Page 22 of A Bittersweet Summer

I move from the door, smiling as I pinch his cheeks. “Awe!” I say, overemphasizing the word. “Gus, Gus.”

He swats me and my baby talk away with pink cheeks. Trying, and failing, not to smile. “Stop it.”

Gus’s phone rings, and he snatches it out of his pocket faster than I’ve seen him move in my life.

My eyes widen. “Who is it?” I ask, moving closer to look at the name.

He pulls the phone higher, but fails to keep my eyes off the woman’s name on his screen. “Megan!” I say, reaching for the device. “It’s a girl! Gus! You didn’t need my crocheted vines all along.”

“Shut up,” he says, shooing me to the door. “Now get out of here! You’re no longer welcome.”

I giggle when I stumble out into the breezeway, turning around to hold the door open as best I can. Gus is adamant about getting me out. “Ew, Gus!” I say between a whisper and a shout. “Are you about to have phone sex?”

He pushes harder. “Go. Away.”

The door slams in my face, and my nose wrinkles in disgust.

“Gross,” I whisper, walking on wobbling and sore legs all the way back to my car.

Eight

Wes

Styrofoam litters the office as Rory plays with a stray piece, sending it scratching across the concrete floor.

“Quit that,” I mutter, clutching the coffee pot’s directions in one hand as I stoop to snatch the piece of foam irritating my senses.

I don’t usually get started this early, but I got it in my head that Rosemary is right—a rarity—and I went ahead and purchased a fancy single-serve coffee pot for the staff.

True to her word, Cassidy has stuck out working for the past three weeks. High turnover is common in this industry. Especially, considering farm owners hire the shit out of young high schoolers. In addition to that, they prey upon the wide-eyed lesson pupils, willing to lend a hand for the rare chance they get an extra ride out of it.

I try to be generous with riding time for those who help.

With the press of a button, the coffee pot comes to life with a spritely song.

“Jesus,” I mutter, judging the theatrics of the kitchen gadget. Grabbing one of the new travel mugs off the counter, I glance at the Miller Run Farms logo plastered to the side. The horse jumping over the center of a horseshoe is a common image. In fact, I think it’s a universal logo, but I didn’t have the heart to redesign what my parents did.

It could be a feeble attempt at preserving one of the few things Jane and Andy Miller agreed on growing up.

The door opens to Grady tracking dirt onto the floor to mix with the styrofoam. The kid’s muddy blond strands have lightened in the sun over the past few weeks. A dimple pops on one cheek as the lanky college student smiles at the counter.

Syrups and individual creamer cups line the butcher block countertop on the opposite wall from the lone table. I decided on the individual cups of creamer because they didn’t need refrigeration, and it’s already bad enough that we are storing our lunches in the fridge next to syringes of hormones for the girls at the breeding barn.

“Shit!” Grady says, a bit too enthused. “That’s new.”

“Language,” I growl in warning, throwing the mug under the pot, plucking a cup off the counter, and pressing the button. Another chime rings through the office, and Grady laughs.

“Is this for us? I’ll admit, these seem like five-star accommodations compared to what you had up there before.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “The old mail and disorganized farm maps, that is.”

“Don’t get too excited,” I warn. “It was expensive, so use it sparingly.”

I pull the phone out of my back pocket, glancing at the time. We have a trainer scheduled to come in for one of the boarding clients at 8:30, so I need to get the hell out of this office and let the herd in. Wednesdays are typically busy since we have lessons early. I’m not the only one to teach, but I’ve taken on a pony lesson with a few new kids, and we have a horse due any day now down at the breeding barn.

Tension weaves its way through the muscles in my shoulders. The tasks are still never-ending, and I’d give anything to have a moment to just enjoy this place, one not tainted by a hefty to-do list.

The door swings open again, and Rory makes a break for freedom, only to be met by a chipper Cassidy.

She scoops the cat up and pets her behind one of her ears, eliciting a soft purring noise.