13. Faith
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Faith
Spurs Diner looks exactly the same and completely different at the same time.
The red door is still chipped around the handle. The big front windows are still foggy from the heat inside. The neon horseshoe sign flickers when the wind hits it just right. But I haven’t stepped through this door in years.
Dallas holds the door open for me, his shoulder brushing mine as we step inside. It’s casual. Automatic. The kind of thing that shouldn’t mean anything.
But my body reacts anyway, awareness sparking where there shouldn’t be sparks, in a diner I used to skip class to sneak into.
He glances down at me, a question in his eyes. You okay?
I nod, because if I try to explain what this place feels like wrapped around his presence, I won’t get the words out.
The bell jingles overhead as we walk in.
Heat, chatter, the smell of bacon grease and fried chicken, and coffee that’s been sitting on a warmer since dawn spill over us.
Christmas garlands hang crookedly above the counter, each one clearly chosen by a different person with a different sense of “festivity.” A plastic Santa grins from a shelf of mugs.
It’s loud and bright, the kind of sensory overload that should be overwhelming but somehow isn’t. Everything about the place is so incredibly familiar that I have to blink hard, like my eyes might be lying to me.
Heaven help me, I could cry.
Then…
“Faith Ross? Is that actually you? Oh, my goodness, the rumors are true!”
I turn toward the voice, and suddenly I’m seventeen again.
Jet barrels out from behind the counter, a white towel slung over her shoulder, her dark curls escaping a messy bun that’s half bobby pins, half pure determination.
Jet hasn’t changed… except, of course, she has. She looks stronger now. Sharper. Maybe a little more tired around the eyes, like life’s been asking more of her than it used to.
But she’s still unmistakably Jet.
My Jet.
My best friend. The girl who once threatened to fight a rodeo clown because he made fun of my shoes.
Her grin takes up half her face. “I don’t even know what to say. It really is you!”
Before I can react, she tackles me into a hug, a full-body, squeeze-the-soul-out-of-you hug.
I freeze for half a second. It’s been so long since someone hugged me without conditions, and then I melt.
“Look at you!” she says, pulling back to grip my face between her palms. “You’re alive! You have skin! And hair! And…” she squints at my jacket, “some kind of emotional breakdown aura, but we’ll get to that.”
“Hi,” I say helplessly. “Surprise?”
Jet flicks her towel at me. “Girl, you disappear for years and pop up on my lunch shift? That’s not a surprise… that’s a plot twist. A dramatic one.”
Before I can answer, someone behind the pastry case calls out:
“Morning, Dallas!”
I had forgotten Dallas was behind me.
I don’t need to turn to know he’s watching this. Watching Jet tackle me, watching me hug her, watching me come home to a part of myself he probably remembers better than I do.
Jet finally notices him and points dramatically. “Oh, look. The cowboy she used to doodle hearts around in her notebooks.”
I cough violently. Dallas goes red. Jet looks delighted.
“Jet,” I hiss.
“What? I speak only the truth.”
Dallas clears his throat. “Good to see you too, Jet.”
She waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, you grew up hot, whatever. I’m busy having a crisis over here. My best friend is back in town.” She turns back to face me. “Is all the gossip true? Was there a runaway bride situation?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It’s… complicated.”
Jet’s expression softens immediately. The Jet switch from chaotic gremlin to protective mama bear is still fully operational. “You okay?”
“I’m getting there.”
“Good.” She links our arms. “You’re sitting. And talking. And eating real food, not whatever emotional support protein bars people eat in the city.”
Dallas raises a brow. “People eat protein bars for emotional support?”
Jet doesn’t break eye contact with me. “Cowboy, don’t start.”
We slide into my old favorite booth, Dallas across from me, Jet beside me, practically vibrating with questions.
Dallas glances around the diner, taking it in. “Still your favorite booth?”
I blink. “You remember that?”
He shrugs. “You used to get mad if someone else took it.”
“I did not get mad.”
“You absolutely did,” he says. “You said the sunlight hit wrong everywhere else.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “It does.”
His eyes soften. “Yeah. It does.”
