11. Eleven #2
There’s a pause, a brief moment before I realize that he’s joking.
Lennon and Noah seem to realize it too, as we all break into laughter. “I’m going to hang these up right now,” Lennon says, turning toward the door. “Guests will be here soon, so I'd better be quick.” When she gets to the screen door, she calls for Noah over her shoulder. “Come help me hang these.”
Noah raises his brows as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. “Duty calls,” he tosses out before leaving me alone with my boss on the porch.
“Friendly,” Wes says as he lifts his hat off his head. One bicep flexes as he smooths down his golden brown hair before replacing the hat. My stomach does a weird flip, but I choose to ignore it.
“No, no,” I offer. “That’s just Lennon. That means she likes them if she’s already hanging them up. I’m so glad. I was really worried about the entire thing.” I tilt my head to the side, offering an inquisitive look. “By the way,” I start. “Why are you here?”
Wes looks away, eyes darting from the front door to the porch railing and over to his truck. “I told you,” he grunts. “You forgot your gift. Wanted to make sure you had it.”
“Okay,” I offer, and his eyes flick to mine. “And how did you find the address?”
When his ears turn pink at the ends, it does something gooey to my insides. Is he… embarrassed? “Your social media made it pretty easy since you posted about the grand opening. Told me so yourself.”
Another swoop and dip from my stomach as I realize he was on my page again—which is, objectively, stupid, considering that’s the whole purpose of the internet.
Sharing information is kind of the point.
“On my social media again, I take it?” I lean in a bit closer.
“What is it that’s so alluring about my page? ”
Wes’s eyes meet mine, honey-colored and warm like the slowly sinking sun, as if the hazel in his eyes recognizes the fast-approaching golden hour and longs to replicate it.
“You,” he answers, looking away just as fast as the word tumbled from his lips.
I suck in a breath, aware of how closely we are standing. I’m right back at the pond, my body lighting up every nerve ending one by one, zeroing in on the exact distance from my skin to his.
You.
I swallow, realizing how forward that one word was—how clear.
“Well,” he says, heaving a deep sigh and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Best be going.”
I reach for his forearm, gently halting his movement.
“You could stay.” The words rush out of me—a bit breathless on account of my boss indirectly calling me alluring.
“You should stay,” I try again, a bit calmer.
When I release my grip, he looks down at the spot where I’d touched him.
“Lennon’s really excited about this, and guests should be arriving any moment.
” I gesture back toward the house and around the yard—anywhere, really.
“The more the merrier. I also owe you for bringing her a gift. Did I say thank you?” As my nerves rise, so does the urge to keep talking.
Wes doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Thank you, by the way.”
One corner of his mouth turns up. “You’re welcome.” I expect him to look around at all of the things I gestured to, but those honey eyes stay pinned to mine. “Let me give Grady a quick call to let him know I won’t be back this evening.”
When Wes retreats to his truck, tapping the screen on his phone, the storm door shrieks behind me, followed by Lennon’s smug expression as she folds her arms.
“He’s staying, isn’t he?” she says. I can hear the layers in her sentence. There are all kinds of implications wrapped up in that one statement. I can’t lie to her, but it doesn’t mean anything. Wes and I are…
We’re coworkers despite the flirtation.
“Yeah, he’s staying,” I answer, turning to see her satisfied expression.
“Good.” She nods in the direction of Wes’s truck. “Hot people are always welcome at the inn. Let me know if you guys need a room key.”
I roll my eyes. “If we get drunk tonight, we will need two.”
“Oh, sorry,” she starts, her eyes widening in mock innocence.
Lennon taps the bottom of her chin, thinking.
“Oh man,” she says, a devious smirk forming on her mouth.
“Inn’s full, Cass. We just have the one room left, and guess what the best part is?
” She waggles her eyebrows, and I can feel the flush of embarrassment working over my skin. “There’s only one bed.”
Lennon dodges my hand when I swat at her, cackling her way back into the house.
Cars line the entire driveway, filling the property with guests who traveled to look at Lennon’s claim to fame.
With her social media documenting her entire journey, she’s brought in a great crowd. The bonfire crackles at the back of the house, where guests litter the lawn, drinking and chatting as they enjoy s’mores and hot dogs provided.
