Chapter 13
Addison
“For a gal who’s never baked before, you sure make a mean muffin,” Hank says after swallowing his bite.
I grin, trying to hold in my excitement. “You’re not just saying that?” I press.
Hank feigns insult, placing a hand over his heart. “Swear to God,” he says.
I grin wider, swiveling back around to the trays of cooling muffins atop the counters.
I’d spent the morning further perfecting my recipe, and while I may not have enough to feed every mouth on the ranch, it’s enough to put out for the lunch rush.
Hank is already carrying a plate of them out the swinging double doors of the kitchen.
I follow with a plate of my own, watching as Hank is immediately surrounded by excited ranch hands, all grabbing at a muffin.
“You bake now, Hank?” Cora, one of the on-site vet techs, teases him.
“Nah. That’ll be this miss over here.” He inclines his head toward me.
“I vote we keep her around,” one of the guys says, shooting me a smile.
I giggle, setting the plate down.
“Seriously, Addison, these are good,” Cora says.
“Thanks,” I reply, and I mean it. My chest warms. I haven’t felt this proud of something in, well, a long time. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was allowed the space to just play around and follow an interest. Never, maybe? That thought saddens me for a moment, but I push it aside.
I head back into the kitchen, readying another tray of muffins, when I feel someone approach from behind me. I turn around, expecting to see Hank, but am pleasantly surprised to find Cruz.
His hands reach for my waist, walking me backward and pinning me gently against the countertop with his body weight. “Hey, Princess,” he breathes before leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips. Ugh, that stupid nickname is starting to grow on me.
I pull back, glancing over his shoulder.
As if reading my mind, he says, “Hank’s busy out there, and no one can see us.”
I giggle, swatting him playfully.
One of his hands roams over my ass, squeezing it.
“Remember your previous concern about health code violations,” I warn him.
“Yeah, I’m actually not that worried about those,” he murmurs, nuzzling into my neck.
“Cruz,” I giggle, and he pulls back an appropriate amount, although his hands are still resting on my waist.
“I want to take you out tonight.”
I blink up at him in surprise.
“Seven o’clock. That sound good?”
I find myself nodding. “Where are we gonna go?”
He grins, stepping back. “A surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
He shakes his head, turning toward the door. “There’s no pleasing you, is there, Princess?”
The double doors swing shut behind him, and I turn back to the muffins to hide my giddy smile.
At two minutes before seven o’clock, I hear the sound of a truck engine out front of my cabin.
I grab my purse off the counter and quickly scan myself in the mirror by the door.
Cruz hasn’t told me where we’re going, and while I can’t imagine there are a whole lot of fancy places in Cedar Ridge, I still wanted to dress nice.
I’m wearing a little black dress that hits just about mid-thigh and hugs my curves in all the right places. To dress it down just a bit—and also fit the vibe of the town—I’ve paired it with my bright pink cowgirl boots.
I swing the front door open just as Cruz is jogging up the steps. “You’re punctual,” I observe, shutting the door behind me.
Cruz’s gaze sweeps over me, the corner of his lips tugging upward. “And you look cute.”
I feel myself smiling involuntarily. “Thank you.”
He grabs my hand, leading me to the passenger side of his truck where he opens the door for me, helps me in, and then closes it. As I watch him walk around the front of the truck and hop into the driver’s seat, I realize I don’t think I’ve ever had a man open a car door for me.
“Have you spent much time in town since being here?” Cruz asks as we make our way down the dirt road.
“Not really,” I admit. “A few grocery runs with Theresa, but that’s about it.”
“Well, I’m taking you to the coolest spot in town.”
I glance sideways at him. “Am I underdressed? Or … overdressed?”
His gaze slides along my curves again, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. “You look perfect.”
I smirk, staring out the window.
It doesn’t take long to get into town—maybe about ten or fifteen minutes. The downtown area of Cedar Ridge is small, quaint. The main street is lined with cute shops and restaurants and seems lively for a town of this size.
When Cruz pulls into a parking spot along the main street, I ask, “So where are we going?”
He shoots me a grin and simply hops out of the car, jogging around to get my door for me.
“We’re still playing this game, huh?” I ask.
“Patience, Princess,” he scolds, taking my hand in his big, strong one and guiding me to the sidewalk.
We walk a few blocks past shops that are mainly closed, as well as a few restaurants, until stopping in front of an establishment I hadn’t even noticed.
I glance up at the sign above the front door, catching the words Honky Tonk.
I can’t help but giggle. “You’re kidding.”
Cruz just grins, holding the door open for me, country music wafting out into the street.
