Page 14 of Sweet Summer

“Excuses.” Maisey wagged a finger in my direction. “Food is the ultimate way to any man’s heart, so let’s start there. You going to movie night?”

“I am. With Wyatt.” I nodded as I resumed restocking the caddies. “We’re meeting at the park.”

“Well, text him and let him know you’ll have dinner sorted out.” She stood up on her tiptoes and peered beyond me into the kitchen. “We’ve got plenty back there for me to whip up some gourmet sandwiches and a few side dishes, and of coursea few slices of pie. I think the Book Club forgot to pick up their order, so it’s yours.”

“I’ll take it. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

“My pies are not trash, so bite your tongue.”

I had watched Maisey as she hopped up and proceeded to organize a basket, filling it to the brim with anything and everything we needed. Now, I’m sitting here in the middle of the park on a blanket with Wyatt, the basket almost empty except for a few slices of Book Club pie that’s left over.

I reach into the basket and grab a slice of Poe’s Pecan Pie (guess what author they’re reading this month?) for myself. I’ve already had two pieces, but who’s counting?

“Another slice, Freya?”

Wyatt’s counting, that’s who. “I don’t need your judgement, especially after you’ve swallowed two pieces already yourself.” I take my fork and dig into the slice, putting it all in my mouth and chewing it slowly. “Oh man. Heaven!”

I look down and find Wyatt gazing up at me with that lopsided grin of his. My heart skips an actual beat. How have I never noticed how sexy that smile is? I take a chunk out of the pie with my fork and hold it out to him. “Want a bite?”

His eyes meet mine as he stretches his neck up toward me, and I lower the fork so he can get a taste. As I lean over, I feel a shock of electric current run through my body when he takes that bite—because the whole time he never stops looking straight into my eyes. It’s like he’s reaching into my soul and I am here for it.

“Good?” Maisey’s food seems to be doing the trick. Wyatt sits up and scoots closer to me on the blanket.

“It’s the best pie I’ve ever tasted.” He licks his lips before grinning my way. “And I’ve had some good pies over the years.”

I start to retort, but the whipped cream on his top lip isdistracting me. I point to his face. “You’ve got something…there.”

His hand flies up to his mouth. “Where. Here?” He rubs just to the left of the whipped cream.

“No, I’ll get it.” I grab a napkin. Not thinking, I raise it to his lips and gently wipe it away. I feel him staring at me, and the warmth from his breath hits my cheek, causing my stomach to do somersaults yet again.

I finish my mission and settle into daydreaming about those lips. I sit back and look around the park, checking out the crowd and seeing many familiar faces. And my stomach sinks.

There, a few blankets over from us, is Dylan. Good old Dylan. Oh goody, she’s waving. I raise a hand and wave back as she points to Wyatt, signaling she wants me to get his attention. So I do—I hit him in the ribs with the pointy tip of my elbow. It’s a little too enthusiastic judging from the cry that escapes his lips.

“What was that for?” he hisses.

“Whoops, sorry.” I play innocent. “Dyls wanted me to get your attention.”

He looks at Dylan and waves but turns back to me in a flash. “You know, there’s nothing going on there, Freya. Really. We did go on a few dates when she first came to town, actually two in total, but she’s solidly in the friend zone.”

Why is he telling me this? Do I reek of jealousy all of a sudden? I mean, I should because as much as I hate to admit it, I am feeling a touch of petty jealousy about this, and it irritates me because I feel like I have no right.

“I’m not worried about her.” Okay, so I fibbed. I look back at Wyatt, who knows me better than that. He wags a finger at me, making me laugh. I swat him. “Be good. The movie’s almost over.”

He turns his attention back to the movie, but I’m stillplotting. If Dylan is in the friend zone—yay—then one of us needs to make a move here. The one thing I keep coming back to over the last few days when I think of Wyatt, and why I’m feeling this way now, is that I’m the one who put us here—in the penalty box if you will. I friend-zoned us all those years ago, so it’s only fitting it should be me to get us out, right? If the roles were reversed and the shoe was on the other foot, I’d be hesitant to try anything.

So, I lean over and do what any mature woman my age would do. I start a tickle fight. They always begin innocently enough. A poke here, a prod there, someone runs their fingers along your ribcage or gets ahold of your knee and then it’s on. I make it as far as getting my fingers next to his ribcage before he figures out what I’m doing. Let me tell you…never try to trick a man who’s been training for over a year to be a fireman, cause they’ll win.

As my fingertips dance to their intended location, Wyatt’s hand, which is lying in wait, snatches mine and he manages to flip me over so I’m on my back with him still beside me, but pinning me down with one arm. I can’t believe one arm is that strong, so I sneak in a quick feel and cup his bicep for good measure, and oh, yes, he’s that strong. The curve of his bicep in my hands is sculpted perfection indeed.

I pinch my lips together to keep from screaming with laughter as our very patient blanket neighbors once again shush us both. The music rises, signaling the movie is coming to an end, which means credits will be rolling soon.

Wyatt, who’s on his knees, pins me down with one hand while his free one slowly creeps closer to that sweet spot on my side. The spot he knows is the most ticklish of all.

“Don’t you dare,” I hiss, but his eyes gleam—he’s about to make contact. I prepare myself, ready to hold back more laughter, but when I look up at him, something changes. His features soften and the energy shifts. He isn’t so much tryingto tickle me anymore; he’s still super close and he’s not trying to go away either.

The butterflies in my stomach are about to pop.

---