12. Twelve
Twelve
Wes
Let it be known that nothing that has happened since I showed up at a party I wasn’t invited to has been intentional.
That feels like pertinent information as Cassidy’s fingers fit their way between mine. I carefully assess the firmness of my grip. Hands like hers, soft despite the work she’s been doing, shouldn’t be crushed in the grip of a farmer. Nor should my grip be loose enough to let her go.
I don’t want to let her go.
But as we walk into the kitchen to find a flurry of guests surrounding Lennon’s smiling face as she leans against the island, I can feel the uncertainty buzzing through Cassidy like a current.
I only offered in an attempt to support her.
I know what it feels like running in circles with your ex—being forced to confront the differing levels of success.
Scarlett has made a name for herself in the world of horses.
She’s a reputable trainer. That’s what makes clients bringing up her name so difficult.
I know I should be the bigger person, should recommend her where it’s appropriate, but I haven’t yet had the courage to do it.
Especially because trainers are hired in situations where I cannot help.
I’m limited by time and resources. I know horses, but I’m not afraid to admit that Scarlett knows them better.
As soon as I saw Cass’s face when that man walked outside without a wrinkle on his clothes save for those ironed intentionally at the seams, my stomach twisted.
I’ve felt inferior before, and I didn’t want Cass to feel that way because of that guy.
When I look around the kitchen, I notice my work with the charcuterie board has since been decimated, and I start to question why I spent so much time painstakingly folding salami only for it to be ruined mere moments later.
When I got to the house, I had a plan. That plan needed work, but it was a plan nonetheless.
My goal had been to deliver the gift Cass found so important and abandon the scene.
An added bonus was glimpsing Cassidy in her natural habitat.
At the farm, I spend a lot of time watching her in leggings and tank tops, shoveling shit with her hair wildly breaking free from whatever style she chose to hold it back with.
Hopping out of my truck, I was given a completely different picture of Cassidy Summers. She stood on the porch with sunglasses perched atop her head, high-waisted jeans that hugged her curves in all the right places, and a teasing white t-shirt, cropped perfectly to give a small flash of skin.
I don’t think even my teenage self could have concocted a more perfect fantasy.
Needless to say, the plan was adjusted, and I haven’t minded skating along with whatever happens since then. So long as I’m still basking in her presence, there’s no place I’d rather be.
That realization startles me—the thought that we get along so well apart from the farm.
I’m not quite sure what to do with the information.
Noah appears behind Lennon as she nods along with whatever her guest is saying. He taps her shoulder, points to us, and whispers something in her ear.
As Lennon’s gaze hops from us to our intertwined fingers, I feel Cass’s grip loosen.
Reluctantly, I let her go. There’s no sense in fighting it.
“Excuse me,” Lennon says, rounding the island and weaving through the crowd to find us. “I thought we lost you, there,” she says. “I can’t believe how many people showed up for this thing.” There’s true excitement in her tone and more joy than I’ve seen the girl exude since I met her.
If Cassidy is the sun, Lennon is an ominous black hole floating in space. Somehow, Noah found himself sucked into her gravity. For myself, personally, I prefer Earth. Space is scary.
So is Lennon.
With a pointed look at Cassidy, Lennon folds her arms across her chest. “What I want to know, actually, is when—”
“There you are!” Ellis practically tackles Lennon by running into her, heedless of the two of us and the conversation we were about to have.
I take the opportunity to look at Cassidy. The crease between her brows has disappeared, her smooth skin still tinged pink around her cheeks and nose—probably from being out in the sun all day.
When she catches me looking, I don’t look away.
Instead, I meet her smile with my own. As if pulled by Cass’s own gravity, my hand moves a few inches until it brushes her pinky again.
I yearn for whatever contact I can get, postponing my guilt and role as director of HR at Miller Run Farms for just tonight.
“Oh my god, Cass!” Ellis says, looking equal parts relieved to see her friend still in one piece, and worried that something horrible has happened.
She spent the last few moments rehashing the Chandler issue without realizing we stood right here.
“I’ve been looking for Lennon, but we can get him out if we just—”
“It’s fine.” Cass cuts her off, waving her hand as if there was no problem to begin with.
