Page 79 of A Bittersweet Summer

Lennon rolls her eyes. “Better yet, let’s keep it on. They can’t nab it if it’s glued to your body, Ellis.”

We spend the rest of the day together, shopping until we find ourselves back at Lennon’s house for a movie. By the time we pull up to my house, and I hop out of the car, it’s decently late.

I dig in my purse, finding my keys and jamming the house key into the lock just in time to see a figure walking down the length of the driveway.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I twist the key harder.

“It’s just me,” Wes calls.

I breathe a sigh of relief, lifting my hand to my slowing heartbeat. “You scared me,” I admit.

Another figure trots behind him, slim and content to follow in Wes’s footsteps. Wes looks back at her and scoops the cat up.“Rory wanted to come with me. Roe’s home, so I wondered if you wanted some company.”

Wes finally reaches the porch steps, smiling up at me the way he did the day I brought him brownies. “You’re always welcome here,” I say. “However, you’ll need to pick one of the three romcoms I was hellbent on watching this evening in order to join me on the couch. Lennon picked some post-apocalyptic movie I didn’t have much interest in.”

Wes takes one long step toward me, wrapping a large hand around my waist. He smells like his cologne and soap—like he’d been planning to walk down here all day. “You drive a hard bargain,” he says. “I’ll take your deal and offer to watch all three in a rapid movie marathon.”

“Alright, Cowboy. You got yourself a deal.”

Twenty-Two

Cassidy

August brings with it the slowness of summer. It is the pause before a winter-long sleep, the final breath before the cycle starts anew.

And I’ve never been more connected to the seasons than working at Miller Run farm—never been more connected with the Earth, my life, and the people around me.

It feels like things have fallen into place—like I can finally see a clear image of what I want my life to look like—what I truly want out of it.

Looking out at the pasture, I take one of those deep breaths of August. It’s the heavy kind—filled with hot temperatures, and the cry for rain. The grass has slowly stripped the vibrant green of summer away—the horses move more slowly. All is as it should be.

“Hi, Rory.” I hop off the fence, scooping up the cat. She purrs and snuggles into my neck as I mosey up to the house. Grady, Walton, and Alex, the new hire, work on wrapping up the stalls in the barn. We have four pregnant mares down at the breeding barn, and Roe sits on the porch steps strumming a guitar.

With the extra hands around, things feel more leisurely. We all work hard, don’t get me wrong, but there’s more time to enjoy the animals and each other.

Wes talked about hiring one more hand so that things won’t feel so overwhelming when Rosemary inevitably finds something else. For now, though, that extra employee gives more time for me and Wes to spend time together. I’ve wedged myself comfortably in this world of his, and he’s done the same for mine.

I’ve gotten used to his favorite, chipped mug, and the scent of coffee early in the mornings. In the quiet evenings with pink and purple bleeding over the summer sky, Wes has taken me down to the willow tree by the pond where we sit and talk about life. I’m not the only one filling the silence these days.

When the heat of August becomes too much, we amble back to the house, losing ourselves in each other before finishing the night with companionable silence. I’ve worked on Gus’s blanket,though it’s still moving slowly. Wes, on the other hand, spends time reading—pulling out the reading glasses I love so much.

I scratch Rory under the chin. “Yes,” I coo. “You can absolutely stay at my house tonight. No more living in the office, you cute thing. I’ve adopted you now.”

“You know Wes is allergic to cats, right?” Roe asks as I stand near the porch, letting Rory down when she pushes away. She weaves herself between Roe's legs.

I chuckle. “Might have figured that out last month when he brought her down to my house and spent the whole night sneezing.”

Roe rolls her eyes. “He needs to stop playing the tough guy and take an allergy pill.”

Laughing, I skirt around her and enter the back door to the kitchen, grabbing my wrap out of Wes’s fridge before returning to the porch with Roe.

She plucks at the guitar, her soft voice ringing as she sings an original. I’ve gotten used to her playing, and each time I hear it, my chest aches with the knowledge of all she’s given up. She seems fine—better than fine, most days—but I see in Roe that same hollow space that filled me when I worked at the bar.

This decision isn’t hers, and while she’s handling herself well, I can see the restlessness. It’s there in the way she constantly buzzes with energy. When she’s working the farm, she can’t stop moving—can’t stop pushing toward the end of the day. She’s barreling through life to get to the end.

Not when she plays, though. It’s there that Rosemary slows—she exists in a way that seems so wholly her.

It seems you can fill your life with as many good things as possible—a boyfriend who looks good on paper, a stable job, and a solid group of friends, but if your soul is crying out forsomething, you’ll never feel settled.