Page 36 of A Bittersweet Summer

We’ve been chipping away at planning the bridal shower, and I’ll be honest, I took the good old Google for a spin trying to figure out exactly what my duties are so I can plan accordingly. Between my time at the farm, moving into a new house, and denying my attraction to my boss, I’ve been a bit distracted.

I still had time to help set out snacks on the kitchen island of the bed and breakfast, put chairs around the fire pit outside, hang string lights on the patio, and make it to the porch for one last breather before this place fills with people.

“Old news,” Ellis groans, forcing Lennon to hold out her hand.

“I don’t care. Show me again.”

Noah steps up behind Lennon, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Don’t go swimming with that thing,” he warns, nodding toward Ellis’s ring.

Ellis, humble as she is, chuckles before taking a sip of her lemonade. “It’s not that crazy.”

The late afternoon sun makes its slow descent in the sky beyond Lennon’s front yard. Trees surround the old house, stretching high and cocooning the place in privacy. Between the long gravel driveway, the thrifted details decorating every corner, and the painted porch with a railing Noah fixed months ago, the entire place exudes a welcoming coziness.

I nudge Ellis with my elbow. “Don’t lie to us,” I scold, but the comment has no real bite to it.

Giving in, Ellis finally admits what we all have known.“Okay, it’s fucking huge.”

My eyes wander back out to the long, open driveway, anxiously awaiting the sound of gravel being kicked up at the arrival of guests.

I understand why Lennon did it—the appeal of buying a house with a little bit of land surrounding it.

Sometimes—like a fish in a fishbowl—we outgrow the glass that makes up our cage. Sometimes all we need is an entire pond, and it really is just that simple.

It’s how I’ve felt about the farm lately. The wide open spaces and the room to breathe. It has made my problems seem so much smaller.

I haven’t been swayed by what would benefit others. Instead, I’ve been enjoying my time out with the horses.

“Just don’t get caught fucking in the barn.” Lennon’s voice calls up the memory of Wes’s hand skimming down my hip—my thigh. An image of him doing that very thing against the far wall of the office flashes through my mind. Or maybe against the door of an empty stall. Hell, the hayloft would work too.

My cheeks heat at the thought, and I try to tamp it down.

While I know she’s making a joke about what she and Noah got caught doing last autumn, I can’t help but think of how utterly ridiculous I’d been that day by the pond.

There is no world in which I can act on my attraction to Wesley Miller. His sudden coolness before I departed the farmhouse that day brought up so many memories of Chad. And beyond that, Wes had been very clear about my role on the farm immediately after.

Emphasizing that we should get back to work.

The attraction is there, though. Even as I watched him toss hay bales off his truck yesterday. I’d been thoroughly distracted, the hose in my hand overflowing the water trough in the field behind the barn.

“Speaking of barns,” Lennon says. “How’s the job?”

I clear my throat, willing myself to act appropriately—professionally. My friends have a way of seeing through me, so I try to put on my best performance. “It’s good!” Not a lie.

A cool breeze whips across the porch, and I readjust the sunglasses on my head to hold my hair back better. “I can actually carry the water buckets now without wanting to die.”

Lennon chuckles as Ellis chimes in. “I think you should arm wrestle Griffin,” she jokes. “Assert your dominance just in case he ever steps out of line.”

A soft laugh releases from my lips. “That seems like Lennon’s job.”

As awaited, the rumbling of a truck over gravel draws my attention back to the driveway. My stomach flutters at the sight of a familiar, old pickup headed for the house. It’s the same pickup truck I watched Wes throw those hay bales from.

I’m starting to wonder if my ovulation thoughts summoned him or if this is the universe's idea of a sick joke. If Lennon and Ellis can see through my lies, they’ll certainly be able to see my attraction to my boss. Maybe, if I’m lucky, they can knock some sense into me. While I thought the attraction was mutual, I’m not so sure now.

A good dose of very clear rejection would serve me well.

When Wes jumps out of the truck with his cowboy hat firmly placed atop his head, the blood drains from my face.

He’s wearing mud-spattered Levi’s—the same jeans he had on before I left hours ago. They hug his thighs in a way that has to count as a sin as he marches his strong body toward what appears to be me.