Page 16 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Oh, God.”

That answers the question of Wes’s relationship status.

My entire body flushes bright red, and I work hard not to make eye contact with either boob.

“Hi!” she says, her tone bright as if she didn’t just flash me at my place of employment. With her shirt now covering her chest and distressed shorts, she smooths her wild, curly hair down against her scalp. Her efforts are useless, and I can’t help but think of what activities I ruined that caused such disarray in the woman standing in my boss’s kitchen.

This is so not good.

“You must be the new hire,” she says, her smile widening.

I blink, waiting for her to say more. When she doesn’t, I assume this is some kind of performance. Clearly, Wesley Miller’s girlfriend is asserting dominance over his female employees with her perky boobs.

“Y-yes,” I finally stammer. “I am so sorry.” The apology falls from my lips faster than a meteor shooting towards earth. “I was told to start with the dog this morning. Mr. Miller said to come on in. I kind of figured he’d be at the barn, and the house would be empty or something.” I chuckle, my laugh sounding a bit hollow. “I didn’t mean to barge in like that. If I’d have known, I would have waited. Or texted. I don’t know.”

She cocks her head to the side, the smile never falling from her lips. When she fiddles with one of her many earrings, her brow furrows. “Huh,” she says. “You call him Mr. Miller? What is that? Like a kink thing?”

Every cell in my body misfires, spiraling me into the kind of embarrassment that makes you nauseous. “What? No!” my defense comes out as a squeak, and my face feels hot.

Wes appears behind the woman. He looks put together—not rumpled like the nearly naked girlfriend I walked in on. His baby blue t-shirt stretches across his broad chest. He’s wearing jeans and a cowboy hat today despite his assertion that they do not have cows.

“Cass,” he says, tipping said hat in my direction. He looks between the woman and me, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I see you met my sister,” he continues. “This is Rosemary.”

Sister.

If it’s his sister, then why on earth was she shirtless?

Rosemary jumps up on the counter by the sink, swinging booted feet. “Thought you were already down at the barn, Wes,” she says before snatching an apple from the basket by the window above the sink. The relief I feel is palpable. Rosemary takes a huge bite before talking around the apple. “I’m just staying here for a night or two,” she supplies, looking at me. “Heard you were moving into the house at the end of the drive.”

“I am,” I answer. “I think. I mean, I like this job, so if I can, I would like to.”

My answer seems robotic and disjointed. Unsurprising, considering the circumstances.

Somehow, the phraseI saw my boss’s sister’s boobsseems to be a horrible summary of this morning’s events. Is this sexual harassment? I never got one of those weird video training things when Wes hired me.

Oh my God. Was Isupposedto get training?

I regret deleting all those emails this morning.

“Cass,” Rosemary says my name as if she’s testing it, and I snap out of my thoughts. “You can call me Roe, by the way.I keep telling Wes to stop using my government name, but he doesn’t listen.” She takes another bite of her apple. “I think you’ll love the house, and I’m sure Wes will love having the extra hands around here. While I love this place, it’s not really my thing.” She gestures to… well… everything. “It doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

The dog nudges my hand, now finished with his breakfast.

“That’s Mud,” Wesley says, pointing at the dog. “I don’t know if you met him yesterday.”

“I didn’t,” I say, pattingMudon the head. Soft fur tickles my fingers as he leans in, begging for more attention—or food—I’m not sure.

“Well,” Wes starts, “We should get going. Horses won’t feed themselves, and Grady’s out sick.” He moves to the screen door I came in through as Roe hops off the counter.

“Rude boss,” she teases, and reaches toward the top of the fridge for coffee grounds. “Why don’t you wait a second for a cup of coffee. It’s the leastMr. Millercan do since you’re all one man down today.”

“Unlessyouwant to help,” Wesley mutters as he pivots toward the coffee pot on the edge of the counter. He pulls the pot off the burner and fills it with water as his jaw ticks.

“You know me,” Roe says, slapping the coffee grounds down next to Wes. “I do not wish to work.”

Despite himself, Wes lets out a breathy chuckle, one corner of his mouth curling upward. “So, would you like a cup, Cass?”

“Oh.” My stomach swoops at the sound of my name on his lips. I’m certain it’s my anxiety. “Sure,” I say.