Page 40 of A Bittersweet Summer

His brow furrows. “When are you planning on having this?”

“Next week.”

Wes chews on the words—thinking. I watch as he looks toward the bonfire. With the setting sun, the firelight starts to reflect orange over his features—dancing shadows I long to trace. “Bad news is it’s supposed to be colder,” he says, and I deflate.

Wes steps closer, his eyes catching mine and holding. “I think I have an idea for your party,” he offers, his tone softer.

“You’d be invited,” I add. “In case you were wondering. I wouldn’t want you to feel left out since it’s your house after all.”

When he chuckles, the sound vibrates over my skin—the incessant buzzing returning with a vengeance. “You don’t have to invite me to come up with ideas of what to do on a farm.”

I shake my head, somewhat embarrassed. “Oh! That’s not—” My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt. “I just wanted to include you, but not in a pity kind of way. I like you.” I clear my throat. “I like hanging out with you, and I thought your presence would be a good addition to the group.” My cheeks flame even more. “A big ‘ol group of friends, that is.”

When he leans forward, I catch another whiff of his cologne. “A big ‘ol group of friends?” he questions with one brow raised.

“Mhmm.”

The next swig of beer he takes short-circuits my brain. When his lips leave the bottle, I get the sense that the glass is mourning the loss of contact. “Friends,” he states, tasting the words. “I’m technically your employer.”

My stomach sinks, the same feelings I’d gotten after our swim rushing back. It isn’t until I catch the glint in his eye, the way his lips tip up, that I feel a bit of relief.

My mouth opens to respond, but Ellis, walking up to us, catches me off guard. There’s an urgency to her pace and expression—one that demands attention.

“Cass,” she says, her hand firmly gripping my bicep as if she’s trying to hold me in place. “Chad is here.”

“Chad?” I question, my mind going empty. When it finally registers, a wave of nausea crashes over me. Cue the panic. “Wait, Chad?” I say, a bit more rushed.

Ellis is quick to placate. “Noah can ask him to leave. I guess he came because he heard a new business was opening up, and he has all of these interests as an investor or something. I don’t really know. Griffin stopped him because he recognized us from the time we crashed that wedding.”

When I’d first met Ellis and Griffin, they’d just met each other. Pretending to be married at a wedding Chad invited me to because he had an interest in working with the groom on some business venture.

My mind spins a million miles a second as I try to figure out why Chad is haunting me like a ghost of bad dates’ past.

Ellis grips either side of my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. Despite how close she is, her features still feel far away—same as her voice. “We’ll take care of it,” she assures me before turning to jog back up the steps at the back porch.

Cool night air wraps around me, and I fold my arms over my chest to fight off the ice in my veins. I can handle this, certainly. I’m a grown adult capable of dealing with a bad ex.

“You okay?” Wes asks, concern etched into his features.

I straighten my spine, emboldened and ready to take on whatever life throws at me. “Perfect!” I answer, my tone a bit strained. While I’ve worked to get over a lot of the hurt that entire relationship had caused me, I’m not sure I’m ready to be confronted with the man again.

I don’t want to be reminded of who I used to be—not when I’m working so hard to heal.

As if summoned by an evil curse—the same one I’m certain has been placed on me—Chad bursts through the back door, my friends nowhere to be found amidst the gathering of guests.

He looks larger than life with his blond hair styled to perfection. Neat, gray trousers hug both of his legs while the starched button-up wraps around his chest and torso. There’s not a singular wrinkle on his outfit or his face.

He must have given up and finally gotten the Botox his friends were recommending.

Disgust crowds out my nerves as he descends the steps, the crowd parting for him as if they all know the size of his bank account and bow down to the religion that is crypto.

Wesley’s presence grounds me, and I lean in a little—pulled toward him like a flower toward the sun.

“Do we know him?” he asks, and when I look up, his mouth forms a severe line.

I force a smile to my lips in an effort to contrast his now grumpy mood. It’s the Wesley I met at the coffee shop all over again—not the casual version of him leaning against a stall door and laughing at my rambling.

It seems my ex-boyfriend has the ability to ruin literally anything and everything.