Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

“Snooping?”

My brow furrows. “I wasn’t snooping.”

Wes grins, then closes his eyes and tilts his face back up to the sun again. “I was kidding, Murphy. It’s your family’s property. You can go wherever you want.”

I nod, though he doesn’t see the movement, his eyes still closed and facing upward, and then I turn back down the row I came from.

“I have to say, I seriously missed the California sun.”

Wes’s voice freezes me again, and I turn back around to look at him.

“You know, it gets warm in Chicago during the summer, obviously. But the sun feels different. There is nothing like California sunshine.”

“In LA, the smog was so thick you could see it from the mountains,” I tell him, the memory coming out of nowhere. “It gave the sun this weird hue when it was particularly bad.”

“Sounds gross.” He peers at me through one eye.

“It was.”

We both just watch each other for a long moment until Wes taps the spot next to him. “Come on over. Soak it in.”

I hesitate, knowing I should get to the warehouse to meet Micah.

“I promise not to be a jerk. Again,” he adds, grinning at me.

The tease in his tone mixes with the temptation inside me. I walk over and drop down to sit next to him.

I rest my forearms on my knees and turn my face to the sky, closing my eyes and letting the sun hit my skin the way he was moments ago.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “This is pretty great.”

We sit in silence for a while, but it feels different than our nights on the bench somehow. Wes feels different. More playful maybe. Less closed off. Then again, I thought that last night too, before he shut me down. I lower my head and try to purge the embarrassing memory.

“You know, I was thinking about what you asked me,” he says.

I blink up at him, suddenly mortified that somehow he can sense my thoughts. I decide to play dumb. “Oh? What did I ask?”

Wes’s lips tilt up. “You know.”

I cross my arms and close my eyes again, thinking I should just save myself the humiliation of whatever he’s going to say next and run off back to the path.

But instead, I wuss out and keep my eyes closed. “You mean about whether you think about the night we met.”

Wes hums his agreement, and then I feel him lean toward me, his voice lowering, as if he’s about to tell me a secret. “I lied,” he whispers. “I do think about it.”

I feel the pace of my heart picking up speed, but I keep my eyes closed.

“I had all kinds of thoughts that night,” he murmurs.

“All kinds, huh?” My voice holds far more confidence than I feel inside. “Like what?”

I know I’m just messing with a hornet’s nest by asking. The last thing I need to know is anything to do with Wes’s thoughts.

“You really wanna know?”

At that question, I open my eyes and find him looking at me in a way that sends a flurry inside my stomach.

He looks almost hesitant, like he isn’t exactly sure how he wants me to answer. So instead of speaking, I just nod, the movement so small I’m surprised he can even see it.