Page 3 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Yup.” Wesley scoots his chair back, sets his cup down, and places his hands on his knees as he moves to stand. He snatches the coffee from the wobbling table and gives another parting nod.

He’s not the tallest man I’ve seen, five ten, maybe, but somehow, as he looms over me, it feels as if he’s a giant, and I am nothing but a tiny beetle—utterly negligible.

I stand on instinct, robotically offering him my hand before he can leave. When he reaches out, his rough calluses scrape once, twice, a third time.

And then the handshake is over, and I’m left watching his broad back as he exits the coffee shop with his black coffee in tow.

“He didn’t even get a lid for that thing,” I mutter, my brows carving a permanent crease between them.

Unsure of what even happened, I sit down again, glancing at the time, which reads eight o’five. I take my phone off do not disturb, and find three more missed calls—all Chad—a text from Ryan letting me know I can come early for my tattoo appointment if I’d like to, and a text fromMaybe Weswith an address, and tomorrow’s date.

I drain what’s left of my ultra-sweet coffee before ignoring Chad, letting Ryan know I’ll be over in ten minutes, and giving Wesley Miller’s text a thumbs up.

It’s a response that feels completely unnatural, but I suppose there’s little else for me to do. His odd behavior robs me of the elation Ishouldfeel in this exact moment.

I’ve craved time outdoors and a re-awakening of my inner equestrian. Last night, I spent an absurd amount of time practicing questions he could have asked me and watching myface in the mirror for any unpleasant expressions. I frequently reminded myself smise—or whatever they tell you to do.

I figured there’d be more fanfare—something.

My last task is to pull up my group chat with my closest friends and let them know I’ve officially quit bartending, and I’m moving on to bigger and brighter things.

I think.

At least I got the job.

Two

Cassidy

My rainboots splash water onto my legs when I step near the curb outside of Ryan’s tattoo shop.

Using the sleeve of my rain jacket, I wipe off the splatters, regretting the decision to wear a white skirt about as much asI regret the decision to use a rain-soaked jacket to smear more dampness around my knees.

Luckily, I no longer have a job interview, and I’m certain Ryan won’t mind if I show up looking like the Lochness monster.

It isn’t as if he’s not privy to my most embarrassing mistakes, anyway.

The bell chimes, and I’m greeted with the scent of sawdust and cleaning supplies. The front of the shop is in shambles, a result of Ryan’s new renovations. It’s a real celebration of his success—probably funded in total by Griffin Peterson and his surplus of tattoos.

I’m not sure how he has any more space for the tattoos. Or maybe he does, but that’s for my friend Ellis to know, and for me toneverfind out.

One ink engraving was enough for me, and I’ve now grown to regret it just like all our parents always warned us.

“You made it.”

Ryan steps out from the hallway, his smile beaming sunlight over this rainy spring day. He wipes his hands on a towel before tossing it on the unfinished counter. “Did you look at the sketches I sent you?” he asks.

My left hand squeezes the fingers of my right like I’m a child desperate for a parent’s reassurance.

My eyes flick to the door before returning to Ryan. He’s nothing but warm brown skin and an even warmer look in his eyes—like he doesn’t judge me at all.

“I looked, and I think I like the sunflower best. I think it’s fitting, and I’ve always loved yellow flowers.” A smile tugs at my lips as if his is contagious.

When it came to cover-up options, I was somewhat limited. It’s not like you can cover a bold name up with some dainty, fine-line, floral tattoo. The sunflower piece was a bit larger than I’d like, but the yellow will be nice. It reminded me of dandelionsspotting the grass of the farm I rode at growing up, of the happy memories.

One September, we’d gone to a farm right off the highway. They’d advertised a sunflower maze, and I can remember the bright blue sky stretched above and the tall yellow flowers boxing us in on all sides.

It all felt brighter, then—happy. Like the world was open and full of promise—like we could go wherever we wanted to and do whatever we wanted to without a care in the world.