Page 14 of A Bittersweet Summer

Upon further investigation, I find his name is Gus, and he is, in fact, her brother.

Her social media is full of photos of her friends and the sky. There are pictures of animals at what appears to be a shelter, snapshots of random wildflowers, and one from a bonfire last autumn.

Further down, I see a shot of her on a boat, head tossed back, laughing with a glass of champagne in her hand. The man next to her gives the camera a tight smile, as if the entire experience of having Cassidy laugh that loudly displeases him.

I can’t imagine that would be the case.

Staring at the image, I zoom in, noting the few freckles dusting her cheeks. She hadn’t had those the other day, but she has a tan in the photo. I wonder if those freckles will come out the more time she spends in the sun—the more time she spends here.

I zoom out to look at the date and adjust my glasses. “Goddamn,” I whisper, realizing I’d scrolled back nearly two years.

As if I’m a teen getting caught watching porn for the first time, I glance at the door to check that Roe is not there and zoom in.

Yep, definitely light freckles. A few darker ones kiss the side of her throat, and one is still visible by her collarbone. I wonder if there are more covered by the white, linen dress blowing in the wind on the boat.

A large heart appears on the screen, and mine drops into the basement of the farmhouse, ready to take up residence with the monsters I feared as a kid.

“Shit,” I mutter, tapping again to remove it. “Shit!” I say a bit louder when it appears I’m just liking the photo over and over again.

I exit out of the app as if it’ll undo my mistake.

Leaning back against the pillows, I blow out a breath and rub my eyes.

“That doesn’t look good,” I say to the empty room as I debate how to handle this situation tomorrow. I opt for ignoring it entirely.

“Wes?” Roe hollers from downstairs.

“What?” I pinch the bridge of my nose.“Yes! What do you need, Rosemary?”

Her yelled response calls up the stairs. “Don’t call me by my government name!” she yells. “Who are you talking to?”

“Myself,” I grunt.

Roe chuckles, the sound bouncing off the walls of the hallway. “I don’t believe you, but whatever! I’m going to bed.”

“Night, Spike!” I yell, settling back further into the bed.

There’s a very real possibility that Cassidy Summers will take one look at her social media and quit. If she does, we can skip over any kind of uncomfortable conversation.

Or maybe she has so many people liking her photos that notification will get lost in a sea of endless praise.

Unfortunately for me, if she quits, my desperation for help around here will increase tenfold, and I don’t know that I can bear that.

I close my eyes, letting the chamomile tea finally work its way into my bloodstream—or whatever the stuff does to make sleep come easier.

Either way, a minute or so in, and I’m out like a light.

Six

Cassidy

Backed by a purple sky dotted with pink and orange, fluffy clouds, the Cape Cod-style house looks far nicer than my apartment. A chimney pokes out of the top of the roof, giving me hope of a fireplace.

I haven’t gone inside—haven’t even spoken to Wesley about when I should move. He said whenever, but I’d like to have a clear conversation where I nail down a date before I go showing up to the farm with boxes.

My engine idles in the driveway as I pull up my tank top to check on my new tattoo. I shouldn’t have been working so hard yesterday, but the internet said as long as it’s bandaged, I should be okay, and Ryan did reassure me that I can touch it up.

My fingers trace over the plastic, following the lines around the yellow petals. The decision to add color was easy despite the internet being obsessed with fine-line black and white tattoos. I’ve always liked a bit of color—especially yellow.