Page 39 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Do what?”

He nods toward my pocket, where I’ve put my phone away. “Take photos of the sky. I’ve seen you do it at work.”

I chuckle, running my pointer finger over the silver ring on my thumb. I don’t get to wear jewelry often, so I’ve taken this as an opportunity. “Oh,” I mutter, my cheeks flushing at the thought that he’d seen me doing that.

Wes leans in. “I have yet to see the bulk of those photos, by the way. Could be good for marketing.”

I smile up at him, still unable to believe that he’shere.

He had no problem helping out with last-minute arrangements in the house. After perfecting the charcuterie board on the kitchen island, something he seemed somewhatnervous about in terms of making it look perfect, Wes disappeared.

“Having fun?” he asks. The condensation rolls down the sides of the glass bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

“Yeah, you?” I ask. “You wandered off before guests even got here. I’m assuming that means you’re having a good time, and I have successfully invited you to the party of your dreams. Does this mean I get a raise?”

Wes chuckles. “I was talking to Griffin,” he answers. “Did you know those two were at the swing dance class I taught before the Country Christmas party you were at?”

“That cannot be true!” I say. “I remember seeing them at the party, but I can’t believe they took a class from you. The world simply cannot be that small!”

“Unfortunately, this isn’t the world,” he says. “It’s just Ohio.”

I tilt my head, my mouth flattening, though I can’t hide the humor in my gaze. “Har har, very funny.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he says, shifting toward me. His scent invades my lungs. He’s always smelled like fresh linen and cut grass, but tonight I can tell he must be wearing something. Hints of lemongrass, orange wood, and amber engulf my senses. When he leans in closer, his breath ghosts over my cheeks. “Secret is,” he starts. “Griffin and Ellis are terrible dancers. I worry about their wedding reception.”

Laughter bubbles out of me, pulling a brief chuckle from Wes as he takes a step away. I miss the closeness—miss the buzzing sensation across my skin.

A couple shoulders past where we stand in the grass, moving closer to the fire licking up at the cool, evening air.

Somehow, even with all of these people, as soon as I enter Wes’s gravitational pull, the rest of the world falls away. It’s nice to see him this way—somewhere other than the farm. In this moment, I like the thought that Wes is hanging out with me forme—the way he disappeared to chat with my friends—the way he fits into this area of my life.

I haven’t had a lot of relationships where I felt like someone fit easily into the life I had going for me. At first, August and his health concerns complicated friendships. It just felt like there was a lack of understanding. When you’re a kid, you can only say no to going to someone else’s house so many times before they stop asking.

We always had something else we had to do.

Into adulthood, it was more of the same. I tried so hard to find a space where I could truly feel like myself—a place where I didn’t feel like I was constantly pretending—especially in relationships.

It didn’t turn out that way with Chad. In fact, I spent thatentirerelationship morphing myself into exactly what he wanted me to be. And in the end, that still hadn’t been enough.

Not with Wes, though.

With him, I can just exist as myself. He doesn’t expect me tobeanything.

Which is probably a good thing because he’s my boss, and being honest with your boss is probably the correct move.

Professionally, that is.

I could certainly use more of this feeling ofrightness, and I think having Gus meet my friends would be a step in the right direction.

I don’t want it to feel like I’m hiding him away.

I tilt my head, looking up to where Wesley still holds my gaze. “You know how we went swimming at the pond the other day?” I ask, wondering if his memories are as vivid as mine.

He pulls the beer bottle to his lips, taking a swig. I can’t help the way my eyes flick to the column of his throat, watching the alcohol go all the way down. I can feel the heat of it spread downmy neck, over my chest, and into the pit of my stomach. It’s warm, and liquid, and totally unwarranted.

“Yeah,” he says, revealing nothing.

I fight to keep my focus. “I was thinking of having a housewarming party since I just moved into the house. That is, if you’re okay with it. Technically, itisyour property. Maybe a housewarming party doesn’t really fit.” My rambling does little to settle the burning in my cheeks. “ I want my brother to meet my friends, too. Do you think we could go swimming? No horses needed since not everyone rides, and I don’t want to overstep anything.”