Page 42 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Cass,” I answer. “Chandler’s ex.”

Her face falls as Chad shifts uncomfortably, and something about that brings me a slight beam of happiness. “Since we’re making introductions,” Chad barrels on, extending a hand to Wes. “Chandler Hayes. But you can call me Chad.”

Wes takes one look at the hand stretched out to him and doesn’t move to take it. “Wesley Miller,” he answers.

“Of Miller Run Farm?” Chad snatches his hand back, swiping it across the front of his shirt as if he were straightening it. Surprising, considering his shirt looks just as botoxed as his face in this lighting. “My buddies buy race horses from you guys on occasion. Quite a humble operation you have going. Good horses, though. What brings you to this event in particular? A bed and breakfast seems out of your wheelhouse.”

The subtle insults grate on me. Maybe Wes is in need of the buffer.

“I—”

I cut him off. “He’s here with me!” I smile up at my boss, noting the way his jaw ticks as he holds back a smirk. My hand wraps around his bicep, and this time I take a second to relish in the warmth of it. It sends a jolt all the way down my arm. “Wanted to support his fiancé’s friend, I suppose.”

Chad looks taken aback, and I hate to admit how satisfying it is. “Fiancé?” he questions, surprise morphing with bridled rage. I don’t miss the way he looks for a ring. Instead of hiding it, I hold my hand up, acknowledging the way he looked instead of skirting past it.

“Farm life,” I supply. “Can’t let that giant rock go missing. He spent way too much money on it, didn’t you, Cowboy?”

Wes’s grin is devious. “All worth it,” he answers matter-of-factly. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Hayes,” Wes turns to Jera. “Be careful with this one. I hear he gets passed around more than a bucket of popcorn at the theater.”

And with that, Wes ushers me away as harsh whispers are exchanged behind us.

As we walk back toward the house, Wes leans in close, his whisper brushing the shell of my ear. “Fiancé was a bit of a jump.”

My stomach sinks, shame knocking at the door of my emotions. “Too far?” I say.

Wesley chuckles. “I think it was a nice touch.” My anxiety leaves me in a woosh. “Cowboy, though?” He winces, but I can see the humor he’s trying to hide.

“Oh, shush,” I say, swatting at his chest.

“What do you say we find wherever the hell your friends went?” He starts, still leaning so close I can feel his breath on my skin. “Clearly, they lost the plot.”

“I don’t know,” I muse. “I think we had it pretty well handled.”

As we near the back door at the top of the porch, Wes’s pinky brushes mine. I accept it, weaving my fingers through his and not caring if Chad can see it or not.

Twelve

Wes

Let it be known that nothing that has happened since I showed up at a party I wasn’t invited to has been intentional.

That feels like pertinent information as Cassidy’s fingers fit their way between mine. I carefully assess the firmness of mygrip. Hands like hers, soft despite the work she’s been doing, shouldn’t be crushed in the grip of a farmer. Nor should my grip be loose enough to let her go.

I don’t want to let her go.

But as we walk into the kitchen to find a flurry of guests surrounding Lennon’s smiling face as she leans against the island, I can feel the uncertainty buzzing through Cassidy like a current. I only offered in an attempt to support her. I know what it feels like running in circles with your ex—being forced to confront the differing levels of success.

Scarlett has made a name for herself in the world of horses. She’s a reputable trainer. That’s what makes clients bringing up her name so difficult. I know I should be the bigger person, should recommend her where it’s appropriate, but I haven’t yet had the courage to do it. Especially because trainers are hired in situations where I cannot help.

I’m limited by time and resources. I know horses, but I’m not afraid to admit that Scarlett knows them better.

As soon as I saw Cass’s face when that man walked outside without a wrinkle on his clothes save for those ironed intentionally at the seams, my stomach twisted.

I’ve felt inferior before, and I didn’t want Cass to feel that way because ofthatguy.

When I look around the kitchen, I notice my work with the charcuterie board has since been decimated, and I start to question why I spent so much time painstakingly folding salami only for it to be ruined mere moments later.

When I got to the house, I had a plan. That plan needed work, but it was a plan nonetheless. My goal had been to deliver the gift Cass found so important and abandon the scene. An added bonus was glimpsing Cassidy in her natural habitat. At the farm, I spend a lot of time watching her in leggings and tank tops,shoveling shit with her hair wildly breaking free from whatever style she chose to hold it back with.