Chapter Twenty-One Ezra #2
I don’t think I’ve ever been enough for anyone before, least of all myself. But Summer said those words with such sincerity that it’s hard not to believe her.
Her words never leave my mind. Not as I finish up the best meal I’ve had, maybe ever, and not even when I gather the dishes and take them to the kitchen, letting her relax with our friends because she deserves it.
Once I have everything on the counter, I let the water run for a bit to get it hot so I can give the dishes a rinse before putting them in our new dishwasher.
The door opens behind me, and I don’t even bother looking to see who it is.
I know.
“When did you start sleeping with your employee?”
“Hello to you too,” I say to Noah as I take off my watch and set it aside, deciding to hand-wash the dishes instead. I need something to do if we’re going to have this conversation. “Want to help?”
“No.”
But he does anyway, coming to stand next to me and grabbing a towel.
We’re quiet for a while. I wash, he dries, and so many unspoken words float between us.
“Well?” he prompts after we’ve let too many silent minutes pass. “When?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. About two months ago now?”
I catch him pause from the corner of my eye.
“Jesus,” he mumbles as he resumes his duties. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
I level him with a stare. “Like you have any room to talk, Noah.”
It wasn’t all that long ago when Noah brought Odette on to help renovate our barn to turn it into a wedding venue. If I recall, they snuck around for just about as long as Summer and I have been before being found out and admitting they were in love.
Noah has no business scolding me for keeping this a secret.
“You’re right. I did do something similar. But Odette wasn’t actually our employee. Summer is.”
“Maybe on paper, but we both know that I never would have hired her if it weren’t for Sheriff Turner blackmailing me.”
“That’s a bullshit flimsy excuse if I’ve ever heard one,” he scoffs.
He’s not wrong. It is. But it’s all I have to cling to that will explain why I’m doing something that’s so clearly wrong.
“So,” Noah says, leaning against the counter beside me. “I’m guessing it’s serious, then?”
“What?” I look at him like he’s grown another head. “No. Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re hiding it.”
“I’m hiding it because, as you pointed out, she’s my employee. I’m her boss. Not like I want to advertise that.”
“Or you’re hiding it because you have feelings for her and you’re afraid to admit it.” He shrugs. “That’s why I hid my relationship with Odette.”
“You hid your relationship with her because you were afraid of Izzy finding out.”
“Yeah, because how the fuck was I supposed to explain to my younger sister that I’d fallen in love with her best friend?” He leans in conspiratorially. “It’s okay if that’s what happened, Ez. I’m not going to judge you.”
I glower at him. “Fuck off.”
But there’s no actual bite behind the words. Not when he’s hitting so close to the truth.
I am keeping my . . . whatever this is with Summer secret because she’s my employee and people are nosy, and it truly is nobody’s fucking business.
But maybe . . . just maybe . . . there is a small part of me that’s hiding it because I’m no longer feeling like this is something that’s happening just to pass the time. I’m not falling into bed with her damn near every night just because she’s there and I’m lonely. I’m doing it because I want to.
Because I want her.
When the hell did that even happen? How could that happen?
How did I go from swearing I’ll never burden anyone with this damn weakness of mine to letting myself get tangled up with Summer like this?
I’m not even sure if she’s planning to stay in Port Harbor.
Yeah, she just created this menu for Stick Taps, and she’s about to start training new staff, but we both know that running a kitchen for someone else isn’t her dream.
She deserves bigger than this, and I’ll be damned if I hold her back from that just because I went and developed feelings when I swore I wouldn’t.
Noah laughs, and this time when I glare at him, I mean it.
“What?” I snarl.
“You’re so in love, dude.”
“I am not.”
“Oh, you are too. And I fucking love it. I never thought I’d see the day that Ezra ‘I Don’t Do Love’ Rawlings finally fell victim to the love bug, but here you are.”
I turn away from him, mostly because I can’t stand the way he’s grinning at me like I’m some sort of fool. I certainly fucking feel like one.
“Shut the fuck up.”
He just laughs again, harder this time, and it pisses me off.
“Get the hell out of here,” I snap. “Leave me alone.”
“All right,” he says. “I’ll go. But only because you clearly need time to process all your feelings.”
He pushes off the counter, still fucking smiling, and I have the strongest urge to spray him with water.
I resist—but only barely—and focus back on the task at hand.
The door creaks back open, and I exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes.
“Hey, Ez?”
I don’t look at him. I don’t even stop washing. But he knows I’m listening.
“It’s okay that you love her. And it’s okay to let yourself be loved. There’s nothing about you that isn’t deserving of that.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left with nothing but cold, dirty dishwater, and the realization that I am irrevocably fucked.