Page 96 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
Blake looks at me. His expression is sad. “Tell me if I’m making a mistake.”
Oh shit.
Wyatt opens his mouth, and I give him a dirty look back and speak over him. “No one can tell you that. But what we can do is try to lessen the stress for you. I’m not making excuses for Taylor’s exuberant communication style—”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Wyatt mutters.
“But, it’s got to be really hard for her to be away from you in the two weeks leading up to your weddingandnot be able to oversee everything she thought she would,” I say. “I bet she hates putting all this on you.”
“Because she thinks I’m fucking it all up,” Blake retorts. “You should see last night’s texts.”
“Why’s she sending texts and emails?” Wyatt asks. “How come she doesn’t call you?”
“Taylor likes to have things in writing,” Blake says. “That way, she can go back and reference them later andresendthem as attachments or quote from them when you get it wrong. Half of the emails are probably forwards of other emails with notes.”
“I can see that,” I say, trying to remain objective. “That’s what most people do. It’s good practice, to have things in writing. That way you don’t have to remember it all.”
Blanche:Why do you keep defending her?
I don’t know!
Blake groans and orders another round of whiskey.
“I can’t do another one. I’ll be drunk,” I say. Wyatt catches my eye and wiggles his eyebrows at me. I look down at my lap and pinch my lips together, so I don’t giggle.
“I can’t do another if I’m going to drive to find you two hundred and fifty apples,” Wyatt says.
“What good will it do?” Blake says.
“What do you want?” I ask Blake again. “How can we best help you right now?”
Blake tosses back the new whiskey and throws four twenty-dollar bills on the table to cover the tab. “Let’s go find a fuck-ton of apples.”
“We can handle this, bud,” Wyatt says, gesturing between me and him. “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. Maybe you should get a massage or sit by the beach and chill.”
“That’s a good idea,” I say.
“A nap is the only thing that sounds good,” Blake says.
“Okay,” Wyatt says. “We’ll drop you off at the hotel so you can nap, and we’ll track down some apples.”
“I’ll call them to come get me,” Blake says. “You guys go, I’ll see you back at the hotel later.”
He still looks so sad. I want him to call us if he needs anything, but we won’t have cell reception. So, instead, I hug him and tell him I love him. Wyatt does the same.
Then we cross the town square to hit up the only two stores that sell groceries so we can buy all the apples they’ve got.
wyatt - two hours later
“What choice do we have, Brie?”I ask.
“I study crime for a living. Publicly. I can’t go around committing them for the hell of it.”
“It’s not for the hell of it; it’s for apples. And I’m a security specialist. Would anyone want to hire a criminal to advise them on security?” I pause for a minute because that’s not a bad idea. “They probably would, but that’s not the point.”
We’re sitting in the golf cart outside an apple orchard. The orchard itself isn’t even on Seaside Island. It’s a two-minute boat ride away on Sunrise Island—a neighboring island known for being the only place where the Sunrise Crisp Apple is grown.
We got the full rundown on the Sunrise Crisp Apple from the guy who gave us the boat ride here. It was one of the first apples to come out of the Summit University Tree Fruit Research Lab and Breeding Program.
