11. Eleven
Eleven
Cassidy
Lennon has never been soft—at least not her exterior. But as she demands to see Ellis’s ring for what seems to be the twentieth time, I catch a small glimmer of the softness beneath her hard exterior.
She’s a romantic at heart.
Even in the midst of celebrating her own success, she somehow manages to turn the focus back to Ellis and her engagement.
We’ve been chipping away at planning the bridal shower, and I’ll be honest, I took the good old Google for a spin trying to figure out exactly what my duties are so I can plan accordingly.
Between my time at the farm, moving into a new house, and denying my attraction to my boss, I’ve been a bit distracted.
I still had time to help set out snacks on the kitchen island of the bed and breakfast, put chairs around the fire pit outside, hang string lights on the patio, and make it to the porch for one last breather before this place fills with people.
“Old news,” Ellis groans, forcing Lennon to hold out her hand.
“I don’t care. Show me again.”
Noah steps up behind Lennon, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Don’t go swimming with that thing,” he warns, nodding toward Ellis’s ring.
Ellis, humble as she is, chuckles before taking a sip of her lemonade. “It’s not that crazy.”
The late afternoon sun makes its slow descent in the sky beyond Lennon’s front yard.
Trees surround the old house, stretching high and cocooning the place in privacy.
Between the long gravel driveway, the thrifted details decorating every corner, and the painted porch with a railing Noah fixed months ago, the entire place exudes a welcoming coziness.
I nudge Ellis with my elbow. “Don’t lie to us,” I scold, but the comment has no real bite to it.
Giving in, Ellis finally admits what we all have known.“Okay, it’s fucking huge.”
My eyes wander back out to the long, open driveway, anxiously awaiting the sound of gravel being kicked up at the arrival of guests.
I understand why Lennon did it—the appeal of buying a house with a little bit of land surrounding it.
Sometimes—like a fish in a fishbowl—we outgrow the glass that makes up our cage. Sometimes all we need is an entire pond, and it really is just that simple.
It’s how I’ve felt about the farm lately. The wide open spaces and the room to breathe. It has made my problems seem so much smaller.
I haven’t been swayed by what would benefit others. Instead, I’ve been enjoying my time out with the horses.
“Just don’t get caught fucking in the barn.
” Lennon’s voice calls up the memory of Wes’s hand skimming down my hip—my thigh.
An image of him doing that very thing against the far wall of the office flashes through my mind.
Or maybe against the door of an empty stall. Hell, the hayloft would work too.
My cheeks heat at the thought, and I try to tamp it down.
While I know she’s making a joke about what she and Noah got caught doing last autumn, I can’t help but think of how utterly ridiculous I’d been that day by the pond.
There is no world in which I can act on my attraction to Wesley Miller. His sudden coolness before I departed the farmhouse that day brought up so many memories of Chad. And beyond that, Wes had been very clear about my role on the farm immediately after.
Emphasizing that we should get back to work.
The attraction is there, though. Even as I watched him toss hay bales off his truck yesterday. I’d been thoroughly distracted, the hose in my hand overflowing the water trough in the field behind the barn.
“Speaking of barns,” Lennon says. “How’s the job?”
I clear my throat, willing myself to act appropriately—professionally. My friends have a way of seeing through me, so I try to put on my best performance. “It’s good!” Not a lie.
A cool breeze whips across the porch, and I readjust the sunglasses on my head to hold my hair back better. “I can actually carry the water buckets now without wanting to die.”
Lennon chuckles as Ellis chimes in. “I think you should arm wrestle Griffin,” she jokes. “Assert your dominance just in case he ever steps out of line.”
A soft laugh releases from my lips. “That seems like Lennon’s job.”
As awaited, the rumbling of a truck over gravel draws my attention back to the driveway. My stomach flutters at the sight of a familiar, old pickup headed for the house. It’s the same pickup truck I watched Wes throw those hay bales from.
I’m starting to wonder if my ovulation thoughts summoned him or if this is the universe's idea of a sick joke. If Lennon and Ellis can see through my lies, they’ll certainly be able to see my attraction to my boss.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, they can knock some sense into me.
While I thought the attraction was mutual, I’m not so sure now.
A good dose of very clear rejection would serve me well.
When Wes jumps out of the truck with his cowboy hat firmly placed atop his head, the blood drains from my face.
