Chapter Ten Summer
Chapter Ten
Summer
My role at the cidery has significantly changed in the last couple of days.
I’ve gone from working closely with Warner to now working beside Ezra, and that would be fine if I hadn’t kissed him.
I kissed him!
He’s my boss, and I fucking kissed him.
What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t, clearly. How could I? He had just said all those nice things to me, and every single intelligent thought I’d ever had flew right out the window. How pathetic is that? A man says something nice, and I fold completely.
God, the look of pure torture on his face when he pulled away is something that’s haunted me ever since.
Now everything is awkward, and it’s all my fault.
I’ve done a good job of not looking him in the eyes since it happened, which is a damn miracle, if you ask me.
Together we’ve ordered an appropriately sized stove and oven, actual storage, a new light for the fridge, and three prep tables that they were in desperate need of.
Next up is replacing all the other odds and ends, including those horrid mixing bowls they had that were cracked in at least two spots.
It’s only just scratching the surface, but it’s a good start.
“What about brussels sprouts?”
He curls his lip up. “Does anyone even like those?”
“Um, yes. They were a huge hit at Lore, and they’re easy to make in bulk. We can dress them up with bacon, balsamic, and seasoning.”
“Whatever,” he says. “This is your gig, not mine.”
I huff. It’s not the first time he’s said this, and it irritates me more and more each time because this isn’t my gig. This is his business. I’m just helping him make the kitchen something . . . well, way better than what they currently have.
It’s telling that we’ve never had to say to customers the kitchen is closed, because nobody has tried to order anything in days.
Truthfully, they probably should have done this years ago.
It’s been a missed opportunity for them, and it makes me all the more nervous to reveal the new and improved menu to patrons.
While the bar might be low, I still want to wow them.
“What?” Ezra asks, not looking at me.
He can’t do it, either, and even though I’m avoiding him, I’m annoyed he’s avoiding me too.
We’re adults, for crying out loud. Surely we can move on from one little mistake.
I throw my pencil down, then spin my chair to face him.
He pauses for only a moment before he continues on with whatever it is he’s doing. I’m honestly not sure it’s even anything. He hasn’t moved in what feels like hours. An alarm on his phone has gone off a few times, but he silences it each time and keeps pretending to work.
That’s how we sit for several moments—me staring at him and Ezra acting as if I’m not.
Then finally, he drops his pen and turns to me. His face is hard, but if I look close enough, I can see the worry in his green gaze.
“What can I do for you, Sunny?”
These are obviously not the first words he’s spoken to me today, though it certainly feels like it, because they just might be the realest. Everything else has been strictly business. This is personal.
“Why do you call me that?”
“Call you what?”
“Sunny. I’m not a ray of sunshine. I know that. I’m stubborn to a fault most of the time. There’s not much that’s ‘sunny’ about me.”
The corners of his lips twitch. “Maybe, but you’re . . .” He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. You’re something.”
“Something? What the hell does that mean?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. You, Summer. You’re you. And I think you’re sunny.”
It almost sounds like a compliment, and I want to ask him to elaborate, but I’m too afraid he’s going to clam up and stop talking to me again, so I don’t.
“Was that all you needed?”
“No.”
I want to know why you freaked out after I kissed you.
But I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud.
So much for acting like an adult in this situation.
“I want your opinion on the menu.”
“But that’s your area. That’s the reason we’re bringing you on for this project.”
“Right. I know. But these are your customers. You’re the one who knows them. What do you think they’ll like?”
He sighs, and I roll my eyes, spinning my chair back around.
“Never mind. I’ll just figure it out myself. I’ll just—”
“Hey.” He grabs my chair, turning me to him. “I didn’t say I wasn’t helping. I was thinking.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” Another lip twitch. He picks his pen up and begins flipping it through his fingers, and it’s as obnoxious as it is attractive.
God, get a grip, Summer. They’re hands. You have them too.
I do, but they’re so different from his with his long fingers that I bet would feel really, really good between my— No.
I cut that thought off right there.
I do absolutely not need to go there, especially after what happened the other day.
“What’s up?”
I lift my gaze to his. “Huh?”
“Your face. It just got all red.” He frowns. “You okay?”
Oh god. Am I blushing?
