Chapter 4 - Ryder
Paige disappeared before I even had the chance to really talk to her.
One second she was there, lighting up the night like she owned it, and the next she was gone.
By the time I spotted her friend, the seat beside her was already taken by some woman desperate to latch onto any rodeo man who’d look her way.
I couldn’t tell you what she looked like.
All I could see was Paige—those soft curves, that damn pretty face, the kind of beauty that sticks to you like honey.
Letting her slip away without trying to find her isn’t an option.
Not that I have a clue where to start. But I know Maya.
We grew up in the same circles thanks to Oliver—my best friend back when we were just a couple of kids running wild.
She runs a bakery in town now, and it seems like my best shot.
Coffee and sugar can’t be a bad way to start the morning after a win.
A win that might be one of my last, if I’m being honest. The endless travel, the hotel rooms, the life packed into bags—it’s wearing thin.
The need to tell someone that echoes in my body, just under The bell over the door jingles as I step inside, and my pulse picks up like it’s got a mind of its own.
The place smells like warm bread and sugar, the soft music floating through the air doing little to steady me.
My boots feel too heavy against the polished floor, jeans dusty from the morning ride, shirt snug and a little damp with sweat.
I don’t exactly fit in here—but the second my eyes land on her, it doesn’t matter.
Paige.
She’s behind the counter, talking softly to herself as she tries to arrange a tray of cookies.
She moves with a mix of focus and awkward grace—like she’s trying not to trip over her own thoughts.
I lean my forearm on the counter, watching the way her jeans fit and the way her apron pulls tight at her waist. A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it.
Maya says something I can’t hear, touching Paige’s elbow, and she jumps like she wasn’t expecting it. A cookie slips from her fingers and clatters back onto the tray. She spins toward me, a little too fast, and nearly bumps into the register. When her gaze finally finds mine, her breath catches.
I tip my hat at her, and she freezes.
“Mornin’, Paige. A slice of apple pie would be perfect,” I say, letting the drawl settle low and easy, like I’ve got all the time in the world.
She blinks, cheeks flushing as she fumbles for a plate. “Y-yeah. Pie. Um—right. One sec.” A fork slips from her grasp and lands with a sharp clink on the counter.
I don’t look away. I want her to see exactly where my attention is—on her.
I like the way she gets flustered, the way her hands shake just a little when I don’t pretend to be subtle.
She’s clumsy, soft around the edges, everything this place smells like.
And me? I’m not about to apologize for looking. Or wanting.
“Sharing it with you would be better,” I hint when she starts plating it. “If you’re able to take a break, of course.”
“I—um, I can’t. It’s too early for that,” she stammers, glancing around like the walls might rescue her, shoulders curling in on themselves. Her pupils are blown wide, and she’s biting her bottom lip, but even with all that heat in her eyes, she’s pulling back.
“I’ll just have to try again tomorrow then,” I say easily, letting a slow grin curve my mouth.
My gaze drifts over her again—unhurried, deliberate—lingering on the soft curves, the flush creeping up her neck, the way her fingers inch nervously across the counter.
“The best view in all of Aspenbrook’s right here, and I don’t plan on missing out. ”
She chews the inside of her cheek and swallows hard. “Um… y-you can… take a seat,” she manages, voice a little shaky. “Did you—uh—want something to drink too?”
“Coffee would be perfect,” I say, still watching her like I’ve got nowhere else to be.
She nods a little too quickly, fumbling for a notepad she doesn’t really need. “Right. Coffee. I’ll—uh—bring it over.” Her fingers brush the edge of the counter, and she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear before turning away, shoulders stiff like she’s trying to collect herself.
I’d take any excuse to pull her closer, to keep her within reach for just a minute longer, but the place is busy.
So I settle at a corner table with my pie, deliberately taking my time.
I watch her as she moves through the shop, balancing trays, laughing softly at something Maya says.
She’s different with her—easier. Her smile softens around her friend, lighting her hazel eyes from behind like someone flipped a switch.
People come up to me, trying to talk—asking about the ride, about the next stop, about the wild life they’ve built up in their heads.
I give them short answers. I know what they expect: the reckless cowboy who lives for the rush.
And maybe that’s true, but I don’t want that version of me to be the only one Paige sees.
The women who approach are bolder—touching my arm, leaning in, laughing too loud. They’re used to chasing me. But I’m not looking at them. I’m looking at Paige.
When her eyes flick up and meet mine across the room, she tucks a piece of light brown hair behind her ear again, shy and sweet, and something in my chest tightens.
That little move will be my job soon enough.
I’ll be the one to touch her, to take care of her, to give her everything she doesn’t even realize she deserves. If she needs time, I’ll wait.
Because I’ve just found my new favorite place in Aspenbrook.
Over the week I prove it. I show up every day, trying to vary the time so I can catch Paige on break.
Every day I fail, but I make sure that she knows I want her.
I watch and enjoy her. I listen to Paige say that the peanut butter pie is her favorite when she needs something sweet – the same pie she’s given me the last three times I’ve ordered.
I notice she keeps distance between her and people she doesn’t know, but is happy to chat and be close with Maya and the woman who runs the bookstore next to the bakery. And I just enjoy the view, enjoying seeing her with other people.
She dances to music when she doesn’t think people are watching.
She mouths the words and loses herself in it.
She always sets something aside for Maya and Oliver and even if she’s quieter and introverted, when Maya teases her innocently, Paige joins in.
