I want to see that look again. I want this to work for her. I want Stick Taps to be a place people come to not just for cider, but for her menu too.
But I can’t tell Noah all that. He’ll think it means something else, and it doesn’t.
“Cool.”
“Cool?” Noah repeats. “That’s all you have to say?”
I lift a shoulder, taking another drink of my cider. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Aren’t you working closely with her on this? No comments or thoughts on the menu?”
“Not really. I trust her.” I mean that. I trust Summer to make the best menu she can for the cidery, just like I trust her to make this kitchen run smoothly.
“Hmm.”
“Stop fucking saying that,” I practically growl at him as he takes a sip of his cider.
“What?”
I narrow my eyes. “You know what. Every time Summer gets brought up, you do thisHmmshit, and you make faces, and it’s fucking annoying. There is nothing at all going on between us.”
Noah tucks his lips together, fighting a smile. “I never said there was, but it’s interesting that’s where your mind went.”
I flip him my middle finger.
“Shut up,” I say into my glass as I chug the rest of my drink. I set the empty cup down, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m going back to work. You should too.”
“Yes, sir.”
He salutes me mockingly, and I’d be annoyed if I wasn’t so damn worried that he thinks something is happening with me and Summer.
There isn’t. There can’t be.
So why does it feel like there is?
My body is aching. I’ve been sitting at my desk for the last several hours trying to get caught up on everything I’ve been avoiding. Order forms are scattered across my desk, pens and pencils with too many bite marks are haphazardly placed, and I have three different coffee mugs surrounding me.
I’m fucking beat.
I check the time. Realizing I haven’t moved in at least two hours, I finally rise from my chair. My back pops as I stretch, my hip screaming only a little as I do. I try to shake out the stiffness of it as I make my way into the taproom.
The cidery is buzzing with people. Not nearly as many as there were earlier, but there are still plenty of customers spread around. A few are playing games, some are just shooting the shit, while others are attempting to wrangle their children. I wave to a few familiar patrons.
“Hey, Ezra,” says Micah, the guy who owns one of the gas stations in town. “How goes it?”
“Good. Great. Busy as usual. You?”
We make light polite conversation, and while I genuinely do like Micah, I’m distracted the whole time because ofher.
I clocked where Summer was the second I walked into the taproom.
She’s behind the bar with Warner. Her head is tossed back in a laugh, and her brown hair, which is up in a ponytail tonight, swishes back and forth. Warner stares down at her like she’s the only girl in the room. Part of me gets it, because clearly my eyes are drawn to her, too, but the other part of me is just plain pissed off that they’re openly flirting.
What the hell is she doing? She kisses me, then flirts withhim?
I mean, our kiss didn’t mean anything, so she’s free to do as she will, but ... fuck. I’m still seeing green, and it has nothing to do with those pretty chocolate-colored eyes of hers.
I say goodbye to Micah, then make my way over there.
