Page 91 of A Bittersweet Summer

“I love you, too, Wesley.” It’s so soft, I almost miss it. “So much.”

Twenty-Six

Cassidy

Inever thought I’d find myself in a coffee shop in a floor-length, olive colored gown. The satin material looks way too upscale for the number of customers seated around the shop on Oaklawn.

And they’re definitely staring at me.

I opted for soft waves, half of my hair pinned away from my face, but loose strands have already worked themselves free. It is a farm wedding, anyway.

When it’s my turn to order, I smile awkwardly at the barista in an attempt to soften the fact that I’m ordering six drinks and a homemade poptart.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “My friend is getting married in a few hours, and I was sent on a mid-day coffee run.”

“That’s exciting.” The barista, a tattooed man with wire-framed glasses and a full beard, turns the tablet in my direction. Once I’m guilted into providing a twenty-five percent tip on a coffee order, I take the pop tart from his outstretched hand and stand off to the side.

Today has felt… normal.

I haven’t been struck by the wave of sadness that tormented me last week. I’ve spent time laughing and getting ready with Ellis, Lennon, and Ellis’s aunt, Beatrice.

It’s strange to know that Ellis and Griffin are about to get married, and Gus won’t be there.

I close my eyes, pressing my nails into my palms until crescents form. I shouldn’t have started thinking about this.

But if someday down the line, I’m standing beneath the willow for my own wedding, there will be a hole there—a missing piece.

I take a deep breath, gathering the two drink carriers when our order is finally finished, and drive in silence.

Autumn is threatening to take over the last days of summer. Just a few days, and we will be fully into September. A month of Gus missing.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, glancing in the passenger’s seat to find all the drinks are upright. These drinks will be delivered in pristine condition if it’s the last thing I do.

When I pull into the driveway on the farm, forty-five minutes left to go until the ceremony, I find Wesley standing at the bottom of the hill leading to the house.

His shoulders fill out the tux in a way that should be illegal. If the public catches wind of this, he will be in every magazine spread across the country. Hell, across the entire globe.

I step out of the car, rounding to the passenger side to gather up the six cups of coffee. Well, one cup of tea for Lennon since she asked for chai.

“You look beautiful.”

When I stand, Wes takes one of the carriers from me, honeyed eyes roving over my shoulders, the thin straps of the gown running to a scooped neckline with drapey fabric. “Thank you,” I say, the crinkles at his eyes rewarding me.

He steals a kiss before we walk together to the farmhouse.

Griffin and the guys took over my house at the end of the drive—not that it’ll be mine much longer. I’ve spent so much time at the farmhouse, it seemed time to offer up the other to Rosemary, for as long as she needs. Despite the conversation Wes rehashed for me a few weeks ago, she hasn’t said anything. Her plans to stick it out and remain at Miller Run haven’t changed—not yet, that is.

The screen door slams, and Ellis rushes into the kitchen. “Oh my god, you’re here!” she says before stopping in her tracks. “And Wes!” her voice cracks on his name—sounding strained. Her smile falls. Her flannel and shorts combo has me giggling. Clearly, she isn’t ready.

“I’m leaving,” Wes says, setting the drinks on the counter. “Just wanted to provide some extra hands for the coffee.”

“Thank you.” Ellis spins Wes around, ushering him out the door. I laugh, watching him shrug and disappear into the yard.

“Thank God, you’re here,” Ellis says, finding her coffee order and taking a long drag. “Lennon went off to check the setup, getNoah and Griffin, and run around like a full wedding planner, but I’m not even in my dress yet. Aunt B is helping Lennon, too, so it’s you and me. Me and you.” She laughs nervously. “I’m not really sure. Point is, I need help.”

I salute her. “You got it, Boss. This is my place of employment after all.”

We find our way to Roe’s old room. The guest room has a sloped ceiling near the old metal-framed bed. A quilt lies over the mattress, one rustic dresser in the corner with a few of her belongings. We hid the boxes at my house a few days ago, but it didn’t seem like she had very many possessions to begin with.