Page 38 of A Bittersweet Summer

Lennon and Noah seem to realize it too, as we all break into laughter. “I’m going to hang these up right now,” Lennon says, turning toward the door. “Guests will be here soon, so I'd better be quick.” When she gets to the screen door, she calls for Noah over her shoulder. “Come help me hang these.”

Noah raises his brows as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. “Duty calls,” he tosses out before leaving me alone with my boss on the porch.

“Friendly,” Wes says as he lifts his hat off his head. One bicep flexes as he smooths down his golden brown hair before replacing the hat. My stomach does a weird flip, but I choose to ignore it.

“No, no,” I offer. “That’s just Lennon. That means she likes them if she’s already hanging them up. I’m so glad. I was really worried about the entire thing.” I tilt my head to the side, offering an inquisitive look. “By the way,” I start. “Why are you here?”

Wes looks away, eyes darting from the front door to the porch railing and over to his truck. “I told you,” he grunts. “You forgot your gift. Wanted to make sure you had it.”

“Okay,” I offer, and his eyes flick to mine. “And how did you find the address?”

When his ears turn pink at the ends, it does something gooey to my insides. Is he… embarrassed? “Your social media made it pretty easy since you posted about the grand opening. Told me so yourself.”

Another swoop and dip from my stomach as I realize he was on my page again—which is, objectively, stupid, considering that’s the whole purpose of the internet. Sharing information is kind of the point. “On my social media again, I take it?” I lean in a bit closer. “What is it that’s so alluring about my page?”

Wes’s eyes meet mine, honey-colored and warm like the slowly sinking sun, as if the hazel in his eyes recognizes the fast-approaching golden hour and longs to replicate it.

“You,” he answers, looking away just as fast as the word tumbled from his lips.

I suck in a breath, aware of how closely we are standing. I’m right back at the pond, my body lighting up every nerve ending one by one, zeroing in on the exact distance from my skin to his.

You.

I swallow, realizing how forward that one word was—how clear.

“Well,” he says, heaving a deep sigh and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Best be going.”

I reach for his forearm, gently halting his movement. “You could stay.” The words rush out of me—a bit breathless on account of my boss indirectly calling mealluring. “You should stay,” I try again, a bit calmer. When I release my grip, he looks down at the spot where I’d touched him. “Lennon’s really excited about this, and guests should be arriving any moment.” I gestureback toward the house and around the yard—anywhere, really. “The more the merrier. I also owe you for bringing her a gift. Did I say thank you?” As my nerves rise, so does the urge to keep talking. Wes doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Thank you, by the way.”

One corner of his mouth turns up. “You’re welcome.” I expect him to look around at all of the things I gestured to, but those honey eyes stay pinned to mine. “Let me give Grady a quick call to let him know I won’t be back this evening.”

When Wes retreats to his truck, tapping the screen on his phone, the storm door shrieks behind me, followed by Lennon’s smug expression as she folds her arms.

“He’s staying, isn’t he?” she says. I can hear the layers in her sentence. There are all kinds of implications wrapped up in that one statement. I can’t lie to her, but it doesn’tmeananything. Wes and I are…

We’re coworkers despite the flirtation.

“Yeah, he’s staying,” I answer, turning to see her satisfied expression.

“Good.” She nods in the direction of Wes’s truck. “Hot people are always welcome at the inn. Let me know if you guys need a room key.”

I roll my eyes. “If we get drunk tonight, we will need two.”

“Oh, sorry,” she starts, her eyes widening in mock innocence. Lennon taps the bottom of her chin, thinking. “Oh man,” she says, a devious smirk forming on her mouth. “Inn’s full, Cass. We just have the one room left, and guess what the best part is?” She waggles her eyebrows, and I can feel the flush of embarrassment working over my skin. “There’s only one bed.”

Lennon dodges my hand when I swat at her, cackling her way back into the house.

Cars line the entire driveway, filling the property with guests who traveled to look at Lennon’s claim to fame.

With her social media documenting her entire journey, she’s brought in a great crowd. The bonfire crackles at the back of the house, where guests litter the lawn, drinking and chatting as they enjoy s’mores and hot dogs provided.

Every detail of the inn welcomes guests in, littered with vintage decor and burnt reds and yellows. It’s autumn encapsulated so well that even in the middle of spring, I find myself wanting a crisp breeze, a walk beneath a canopy of fall foliage, and a hot cider.

Lennon has recently gotten into baking, specifically sourdough, which is very on brand for the coziness of her bed and breakfast. As expected, she’s used the opportunity to lay out various breads in as many places as possible. The table set up in the backyard displays at least three loaves.

With the sky streaked purple, I snap a photo of it from behind the big red barn at the other end of the yard. Wes sneaks up behind me as I pocket the device.

“You seem to do that a lot,” he comments, and I face him fully.