I jump, spinning around to find Lydia standing in the breezeway, sunglasses pushed up on top of her head.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I say, setting the bottle down.
Her eyes drift slowly around the barn, her entire body tensing when she sees the hoodie. She studies me, like she’s piecing everything together—but her face is a stone wall, betraying nothing.
Shit.
“I was in the neighborhood,” she says, her smile tight. “Brought you lunch since you didn’t stop by earlier.”
She hands me the brown paper bag, and something about the gesture feels…off. Too formal, too guarded.
“Thanks,” I say cautiously, pulling out the foil-wrapped sandwich.
Neither one of us speaks, the tension growing thicker.
I hate secrets.
Her gaze snaps back to the hoodie, tilting her head to the side. “Emmett came to see me during his lunch break today.”
I freeze mid-bite. “Oh yeah?”
She nods, fiddling with the reins hanging on the wall. “He said he saw you this morning and that you’re hooking up with someone in the bunkhouse.” She looks back over her shoulder to me.
I’m going to kill Emmett.
“Uh, no.” I half-laugh. “I’m not.”
Her gaze flicks back to the hoodie and she tilts her head. “Oh really? Then whose is that? Because I know for a fact it’s not yours.”
“Uh…no, I borrowed it. I’m not sleeping with someone in the bunkhouse. I went for a walk this morning. It was chilly. I grabbed the first thing I saw.”
If I’m going to lie, I should at least be consistent.
“So you unintentionally grabbed Wes’s hoodie?”
I hesitate. “It’s not Wesley’s.”
The moment she registers my words, there’s a shift in the air.
Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly—like I said something I wasn’t supposed to.“Oh my God,”she breathes. “Sadie…Did you have sex with Wesley?”
“What? No. Why would you—”
She crosses the barn in two strides, fingers tugging the neckline of my shirt before I can stop her.
I pull away, but it’s too late—her eyes catch on the faint bruise beneath my collarbone. She stares at it as if it were a betrayal etched into my skin. My hand instinctively covers it, embarrassment washing over me.
“Youdid,” she says softly, and it lands like a verdict.
“It’s not that serious.”
“I beg to fucking differ.” Her eyes narrow. “Well, if it’s not Wesley’s, then whose is it?”
My brain flatlines.
“Oh my God. Is it Landon’s? Please tell me you didnotfuck my brother,”
“What?No.I wouldnever—It’s not—”