I nod, rubbing at my cheeks, trying to chase away the flush. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just hot.”
“Take your shirt off.”
I don’t know whose eyes widen first, but I do know we’re mirroring each other.
“Shit.” Ezra laughs, shifting uncomfortably as he scratches at the stubble lining his chin, the same scruff that felt so good against me the other day. “Uh, I definitely did not mean to say that. I meant your sweater. Take your sweater off.”
“Cardigan.”
“What?”
“It’s called a cardigan. And I’m okay, but thank you.”
He rises from his chair and walks over to the thermostat on the wall. He presses a few buttons, then resumes his spot, and I notice the wince as he settles back down.
Ezra must sense that I have questions, because he says, “You can ask.”
“Ask what?”
He tips his head to the side in a silent Come on sort of way.
“Okay.” I clear my throat and settle back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “What happened?”
“Hockey happened.” He grabs the pen once more, flipping it through his fingers effortlessly, and I wonder if it’s a nerves thing, if it helps keep him calm while talking about something that clearly bothers him.
“More specifically, bad hockey happened. The first time, I went down weird and basically jammed my leg up. Labral tear. Had to get surgery and missed almost an entire season.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It was absolutely brutal, but it was nothing compared to coming back the next season, having the best one of my career—like we’re talking top of the league—then going down again in a conference final game and costing my team a shot at the Cup.”
He barely looks at me when he says it, but the shame in his eyes is still impossible to miss.
He blames himself for it all.
“Ezra, I—”
He shakes his head. “Don’t. Don’t tell me how sorry you are. I hate that.”
“I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say, I hope you know it’s not your fault. Because it’s not. It was an accident. It just happened. It’s not like you did it on purpose, right?”
“Fuck no.” He scoffs. “I loved that game more than anything in my life. I would have done whatever it took to keep it, and I did. I had surgeries and did physical therapy and trials for new drugs and everything else, but . . .” He sinks back in his chair.
“Nothing. None of it helped like I needed it to, so I could keep playing. I still had—have the pain. It won’t go away, no matter how hard I try. ”
The last words are so soft, so sad.
That same urge I had before to hug him hits me, but this time I resist. The last thing I want to do is touch him after what happened in here the other day.
My eyes fall to the spot where it happened, where I was practically mauling him on the corner of his desk. Where I had my hands on him, and my lips were pressed to his.
I peel my gaze away and am surprised to find Ezra watching me intently.
“Look, Summer, about the other day. I—”
“No, please. Let’s not talk about it, okay? Let’s pretend it didn’t happen. I think that’s best, don’t you?”
He stares at me, his mouth open, and I get the strangest feeling he wants to argue. He doesn’t. He snaps his lips shut, then nods.
And that’s it.
We go back to work. I make the executive decision to add brussels sprouts to the menu and tack on more items—three different kinds of fries, a variety of grilled sandwiches, and a few appetizers.
It’s too crowded for such a small venue, especially since I’m nowhere near done with it, but we’ll pare it down later.
It’s four o’clock before I know it, and my shift has come to an end.
Part of me wants to stay, just to be near him, but I don’t. I think I need this break.
“I’m heading out,” I announce, gathering my things.
He doesn’t say anything, and for the first time, I’m grateful for it.
I’m just stepping over the threshold when he speaks.
“Hey, Summer?”
I turn to him. His head is still bent, his pen moving across the page. “Yeah?”
“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Just so we’re clear.”
I don’t say anything because what can I say? That I don’t want to forget it either? I don’t. Not really. How could I want to forget it when I liked it so much?
So I take a page from his book, and I say nothing.
I just walk away, and I’m left with more questions than ever before.
“Summer! Over here!”
Odette waves at me from across Dickie’s Gourmet Burgers, a cute little place that has the best burgers around, and I grin in her direction.
I was surprised when she called me yesterday, asking if I wanted to get lunch, but grateful, because I could really use someone to talk to who doesn’t work at the cidery and isn’t my father.
I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Just so we’re clear.
Ezra’s words from two days ago haven’t left my mind, no matter how many times I’ve pushed them away, and trust me, I’ve tried. Over and over, but they won’t budge.
What did he even mean? He was clearly horrified by what happened, so it couldn’t possibly mean he wanted that kiss.
His “just so we’re clear” was anything but clear.