Story by Napsack:

“Id have loved to see Sweetie Belle nervously standing in front of Big Mac, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Her tiny little hands would be clutched against her more sensitive regions, and her eyes would dart this way and that, unable to lock onto Macs for any appreciable length of time. Her heel might be grinding awkwardly into the dirt in an odd sort of nervous twitch, a stand in for the hair-twirling she would normally be doing if she wasnt in this particular predicament.

Sweetie would be trying to say something to him, but the words just wouldnt come out right. If she were lucky she might get out something vaguely understandable. Something about a dress, and a tree, and a hope that a certain cute boy might help her out. She didnt mean for that last part to come out like it did, but she would hardly even notice her mess-up through the haze of embarrassment.

Big Mac, for his part, would simply stand there, listening and attempting to make sense of the girls half-muttered rambling. Did she want help? Was this part of a dare? He didnt know. All he would want to do was get her sorted out so that he could continue with his chores. Apples dont harvest themselves, and it definitely doesnt get easier to do so after sundown.”