Every detail of the inn welcomes guests in, littered with vintage decor and burnt reds and yellows. It’s autumn encapsulated so well that even in the middle of spring, I find myself wanting a crisp breeze, a walk beneath a canopy of fall foliage, and a hot cider.
Lennon has recently gotten into baking, specifically sourdough, which is very on brand for the coziness of her bed and breakfast. As expected, she’s used the opportunity to lay out various breads in as many places as possible. The table set up in the backyard displays at least three loaves.
With the sky streaked purple, I snap a photo of it from behind the big red barn at the other end of the yard. Wes sneaks up behind me as I pocket the device.
“You seem to do that a lot,” he comments, and I face him fully.
“Do what?”
He nods toward my pocket, where I’ve put my phone away. “Take photos of the sky. I’ve seen you do it at work.”
I chuckle, running my pointer finger over the silver ring on my thumb. I don’t get to wear jewelry often, so I’ve taken this as an opportunity. “Oh,” I mutter, my cheeks flushing at the thought that he’d seen me doing that.
Wes leans in. “I have yet to see the bulk of those photos, by the way. Could be good for marketing.”
I smile up at him, still unable to believe that he’s here.
He had no problem helping out with last-minute arrangements in the house. After perfecting the charcuterie board on the kitchen island, something he seemed somewhat nervous about in terms of making it look perfect, Wes disappeared.
“Having fun?” he asks. The condensation rolls down the sides of the glass bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.
“Yeah, you?” I ask. “You wandered off before guests even got here. I’m assuming that means you’re having a good time, and I have successfully invited you to the party of your dreams. Does this mean I get a raise?”
Wes chuckles. “I was talking to Griffin,” he answers. “Did you know those two were at the swing dance class I taught before the Country Christmas party you were at?”
“That cannot be true!” I say. “I remember seeing them at the party, but I can’t believe they took a class from you. The world simply cannot be that small!”
“Unfortunately, this isn’t the world,” he says. “It’s just Ohio.”
I tilt my head, my mouth flattening, though I can’t hide the humor in my gaze. “Har har, very funny.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he says, shifting toward me.
His scent invades my lungs. He’s always smelled like fresh linen and cut grass, but tonight I can tell he must be wearing something.
Hints of lemongrass, orange wood, and amber engulf my senses.
When he leans in closer, his breath ghosts over my cheeks.
“Secret is,” he starts. “Griffin and Ellis are terrible dancers. I worry about their wedding reception.”
Laughter bubbles out of me, pulling a brief chuckle from Wes as he takes a step away. I miss the closeness—miss the buzzing sensation across my skin.
A couple shoulders past where we stand in the grass, moving closer to the fire licking up at the cool, evening air.
Somehow, even with all of these people, as soon as I enter Wes’s gravitational pull, the rest of the world falls away.
It’s nice to see him this way—somewhere other than the farm.
In this moment, I like the thought that Wes is hanging out with me for me—the way he disappeared to chat with my friends—the way he fits into this area of my life.
I haven’t had a lot of relationships where I felt like someone fit easily into the life I had going for me.
At first, August and his health concerns complicated friendships.
It just felt like there was a lack of understanding.
When you’re a kid, you can only say no to going to someone else’s house so many times before they stop asking.
We always had something else we had to do.
Into adulthood, it was more of the same. I tried so hard to find a space where I could truly feel like myself—a place where I didn’t feel like I was constantly pretending—especially in relationships.
It didn’t turn out that way with Chad. In fact, I spent that entire relationship morphing myself into exactly what he wanted me to be. And in the end, that still hadn’t been enough.
Not with Wes, though.
With him, I can just exist as myself. He doesn’t expect me to be anything.
Which is probably a good thing because he’s my boss, and being honest with your boss is probably the correct move.
Professionally, that is.
I could certainly use more of this feeling of rightness, and I think having Gus meet my friends would be a step in the right direction.
I don’t want it to feel like I’m hiding him away.
I tilt my head, looking up to where Wesley still holds my gaze. “You know how we went swimming at the pond the other day?” I ask, wondering if his memories are as vivid as mine.
He pulls the beer bottle to his lips, taking a swig.
I can’t help the way my eyes flick to the column of his throat, watching the alcohol go all the way down.
I can feel the heat of it spread down my neck, over my chest, and into the pit of my stomach.
It’s warm, and liquid, and totally unwarranted.