She adjusts the sunglasses on her head to pull back her golden strands of hair.
Everything about her reminds me so much of what summers looked like in childhood.
There was something more potent—happier—back then. Cassidy reminds me of that.
“Wes and I have it handled,” she adds. “For reference, we are engaged but will be having a prompt breakup in the morning, but for now, I’m the future Mrs. Miller.”
I swallow, the words sending a little thrill through my blood that I choose to ignore.
There’s a slight pause before all three of them break out in laughter.
Cass’s laughter rises above the others. It’s like she has the laugh she gives to those she wants to feel comfortable.
It’s the one she does around the clients to help them feel relaxed—the laugh that tells them she’s not threatening.
This one is different—it rings out unbidden—a true indicator of joy.
I want to bottle it up and drink it down.
“I pretended to be married once,” Griffin adds as he appears behind Ellis. I nod in greeting.
I’d talked with Griffin earlier after the charcuterie project in the kitchen, finding out he works in music and wondering if I could gather more information for Rosemary.
She’s been trying her hardest to break onto the scene in Nashville, and she certainly has the talent. What she doesn’t have is parents supporting that kind of dream. That was apparent during the conversation I had with her earlier.
I wish I’d said more—done more to tell my mom that Rosemary doesn’t need that kind of intervention. She’s capable, and we all know that she’s not happy here.
Instead, I went for the easy way out—working behind the scenes to find something—anything—that could help her accomplish what she set out to do.
I eye Griffin. “What’s the story behind that?” I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep myself from reaching for Cassidy again.
He chuckles. “Well, now I’m about to marry her.”
Cass blanches. “We didn’t really think the whole thing through.” She bites the inside of her cheek. “No marriage here, though. No real marriage that is! There’s just a whole lot of pretending between a girl and her employer for the night. The real marriage is just for you guys!”
Cassidy gestures to the two of them, and her incessant talking forces me to suppress the silly grin I keep releasing in her presence.
If Roe were around, there’s no way she’d let my expressions slide.
Nor would she fail to notice the way my gaze slides in Cass’s direction, tracking the flush creeping down her neck, the pink tinge to her cheeks as she describes the nothing but a boss and his employee dynamic we are failing to maintain.
“Could you guys do me a favor?” Lennon asks, looking around at the chatting guests.
“I think the table by the fire pit needs a new package of hot dogs for roasting. Possibly some s’mores ingredients.
Also, make sure to check on the bread I set out there.
I need to know how that’s going over for future baking ventures at the bed and breakfast.”
Cass gives Lennon a salute. “On it!” she says, gliding over to the fridge to procure the package of hot dogs.
Lennon nudges my arm before addressing me. “Better follow your fiancée,” she jokes, her gaze pointed. “It would be weird if you didn’t.”
For the sake of ruining Chad’s ego, I mutter, “Right.” Cassidy shoves my arms full of food before I find myself trailing behind her like a lost puppy.
The sun has set, replaced by a deep indigo sky—almost black.
Away from the city lights, stars begin to peek out from the light dusting of clouds as gentle murmurs sound from around us.
As expected, the hot dogs are completely gone, and Lennon will be glad to know her sourdough has been a hit.
“So,” I start, pulling the pocket knife from my jeans and cutting open the hot dog package.
“What made this little grand opening so popular?” I ask.
Cass carefully opens the cardboard box of graham crackers.
“Does Lennon have some kind of influential connections, or are all these people as afraid of her as I am?”
Cassidy laughs, the sound pulled from deep in her belly. “No fear. She’s just been documenting the journey on a blog for years. Runs an Instagram account all about purchasing an old home and restoring it, believe it or not.”
I nod, grabbing the bag of marshmallows and cutting across the top to open it. “A real dream for her then?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Cass responds, meticulously placing each chocolate bar as if she’s working on a very important display.
“And what about you?” I prod, my hands stilling after pocketing my knife. “If you didn’t have to think about anybody else, what is it you’d want to be doing?”
She looks deep in thought for a moment, abandoning the chocolate display as she looks toward the stars. I wonder if she believes she’ll find the answer there.