3. Chapter 3 #3
He asks about the lodge. I tell him about guest services and how Caroline has been giving me more event responsibility. I tell him about the corporate retreat I’m helping coordinate next week.
He listens. Actually listens. No polite nodding while waiting for his turn to speak.
“You like events?” he asks.
“I think I do.”
“You think?”
“I’ve only been doing more of it recently. But I like making things work. There’s something satisfying about watching a room full of people have a good time and knowing they have no idea how many things almost went wrong behind the scenes.”
Caldwell smiles. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Ty says, “She likes lists.”
I turn. “Lists are useful.”
“I didn’t say they weren’t.”
Caldwell looks between us.
I realize we sound like a couple. Not because we’re acting. Because this is apparently how we talk now. That’s unsettling.
Caldwell asks how we met. “He parked in the wrong place,” I say.
Ty sighs. “I was told to park there.”
Caldwell laughs. “You still arguing about this?”
“He brings it up constantly.”
“This is the first time I’ve brought it up.”
“Tonight.”
Ty looks at Caldwell. “She does that.”
“What?”
“Makes the wording work for her.”
“That is a valuable professional skill.”
“I’m sure it is.”
I kick his boot lightly beneath the table. He looks at me. I smile. Caldwell sees. Of course he sees. The dinner keeps going. Somewhere along the way, I stop remembering to perform.
Caldwell tells stories about the ranch. About his father. About his late wife, Margaret, who apparently managed their household, three children, ranch books, and most of Caldwell himself for fifty-two years.
“She’d have liked you,” he tells me. The warmth in his voice makes the lie sit heavier in my stomach.
I glance at Ty. He feels it too. I can tell by the way his jaw tightens. This isn’t funny to him anymore. Maybe it never was.
After dinner, Caldwell walks us to the porch. “Come back next week,” he tells Ty. “Both of you. I want to take Kayla out toward Elk Creek. Show her the east acreage.”
I glance at Ty.
“We’ll come by,” he says.
Caldwell nods. He looks between us for a long moment. “Goodnight, you two.”
“Goodnight,” I say.
Ty’s hand returns to my back as we walk toward the truck. This time, I’m ready for it. Mostly.
We’re halfway down the path when I glance back. Caldwell is still standing in the doorway. Watching. “He’s looking,” I whisper.
“I know.”
I look at Ty. He looks at me. The obvious solution arrives. I hate the obvious solution.
“Should we…?”
Ty stops. His hand leaves my back. For a second, he does nothing. The porch light throws part of his face into shadow.
I suddenly hear every stupid rule we made yesterday. Hand-holding. Arm around me. Play it by ear. I did not make a rule for this.
“Ty?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. Then come back up. “Tell me if you don’t want me to.”
My pulse jumps. “It’s for Caldwell.”
“I know.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Ty puts one hand along my jaw. Slowly. Like he’s giving me time to change my mind. I don’t.
He lowers his head. His mouth touches mine. The first second is careful. Warm lips. Firm pressure. Nothing more. A perfectly acceptable fake kiss.
Then I grab his shirt. I don’t mean to. My hand just closes around the fabric at his chest, and something changes.
Ty exhales against my mouth. His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck and he kisses me again. Not hard. Not rushed. Just deeper.
My other hand comes up to his chest. His body is warm beneath the shirt. Solid. For one dizzy second, I forget there’s an eighty-one-year-old man standing thirty feet away.
I forget the land. The fake relationship. The rules. There is only Ty’s mouth on mine and his thumb moving once against the skin below my ear.
Then he pulls back. Not far. His forehead almost touches mine. Neither of us says anything. My fingers are still twisted in his shirt.
I let go.
“Convincing?” he asks. His voice is rougher than usual.
I swallow. “Very.”
His thumb brushes my cheekbone. One slow pass. Then his hand drops.
We walk to the truck. I don’t look back at Caldwell.
The drive home is quiet. Not uncomfortable. That might be worse.
Ty keeps both hands on the steering wheel. I keep mine in my lap.
At the house, he comes around to open my door. Neither of us mentions the kiss.
I go inside. “Goodnight,” I say at the hallway.
“Night, Kayla.”
I close my bedroom door. Then I stand there with my back against it.
The kiss itself can be explained. Caldwell was watching. We needed to sell the relationship. Fine.
The second kiss is harder to explain. So is the way I grabbed Ty’s shirt. And that thumb against my cheek after it was over? Caldwell couldn’t have seen that.
I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed. The bookshelf Ty moved in for me is against the wall.
My books are lined across it now. My clothes are in his dresser. My blue mug is beside his white one in the kitchen.
A week ago, this house had nothing of mine in it. Now I’m everywhere. That should make me want to pull back. Instead, I think about Ty standing in the hallway before I moved in, emptying a closet for a woman who hadn’t said yes yet.
I lie down. From somewhere beyond the wall, I hear him moving around the kitchen. Cabinet door. Running water. The quiet clink of something placed in the sink.
Normal sounds. Domestic sounds. I close my eyes.
This was supposed to be the easy part. A place to stay. A few dinners with Caldwell. A fake relationship with a man I barely knew.
The problem is, I’m starting to know him. And I think that might be considerably more dangerous.