Chapter 7 - Paige
“You can’t keep doing this,” Maya says with a sigh.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answer with a forced smile.
She leans over, looking further down in the line as if she has to. Ryder is impossible to miss. His tan cowboy hat, his black shirt, his thick dark hair, the body I got to know in just about every way five days ago .... not to mention the way the bakery feels.
It’s charged with a loose live wire that’s ready to fry my mind all over again and make me forget what I’ve heard from not one woman, but six over the course of this week and from Maya herself when I first laid eyes on him.
I won’t let it. No touching. No conversation.
He’ll leave. He’ll get annoyed and blow up. He’ll reveal the truth.
“Honey, what I said was ... I was repeating a rumor. That’s all. It’s obviously different now,” Maya whispers.
“You’re not the only one who said it and it’s not like it matters. Nothing happened,” I insist, because if I don’t admit to sleeping with him, then I’m not a silly, delusional woman who expects a man to change just because of her.
Maya starts to say something, then shakes her head. She motions to the line and we get through it until Ryder comes up. I try to escape, to make an excuse, but Maya says something about calling her boyfriend. I hide my annoyance.
Why is she trying to push us together? It’s like she knows something happened even though I didn’t tell anyone.
“Something sweeter than normal today, if you don’t mind, sunshine,” he says, sounding tired.
I notice that he looks exhausted, but more than that .
.. he looks like some horses I’ve seen. The ones Maya says are tired of fighting their reins, the ones that are ready to snap and run, even if it means breaking down a fence.
I see it in his tight jaw, the way he tightens his arms against his body, the tension crackling around him and in his steely gaze.
It softens when our eyes meet, but then he’s tense all over again.
I offer him a peanut butter silk pie with chocolate drizzled on it and whipped cream. It’s honestly one of my favorites. I chew the inside of my cheek. “Goes well with coffee.”
He nods and gives me a warm, soft smile, full of questions I don’t know how to answer.
He takes everything, tips me twenty dollars, then sits. People talk around him, but he doesn’t join in. I’ve noticed that too. He eats with consideration, like I’m giving him a code he has to work out, until his eyes meet mine. I want to draw back.
I saw him leave here late. Wonder what next spot he’ll be visiting after hours. Everyone knows how he is. Makes a woman fall in love in one night, then gives her a lifetime to put herself back together after, the girl had said the morning after my night with Ryder.
It felt like proof at the time, that he didn’t really want me. that I was being stupid. There are so many reasons we won’t work. He’s experienced. He’s famous. He could have anyone. We barely know each other. Just looking at us would confuse people.
When he finishes his pie, he sips his coffee.
He nods to me once with a smile that’s tight, not revealing his perfect teeth.
His eyes slip over me in a way that I’ve started to memorize.
I hate how good his presence feels. I hate how much I want it even though another part of me wants him to go away.
I make it through another day, but the next morning Maya’s already moving around the bakery like a storm contained in an apron.
She scrubs and wipes with a kind of restless energy, glancing at the door every few minutes like she’s waiting for something…
or someone. By lunch, when the shop is quiet and the lull settles in, she suddenly pulls me aside.
Apparently, this is her moment to pounce.
“I adore you. You’re sweet, professional, reliable, a really amazing friend,” Maya says.
“That’s how I feel about you,” I promise. “Did someone say differently? I’ve never said a bad word against you. I’ll defend you openly and-”
“So as a friend, I’m going to ask you what’s going on? I have cameras outside the shop. I saw you and Ryder leave after spending a long time in the shop. I saw how he looked at you, saw how close you were. I know your dress was all skewed and his shirt wasn’t on right.”
My whole body freezes. I’m not ready for this talk.
“You were with him, he’s here every day, he’s still showing up just to see you.
That and what Oliver said when I talked to him proves all the rumors wrong.
He’s not always a one and done. He’s usually not.
He gets offers, but goes to his hotel room alone.
He’s not celibate or anything, but he doesn’t bounce from woman to woman,” Maya says, her voice gentle and calm, but obviously with an intense purpose.
“What are you saying?” I ask. “What do you think-”
“Based on your blush and the fact he’s still here, sitting there, watching you with hope, says that you guys kissed at minimum, probably more, and now you’re pulling away.
I really do love you, Paige, but that man is hurting, waiting, hoping and you’re not putting him out of his misery by doing nothing,” Maya says.
She rubs my arm. “I’m not telling you how to handle it.
I wouldn’t. I’m just asking you to make a choice in the next week and stop this nonsense, one way or the other, for both your sakes. Just think about it, okay?”
Later that afternoon, Ryder shows up again, and this time I really look at him. Not just the quick, shy glances I usually steal. He’s gorgeous. Painfully, unfairly gorgeous. The kind of man who pulls eyes to him without even trying. And they do follow him. Every woman in the room seems to notice.
But when he sits down with that same slice of pie, something shifts. I stop noticing everyone else and start noticing him. The way his silence fills the space. The weight of his gaze that brushes against my skin like a touch I can almost feel.
It’s pouring outside, but he’s steady, unbothered.
Rain clings to his shirt, darkening the fabric, but he doesn’t flinch or fidget.
He just sits there, solid, hat set aside with a small, quiet respect that hints at something softer beneath the cocky, alpha exterior.
The same man I’ve heard stories about. The same man I googled like a fool.
The same man who’s managed to get under my skin.
And yet… we don’t really know each other. A few conversations over pie, one night that burned through every defense I’ve ever built, and now this strange, illogical pull inside me whenever I catch the faint crease between his brows.
Logically, statistically, based on everything I know, there’s no way this should work. Not long term. Not with him and me living in two very different worlds. Even if the sex was unforgettable. Even if he made me feel like I’d been sleepwalking through life until the moment he touched me.
He’s him. Traveling rodeo royalty. A man who’s lived on the road, thrived on it.
And I’m… me. I like quiet mornings and slow days.
I like Aspenbrook—the cozy streets, the familiar faces, the feeling of belonging.
I like curling up indoors with a book, watching the world move at a pace I can actually keep up with. I like staying. He doesn’t.
He’s restless, coiled energy in human form.
Chomping at the bit after a week of silence following what should’ve been nothing more than a one-night stand.
He’s intense. Wild. A man standing on the edge of a life I’ve never even brushed against. And I can’t shake the fear that I’m not enough for someone like him.
Because feelings can’t hold a life together. Not forever. Affection, infatuation, lust, even love—they all sound beautiful, but I’ve watched relationships built on those things alone collapse. They don’t just break; they burn, and the fallout leaves scars.
I can’t do that to myself. I can’t just open my heart, drop my guard, and trust him. I don’t… I don’t know how to do that.
One long look at him—really looking—makes my chest ache.
He sits there quietly, nodding at whatever small talk floats around him.
He doesn’t try to charm anyone. Doesn’t demand attention.
His hand is wrapped around his fork like it’s the one solid thing holding him steady, and I suddenly realize he’s not waiting for me to offer him more sex.
He wants more.
The thought makes something inside me twist. It’s terrifying, the kind of fear that sinks into your ribs and doesn’t let go. Because if he meant everything he said that night… then this isn’t just some passing, lust-fueled distraction for him.
So… is it possible? Is it possible that he meant it all? That the way he looks at me isn’t temporary, isn’t built on heat and a moment of weakness?
My heart wants to believe it. My head is screaming not to. And caught between the two, I just sit there, staring at him, feeling like if I move even an inch toward him, I might lose everything I’ve built to keep myself safe.
And yet… not moving at all feels just as dangerous.