She’s willing to be goofy, she’s willing to open up, but it takes trust. I respect it.
I like it. She knows the value of giving someone her time.
She trusts people once they’ve earned it.
She’s the only woman I watch. I try whatever pie she recommends, never leave without talking to her first, and flirt as much as she allows.
“I could always ask Maya to make sure you have a break. I promise it’ll be worth it. Even ten minutes of your time is worth more than a day with anyone else,” I say. “And I wouldn’t be a proper man if I didn’t make sure you wanted more than ten minutes.”
Her face burns. “Ryder, my break really isn’t-”
“She’s saying a proper date would be better,” Maya cuts in before she can finish, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
“This morning she was worried you might be allergic to strawberries when we were making the tarts. She didn’t want to accidentally poison the cowboy she’s been pretending not to look at all week. ”
Paige’s mouth opens, then shuts again. She shoots her friend a mortified glare. “I just… you said he’s the town star, and that—”
“I’m flattered, sunshine,” I interrupt, leaning against the counter like I’ve got all day. My gaze drifts over her, slow and deliberate, until it settles on her flushed face. “But I think it’s only fair I show you how attentive I can be too.”
Maya laughs softly and slips away before Paige can chase her. Paige bites her bottom lip, clearly trying to keep it together.
“We could go on a proper date. I have plenty of things I think you’d enjoy,” I comment.
Her eyes dip down my body before snapping back up to my face. “I… um… do you want more pie?”
I chuckle softly, brushing my fingers over hers in a light, teasing stroke. “Tomorrow, I’ll let you pick for me. I’m not allergic to anything. I’ll eat anything you make, Paige. Anything you offer me.”
She draws in an unsteady breath, her tongue sweeping over her bottom lip. “You really can’t not be intense, can you?”
That flicker of worry about being too much for her, too wild for her, slips back in. But she doesn’t pull away. Our fingers keep moving against each other, a quiet game neither of us started but neither wants to stop.
“I’m just your daily dose of intensity,” I say with a low laugh, giving her hand a light squeeze. “But I won’t ask you out today. That would make it seem like it was all Maya’s idea. And I think I made myself pretty clear the first time we met.”
“Cocky,” she whispers, the word soft but not entirely disapproving.
“Honest,” I counter easily. Then I catch the tiny shake of her head and grin wider. “Maybe a little cocky, sunshine. But I like to make things clear.”
I start to walk away, even though I can feel her questioning what I meant.
It’s not subtle anymore. Half the town’s picked up on the fact that I want her.
The women who used to linger near me at the bakery have stopped trying.
Everyone but Paige seems to understand just how locked in I am on her — how hyper-aware I am of every breath she takes when I’m around.
The next day’s a mess of riding practice and catching up on everything I’ve neglected at home.
By the time I make it to the bakery, there’s barely twenty minutes before closing.
The place is quiet, empty except for the warm smell of sugar and cinnamon.
My chest tightens when I don’t see her at the counter. I want to curse myself for being late.
Seeing her every day has become the only thing that steadies me.
A sudden clatter snaps my attention to the side, and there she is — Paige, wiping down a table. She freezes when she sees me, her eyes widening for just a second. Relief flashes across her face, quickly replaced by something soft and nervous.
We’re alone.
And for a heartbeat, that thought sinks deep.
I want to touch her. I want to feel her.
I want to wrap myself around her and finally thank her for being the one thing in my day that feels right.
But I know the second I touch more than her fingers, I’ll lose control.
I’ll kiss her like I’ve imagined a hundred times, and stopping won’t be an option.
“There’s… caramel apple pie today,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes flick away from mine, a little too quickly. “I think there’s… oh, the oven!”
She spins toward the back, and I can’t help the grin tugging at my mouth. She’s nervous. I make her nervous. And God, I like that.
I walk with her, slipping behind the counter as my heartbeat goes erratic in my chest. She’s so damn plush. She’s so sexy. “You should come to the rodeo more.”
“It’s not really my scene.” She explains while taking out a batch of muffins.
“What is your scene?”
She thinks about it, then tells me about places in the city, but she doesn’t seem like she’s enjoying any of them. I gently brush her shoulder. “Something you like, not where you can be found, sunshine.”
She turns to look at me, watching from under her lashes. “I like calm places.” I get a real smile finally. “I like Aspenbrook a lot. Reading by a window, taking a walk on a nice day.”
“And how did you end up in a bakery rather than a model studio or working at a library?” I ask.
She gives me a look that says she’s not sure if I’m joking around. The longer she looks, though, the more her eyes heat and the more I want to pull her against me. Whatever fantasy she has playing in her head, I want to bring to life. Whatever she wants, I’m the man who will provide it.
She speaks in a soft, breathy voice, “I’m not model material.”
“You don’t like being in front of the camera?” I ask, then try to calm the lust that’s threatening to burst out of me. “Or is it that you don’t like taking orders?”
She shakes her head slightly, but adjusts her shirt.
“Maybe I haven’t been clear about how I see-”
Before I can finish she gasps and jerks away from the second tray she was handling. I grab it – bare handed – and toss it on the counter before I grab her wrist to look at her hand. She whimpers. “Sorry, I didn’t ... I should pay more attention.”
I memorize the feel of her velvety hand in mine. The echoes of sparks across my body that I feel every time I see her become an inferno. Letting her go is suddenly the worst thing I can think of.