Page 37 of A Bittersweet Summer

My mind fills with a million questions, the biggest being,Why the hell is he here?

“Um,” Ellis starts as we all stare.

Wes stomps his way to the porch, his boots kicking up rocks as he goes, as I list every possible reason Wesley Miller might show up at my friend’s grand opening for her new business.

I run through the checklist of chores I did earlier, panicking that I missed something. Or maybe I left a gate open, and one ofthe horses got out. Potentially the entire herd? Somehow, I feel like he’d be too busy with that problem to drive all the way here.

There are a large number of things I could have done wrong that would have led him to this particular front porch, I suppose.

“Who is that?” Ellis finally asks.

“Well,” I say, my voice sounding small despite my best efforts. I had to have done something wrong—something major. “So,” I continue, trying so hard to explain the unexplainable. “That’s actually my boss.”

Wes stops, looking up until his eyes meet mine, something sparking in his mind before he turns abruptly on his heel. He grabs a grocery bag out of his truck, closing the door before walking back towards us in a way that feels like slow motion.

My heart picks up at his approach—like I’m back in high school watching Mr. Darcy emerge from the mist in the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.

“Great,” Lennon says, a devious smirk on her lips. Noah looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I did invite the public to this event. Maybe he saw it on Facebook?”

“I don’t think he saw it on Facebook,” I say, watching the bag clutched in his fist. “I had posted about it before, though. It wouldn’t be the first time he looked at my social media.”

My stomach swoops at the memory—seeing his name pop up in my notifications. I still haven’t gotten a clear answer as to what he was doing that far back on my profile. Double-checking I wasn’t a criminal, perhaps.

“Ah,” Ellis says, as if it all makes sense.

Wes takes the steps two at a time, ascending to the top of the porch with ease. Suddenly, he’s right there, standing in front of us and tipping his hat in greeting with a scowl on his face—so much like the Wesley I met in the coffee shop.

“Cassidy,” he says, my name low and smooth as it rolls off his tongue. That is certainlynotlike the Wesley I met in the coffee shop.

He looks to each of my friends one at a time, tipping his hat again. “Cassidy’s friends,” he adds.

Without another word, Wes seems to remember the bag in his hand and pushes it in my direction. The brush of his finger across mine sends a jolt up my forearm. It spreads out like a warm syrup until I can feel it all the way up to my shoulder, leaking into my chest and sliding down to the tips of my toes. “Thanks,” I say, waiting for the moment he is going to scold me for messing something up. It has to be why he’s here.

“Seemed pretty important to you this morning,” he says. “Said you didn’t want to forget them.”

I inhale, opening the bag to find my gift for Lennon. “Oh my God,” I start. “I can’t believe I completely forgot this!”

There, in the bag, is Lennon’s gift I made a point to talk about. At the end of the day, I tend to be anxious to get home and shower. Today, I knew I’d also be in a rush to get to the bed and breakfast. Sometimes, mentioning the thing I don’t want to forget is enough to keep it at the forefront of my mind.

Apparently, that tactic didn’t work today.

I look up into his hazel eyes, watching the corner of his mouth twitch in satisfaction. No smile, though. That seems to be reserved for—well, I’m not sure what. I haven’t quite unlocked the specific reasons Wesley Miller smiles. It’s worth studying, though.

I turn to Lennon, brightness filling me despite the setting sun. I can’t believe he drove all this way just to deliver this. “So,” I start, dragging out the last letter. “I know the bed and breakfast is pretty much done, but I thought I could add a little handmade touch to it! A decoration, if you will. You absolutely do not need to like these, but I figured I’d give it a go.”

I hand the bag over, and Lennon snatches it up as Griffin whispers something into Ellis’s ear before they disappear into the house. If guests are about to arrive, I’m sure they’re just going to check on last-minute details.

“You made these?” Lennon says, pulling one out of the bag.

“Yes,” I answer. “Unless you don’t like them!” I quickly add. “In that case, they were made by Wes’s grandmother, and I found them when I moved into the house.”

A barely perceptible chuckle rumbles from Wes’s spot next to me, and I grin in satisfaction.

Lennon looks from me to Wes. “Your boss’s grandmother?”

“Miller Run is a tight-knit community,” Wes supplies, his expression still serious. “Family heirlooms are a gift we bestow upon each member of our staff.”

There’s a pause, a brief moment before I realize that he’s joking.