic motivations back to the forefront of her mind, willing herself to believe that this is a good thing. Ruby and Bobby make for an engaging story – they’ll be happy together, and the viewers will feel a sense of closure, a truly satisfying ending for season two’s chapter in the overarching story.
At the end of the day, she’s still Stef Zamora, field producer, a cog in the colossal machine that is television and the entertainment industry.
And neither love nor heartbreak will change that.