He’s wearing mud-spattered Levi’s—the same jeans he had on before I left hours ago. They hug his thighs in a way that has to count as a sin as he marches his strong body toward what appears to be me.
My mind fills with a million questions, the biggest being, Why the hell is he here?
“Um,” Ellis starts as we all stare.
Wes stomps his way to the porch, his boots kicking up rocks as he goes, as I list every possible reason Wesley Miller might show up at my friend’s grand opening for her new business.
I run through the checklist of chores I did earlier, panicking that I missed something. Or maybe I left a gate open, and one of the horses got out. Potentially the entire herd? Somehow, I feel like he’d be too busy with that problem to drive all the way here.
There are a large number of things I could have done wrong that would have led him to this particular front porch, I suppose.
“Who is that?” Ellis finally asks.
“Well,” I say, my voice sounding small despite my best efforts. I had to have done something wrong—something major. “So,” I continue, trying so hard to explain the unexplainable. “That’s actually my boss.”
Wes stops, looking up until his eyes meet mine, something sparking in his mind before he turns abruptly on his heel. He grabs a grocery bag out of his truck, closing the door before walking back towards us in a way that feels like slow motion.
My heart picks up at his approach—like I’m back in high school watching Mr. Darcy emerge from the mist in the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice.
“Great,” Lennon says, a devious smirk on her lips. Noah looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I did invite the public to this event. Maybe he saw it on Facebook?”
“I don’t think he saw it on Facebook,” I say, watching the bag clutched in his fist. “I had posted about it before, though. It wouldn’t be the first time he looked at my social media.”
My stomach swoops at the memory—seeing his name pop up in my notifications. I still haven’t gotten a clear answer as to what he was doing that far back on my profile. Double-checking I wasn’t a criminal, perhaps.
“Ah,” Ellis says, as if it all makes sense.
Wes takes the steps two at a time, ascending to the top of the porch with ease. Suddenly, he’s right there, standing in front of us and tipping his hat in greeting with a scowl on his face—so much like the Wesley I met in the coffee shop.
“Cassidy,” he says, my name low and smooth as it rolls off his tongue. That is certainly not like the Wesley I met in the coffee shop.
He looks to each of my friends one at a time, tipping his hat again. “Cassidy’s friends,” he adds.
Without another word, Wes seems to remember the bag in his hand and pushes it in my direction.
The brush of his finger across mine sends a jolt up my forearm.
It spreads out like a warm syrup until I can feel it all the way up to my shoulder, leaking into my chest and sliding down to the tips of my toes.
“Thanks,” I say, waiting for the moment he is going to scold me for messing something up. It has to be why he’s here.
“Seemed pretty important to you this morning,” he says. “Said you didn’t want to forget them.”
I inhale, opening the bag to find my gift for Lennon. “Oh my God,” I start. “I can’t believe I completely forgot this!”
There, in the bag, is Lennon’s gift I made a point to talk about.
At the end of the day, I tend to be anxious to get home and shower.
Today, I knew I’d also be in a rush to get to the bed and breakfast. Sometimes, mentioning the thing I don’t want to forget is enough to keep it at the forefront of my mind.
Apparently, that tactic didn’t work today.
I look up into his hazel eyes, watching the corner of his mouth twitch in satisfaction. No smile, though. That seems to be reserved for—well, I’m not sure what. I haven’t quite unlocked the specific reasons Wesley Miller smiles. It’s worth studying, though.
I turn to Lennon, brightness filling me despite the setting sun.
I can’t believe he drove all this way just to deliver this.
“So,” I start, dragging out the last letter.
“I know the bed and breakfast is pretty much done, but I thought I could add a little handmade touch to it! A decoration, if you will. You absolutely do not need to like these, but I figured I’d give it a go. ”
I hand the bag over, and Lennon snatches it up as Griffin whispers something into Ellis’s ear before they disappear into the house. If guests are about to arrive, I’m sure they’re just going to check on last-minute details.
“You made these?” Lennon says, pulling one out of the bag.
“Yes,” I answer. “Unless you don’t like them!” I quickly add. “In that case, they were made by Wes’s grandmother, and I found them when I moved into the house.”
A barely perceptible chuckle rumbles from Wes’s spot next to me, and I grin in satisfaction.
Lennon looks from me to Wes. “Your boss’s grandmother?”
“Miller Run is a tight-knit community,” Wes supplies, his expression still serious. “Family heirlooms are a gift we bestow upon each member of our staff.”