Page 67 of A Bittersweet Summer

His hazel eyes look like honey. “Tell me what she said,” he whispers. “Or not. You can talk about whatever you want, here. I just don’t want to live in a reality where you’re no longer talking.”

I breathe out a watery laugh. “I thought I’d annoy you with that by now.”

“Did you not listen to what I said yesterday?” Wes tilts his head to the side. “Let me be clear, Cassidy Summers. I’m not in the habit of kissing my employees back behind the trails. I don’t know if you know this, but I have negotiated on a lot of my previous rules over the last few days.”

“Rules like what?” I ask.

“Not kissing employees, for one.” I chuckle. “My fears of being like my parents and ending up with someone who also works on this farm. The whole thing is kind of engrossing; it can be hard to tell if you’re truly compatible.”

My heart pounds in my chest, the steady beat of a kick drum in my ears. “What changed your mind on that second one?”

Wes shrugs. “I’m not them. I also have a strict and very specific rule against letting my employees sit on my lap while I drive the tractor.”

My stomach flips, and he leans in, my body heating at his nearness. He smells of salt and grass. Our breath mingles for a moment, breath for breath.

When he hovers right there, his lips close to mine, he whispers. “Tell me you still want this.”

I nod, melting into him when his lips brush mine. It’s slow and sweet like the honey in his gaze. There’s no heat, only a steady hand on the side of my face, a gentle stroke of his thumb across my cheek, and the feeling that I could stay like this for hours—possibly for the rest of my life.

He pulls back, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Let me get our soup,” he says. “We can take it to the sunroom, and I want you to tell me about your mom.”

There’s a pause, one that allows his words to crawl beneath my skin, moving deeper until they’re written on my very bones. It’s something a sunflower tattoo could never cover.

“And Cass?”

“What?’

“I’d like to take you on a date sometime. If you’d allow it.”

I reach behind me, dragging the glass pan over the counter until I hold my brownies between us. “On one condition,” I say. “You tell me this is the best dessert you’ve ever had. If only because I made them as an excuse to see you.”

He chuckles. “Deal.”

Eighteen

Wes

“I’ll be out this afternoon.” I lift the heavy metal on my side as Walton gets the other. Normally, I’d build this round pen myself, but Walton always insists on helping. I don’t mind.

“Where you off to?” he asks, backing up slowly before we swing the thing into place. I use the pegs to latch it to the fence next to it.

“I’m taking Cass out to the lake.”

Walton dusts his hands off on the faded blue jeans he’s worn since my infancy, I’m sure of it. “Wow,” he says, his tone mocking. “If I kiss you the way that girl did, will I get a trip to the lake too?”

His toothy grin makes me laugh. “No, Walton.”

“Good,” he mutters. “Don’t want to kiss you all that much, Kid.” Walton pats my back, his hand siding on a bit too firm. “I like that girl. She’s a good fit for you. I can’t say the same for the other choices you made, but sometimes it takes us a while to get things right.”Right.He squeezes my shoulder, and I fight the urge to wince. For an old man, he still has an iron grip—even when he’s taking the form of a caring father.

It’s something Walton has done since my parents' divorce. He’s cared for the farm for longer than I can remember, and I suppose Roe and I were simply a part of the farm that needed care.

Walton has always stepped up.

“Your sister’s been taking bets on how long it would take to catch you two fondling each other.”

I frown—vigorously. “She has not.”

He waves me off. “Stop acting like that. It was all in good fun. Besides, was she wrong?”