Page 49 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Did you ever feel like you had to explain that your mom was sick?” I ask and instantly regret it. “I shouldn’t have asked that,” I say, shaking my head. “I just meant like, when she was alive, and you were around other people—” I wince, wondering why I can’t seem to stop shoving my foot in my mouth.

“No, no!” Ellis starts, no judgment in her voice. A piece of gravel kicks up as we walk. “I think I know what you’re saying, and the answer is yes. In the end, my mom wassothin. Part of me felt like I had to warn people. Their questions were so loud whether they asked them or not. I sort of felt like I had to get ahead of it.”

I nod, lost in thought.

Something about hearing this from Ellis helps assuage some of my guilt. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.

Ellis touches my arm. “Why do you ask?”

I watch Gus plant a kiss on Megan’s temple, lost in their own world as Lennon prattles on about something to do with the Inn. Griffin and Noah throw out some comments, and Gus calls right back to them. As I watch him—complete and whole—I wonder why there has always been a part of me that saw my little brother as broken.

It’s the worst kind of realization.

“It’s not my place to tell,” I offer, one corner of my mouth turning up halfheartedly. “But let’s just say I’ve felt those exact things before.”

When we find our way to the barn, Wes is there to greet us. His old ballcap is turned backward, infamous jeans hug every muscle in his legs. The sweatshirt he wears is a change considering the cooler weather. So far, I think I’ve only seen him in t-shirts.

“I thought you said to meet at the trail head?” I toss in his direction.

Wes lifts a shoulder, a laugh line forming on his painfully handsome face. “You were late,” he offers.

I pull the phone from my pocket and check the time. “By one minute!”

“Punctuality is important here at Miller Run Farms,” he says. “I’ll have to deduct that minute from your pay, Miss Summers.”

“I wasn’t getting paid for this anyway!” I argue, stepping closer. When I’m about a yard from Wes, I catch a glimpse of the glittering in his eyes—the mirth that appears in the little dance we’re doing with our words. We’ve found ourselves right back at the bonfire—leaving our work dynamic in the dust. “It’s too bad for you, I’m not on the clock tonight.”

“That is too bad,” he says, his gaze burning into me.

I clear my throat, my stomach doing a strange flutter that sends warmth spreading through my limbs. I’m sure Wes can see it.

“Well,” he starts, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back on the heel of his steel-toed boots. “I hope you all are ready for a good time.”

We all look around, following Wes’s lead until we turn the corner at the end of the barn to see four atv’s lined up with two helmets each waiting.

“I had to borrow a few things,” Wesley confesses. “The farm only owned two of these, but Grady and Walton were kind enough to donate some fun equipment for a muddy ride through the trails.”

“Oh, sick!” Noah says, grabbing a helmet off the closest four-wheeler and putting it on. “How do I look?” he asks Lennon, and her lips flatten into a thin line.

“Ridiculous,” she says.

“Exactly your type,” he tosses out, placing the other helmet on her head.

I chuckle, watching Griffin gently pull a helmet off the seat of another four-wheeler for Ellis.

“I guess I’m riding with Gus?” I say without thinking. I find it was an incorrect assumption when I see my brother tilt his head to the side and give me a pointed look.

“Yeah, no,” he says, grabbing Megan’s hand and leading her to the third four-wheeler.

When Wes sidles up next to me, I can feel the warmth of his presence everywhere—burning hot like the flame of a wildfire. “Looks like you’re with me.”

He holds a helmet out to me, yellow with one strip of purple across the side. I don’t say anything as I take it, the air heavy with whatever weird tension has existed between us since Lennon’s party. My body buzzes with excitement when I slide the helmet over my head, struggling with the strap at the bottom.

“Here,” Wes says, stepping closer. His fingers brush the bottom of my chin as he fastens the strap. With the visor up, I get a clear picture of his hazel eyes—the freckle on the left side of his jaw. When he presses his teeth together, I notice the way his jaw ticks. “Sorry you’re stuck riding with me,” he says. “If it helps, I’m a great driver—very capable, and it’s not like we haven’t been this close before.”

My traitorous thoughts take me back to the way he dragged his lips up the side of my neck, the feel of his hand squeezing my hip gently. I want more of it—more of him unguarded and unfiltered.

“I don’t mind riding with you,” I say, “Though I’m not sure everyone knows how to drive these.”