Chapter Five Ezra #2
“You too! And text me,” Odette instructs her.
She gives them one last smile before hurrying away to find Warner, not bothering to spare me another glance.
For some reason my hands curl into fists as I watch her go.
Fucking Warner.
“What are you still doing here?”
Summer jumps at the sound of my voice, her hand going to her chest.
It’s late. The cidery closes in less than sixty minutes. She should have been gone hours ago.
“Uh, Warner had a thing come up. Something about his grandma, so I said I’d close tonight.”
“Warner’s grandma who died last year?”
Summer’s mouth drops open at the news, then she shrugs, shaking off her shock. “He could have more than one grandmother. You don’t know.”
I do know, because he lost the other one the year before.
He just wanted to cut out early so he could go to Hank’s for two-for-one tequila shots tonight. The money they raise is supposed to go toward the community center, but I know Warner isn’t there for that. He’s there to drink and have fun while someone else does his work for him.
Fucking Warner.
“Do you even know how to close the cidery?”
“Uh, what does it look like I’m doing?” She holds up the glass she’s drying. “Think I can handle closing out the register and putting the chairs on the tables. It’s not that difficult.”
“And do you know the code to secure the doors when you leave?”
“I—” She doesn’t. The way her face falls makes that clear. “I could have texted Warner for the code.”
She has his fucking number?
“Just go. I can lock up.”
She scrunches her nose. “No. I’m not leaving until we’re closed.”
“Summer, I’m telling you—”
“And I’m telling you that I’m staying. I’m not an idiot, Ezra. I can do this simple task.”
“I never said you were an idiot.”
“No, but you sure as shit implied it,” she snaps right back. She huffs. “I’m staying, okay? You need to stop treating me like you’re my babysitter. You’re not. I’m just another employee.”
“Good. Then you’re fired.”
“Really? Are you going to be the one to tell my father that?”
Fuck. She has me there.
“Fine. You’re not fired. But you’re also not—”
“I’m staying.”
My teeth gnash together for what feels like the fiftieth time since I met her. She’s infuriatingly stubborn.
“Fine. Stay. I don’t care.”
I turn on my heel, making my way to the break room to grab a cup of coffee. It’s later than I’d usually drink it, but I’m going to be here for at least another hour or two. I need it.
Coffee in hand, I make my way to my office and lock back into work.
Or at least I try to.
I can still hear her moving around in the taproom, and it’s distracting as hell.
It’s not that I don’t trust her to close.
I have no doubt Warner taught her how to do it the right way, because, while he’s a shithead, he does know what he’s doing.
I just . . . fuck, I don’t know. I’m on edge, and I have no idea why.
Maybe it’s from the lack of sleep I’ve been getting or the fact that I don’t even remember if I had breakfast this morning, and I’m just hangry.
Whatever it is, I need to get it together.
I take three deep breaths, then swear to myself I’m actually going to get some work done so I can get out of here and head home. I could use a good seven hours of sleep for a change.
But forty-five minutes later, when I’ve barely moved my pencil or touched my laptop, I rise from my chair and make my way back to the bar.
And there she is, resting against it, her chin in her hand as she stares at the door.
She’s wearing another pair of shorts today, these frayed a little at the ends, and a simple black T-shirt that’s been threatening to show off her stomach all day. We don’t exactly have a uniform here at the cidery—just whatever everyone is comfortable in.
I guess this is what’s comfortable for her. Those tiny shorts, a shirt that hugs her curves, and that damn red lipstick that I find myself liking way too much.
“Can I flip the sign?”
I force my gaze from her lips to her eyes. “What?”
“Can I flip the sign from Open to Closed. Nobody has been in for an hour, at least.”
She’s right. We’re unusually slow tonight, though I suspect that has to do with the event at Hank’s.
“Yes, then you can go.”
She huffs, pushing off the counter and heading for the door. “Still not happening. I have more work to do.”
“I can take care of it.”
“Not a chance.” She spins the sign around, then dead bolts the door, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet cidery. “Just go back to your office.”
“Are you always this obstinate? Is that why your boyfriend broke up with you, and you moved back here?”
Fuck. Why did I say that? I don’t even care.
“I don’t have and haven’t had a boyfriend for a long time.”
“No surprise there, given your attitude.”
“Yes, because yours is so charming. I’m sure your girlfriend loves it.”
I snort. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t do girlfriends or love. Not even a little bit.”
“No surprise there, given your attitude.” She tosses my words back at me.
She makes her way behind the bar and starts pressing buttons on the payment system. Her brows tighten, a little crease forming between them, and I can tell right away that she doesn’t know what she’s doing, despite her claims.
With a sigh, I step up behind her, watching as her fingers press all the wrong buttons.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
She jumps, glaring at me over her shoulder. “Jesus. You’re like a cat, you know that?”
“A cat?”
“Yeah, an orange one. All stealthy and shit but also mean.”
I barely resist a smile. “Move. I’ll close the register.”
I expect her to argue again, but to my surprise, she doesn’t.
She moves aside silently, and I step up beside her.
“This is how you do it,” I say, going through the steps slowly. “See?”
“No.” She pushes closer, and I freeze.
Vanilla. She smells like a damn vanilla cupcake, and fuck if it doesn’t make my stomach rumble.
“Um, was that your stomach?” she asks with a laugh.
“No,” I lie.
She huffs. “Have you even eaten today? I haven’t seen you since Odette and Noah were here earlier, and I didn’t see you eat then. Unless you keep something stashed in that cave of yours.”
“Cave?”
She ignores my question. “I can make something. You guys keep the kitchen stocked, right? I’m sure I can whip something up.”
She’s already walking toward it before I even realize what’s happening.
“Wait, what? Where are you going?”
“The kitchen!” she calls over her shoulder, almost out of sight already.
She’s moving fast, like she can’t wait to get in there, and I’m sure it’s just because she’s desperate to get away from me. I don’t blame her. I still haven’t apologized.
But that’s the last thing on my mind. What the hell is she talking about, making me food?
“We’re supposed to be closing the cidery!”
“Then you close it! You were so eager to do so just a few minutes ago!”
So were you, I want to say, but I don’t.
She’s gone. Disappearing around the corner and into the kitchen.
What the fuck is happening?