“Oh, my stars,” Martha Lou Daniels booms from across the diner, interrupting us. “Look who rolled back into Buckhorn!”
She waddles over, apron flapping, hair pinned up in its usual tornado pattern.
“Faith Ross,” she says, patting my cheek. “I used to have you and Jet in here giggling so loud I thought the windows would crack.”
Jet preens. “We were icons.”
“You were menaces,” Martha Lou corrects fondly. “Sit tight, sugar. Whatever you order is on me.”
“Oh, no, that’s…”
“Yes,” she says, already walking away.
Jet leans in. “Queen behavior.”
We order.
“Chicken fried steak,” I say. “Extra gravy.”
Jet clutches her chest. “Classic.”
She turns to Dallas, already smirking. “And you still drink that tar you call coffee? Black and strong enough to resurrect the dead?”
Dallas huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”
“You ever try it with cream?” I ask.
He looks genuinely startled. “Why would I ruin it?”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “You haven’t changed at all.”
He studies me for a beat. “You have.”
Something about the way he says it makes my smile falter. “Is that bad?”
“No,” he says immediately. “Just noticeable.”
A warm wave rolls through me unexpectedly.
It’s familiar and easy in a way I didn’t realize I’d been craving. After how strange everything has felt since the crash, since the wedding, since all of it, the normalcy settles into me like something warm and earned.
It’s nice.
Jet wiggles her eyebrows. “Look at us. The gang. One crispy bride, one cowboy furnace, and one single mom running on caffeine and spite.”
“Single mom?” I ask.
“Yep,” Jet says proudly. “My kid’s five. Chaotic. Loud. Perfect. You’ll meet her.”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t doubt I’ll still be around long enough.
My heart twists.
“How about you?” I ask.
Jet shrugs. “Still singing at open mic nights. Still dreaming of landing a spot at the rodeo. Still making tips off tourists who think my name is actually Jet Li.”
I smile into my water. “I missed you.”
Jet reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I missed you more.”
I pull out my new phone. “Hey, I had to get a new phone. My last one… flew out my car window. Can I get your number again?”
Jet gasps. “Absolutely. Also, I will be texting you memes at all hours.”
She taps her number in lightning fast.
Jet leaves to drop our order, and I exhale slowly. Dallas watches me, elbows on the table, expression softer than it should be.
“You said earlier you’re trying to figure out your next move,” he says.
“I am,” I admit. “Everything’s… up in the air.”
He nods. “What about your dad?”
My stomach drops like a stone.
Dallas remembers him. The dominant voice. The controlling hands. The giant shadow.
“I don’t want to talk about him today,” I say quietly. “Not here.”
Dallas nods once. “Fair enough. But how long are you thinking of staying at your mom’s?”
The question lands heavier than he probably means it to.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “A little while, I guess.”
He nods, not pushing. “You got a plan?”
I shake my head, then let out a breath. “That’s the problem. I’ve spent so long doing what I was supposed to do that I don’t actually know what I want.”
He studies me. “You don’t have to know yet.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I just…” I trail off, fingers tightening around my glass. “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. Not to anyone. Not even myself.”
Something flickers across his face. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition.
“That’s fair,” he says after a moment. “Figuring things out doesn’t come with a deadline.”
Relief loosens my chest a notch. Not because the future feels clearer, it doesn’t, but because he isn’t asking me to be anything other than uncertain.
I breathe easier.
In this diner, in this booth, in this moment, I want to pretend I’m unreachable. Like nothing outside these walls can touch me. Not my father. Not Evan. Not the wreckage I left behind.
Just Jet’s laughter.
Just Martha Lou humming.
Just Dallas across the table, warm and undoing me minute by minute.
I stare at him again.
My chest flickers with desire. Unfamiliar but not unwelcome. This wasn’t how it felt when we were kids. Back then, he was my best friend. My anchor. My partner in crime.
Now?
Being around him is leaning too close to a fire.
He catches me staring and his mouth quirks, just a little.
I look away fast, cheeks flaming.
Kissing Dallas probably wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done. So why do I feel like I want to do it again?