Chuckling softly to myself, I enter. The bar is larger inside than it looked, with high-top tables and chairs scattered around the outskirts, with a stage set up against the far wall, a live band playing.
And in the middle of the room, highlighted by the deep, low lights, is a dance floor.
With people doing a dance that … apparently they all know?
Still in awe at everyone marching in step with one another, I barely notice Cruz grabbing my hand and leading us to an empty table. A server comes by and deposits some menus, asking if we’d like to start with drinks. Cruz orders a beer, and I opt for a Cosmo.
I scan the menu, still glancing sideways at the people on the dance floor. “How do they all just know it?” I ask.
Cruz laughs. “They learn it.”
“It looks complicated.”
“It’s not as hard as it looks.”
The server returns with our drinks and takes our dinner order—burgers and fries for both of us. The live band starts a new song—upbeat and energizing.
I stare across the small table at Cruz, who’s leaning forward on both elbows, his dark cowboy hat cocked slightly to the side. “So, you come here often?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Every once in a while. It’s a common place for a bunch of the ranch staff to hang out after work.” He inclines his head toward the dance floor. “You wanna dance while we wait for our food? I can teach you.”
“Oh, I—I think I need at least one drink in me before I attempt that,” I balk.
Cruz nods in acceptance, taking a swig of his beer. “You know, I didn’t peg you as the timid type.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You literally saw me have a panic attack.” It’s strange how the words roll off my tongue so easily, without embarrassment like they usually would. Instead, it just feels like something that happened. Like getting caught in the rain or catching a cold.
“You also stormed onto Thatcher Ranch and immediately started ordering me around, if you recall,” he bites back with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t that bad.”
He just keeps smirking.
I shake my head, chuckling softly. Then I shrug. “I don’t do well in crowds. Or high-pressure situations.”
There’s a pause, and then, “Was that what caused the attack? A high-pressure situation?”
My gaze flickers to his.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” he says quickly, sitting up straighter.
“No, I don’t mind,” I say, and surprisingly, I mean it.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m starting to feel more and more comfortable around Cruz or simply that I’m far away from home and my old worries can’t find me here, but opening up right now somehow feels less scary.
“My mom called,” I divulge. “She and my dad run a prestigious luxury real estate business in Seattle. I work for them—but, not really doing what I want. They want me to be the face of the company, give speeches, do talks, schmooze with the wealthy Seattleites. I’d much rather crunch numbers in an office somewhere—alone—but …
they get the final say.” I give a humorless laugh.
I look to Cruz to gauge his interest in my rambling, but he’s intent on my story, leaning forward against the table.
“Remember I told you that they sent me here for the summer? Well, they sent me away because … because I had a pretty public breakdown. I was supposed to give a speech at this charity function and … I freaked out.”
“A panic attack?” he prompts.
I nod. “Mom and Dad, they never got the whole anxiety thing. They always just told me I’d get over it.
And I did, with a lot of things, you know?
Making friends, minor social situations, scheduling your own doctor’s appointments, not ruminating so much, not double checking that the stove is off fifteen times a night …
” I snort. “But when it comes to big groups, public speaking, being the center of attention, the scrutiny—it just never went away. I’m not … strong enough for that, I guess.”
Cruz reaches across the small table, taking my hand in his and squeezing gently. “Take it from someone who’s watched a family member go through the same thing—you’re more than strong enough.”
A lump forms in my throat, and, shocked, I swallow quickly. My mind flits back to this morning—Cruz seeing my scars. It’s something I typically try to hide, and in the dark, no one has ever noticed. But in the morning light, they were clear as day.
And suddenly Cruz Conley has cracked me open like a book, seeing all of me. And what’s more surprising is that I don’t resent him for it. No, I … feel safe being seen by him.
Which might be the most shocking thing to have ever happened to me. In the past, when someone had noticed my scars, asked questions about them, I’d shut down, shut them out, run away. And yet with Cruz, I’m not running.
“Maybe you just aren’t meant for the limelight,” he suggests with a shrug. “Not everyone is. Not everyone has to be.”
“According to my parents, I’m meant to be.”
“Maybe it’s time you talk to them.”
“I’ve tried …”
“Maybe it’s time you stood up for yourself.”
The words feel harsh, but the delivery is soft. Loving, even. And as obvious as the statement is, it’s truly never occurred to me before. That my parents are someone I’d need to stand up to.
“Parents can be tough,” Cruz says, pulling his hand back, giving me space. “Mine are. Well, were—they’re better now.” He chuckles.
I shoot him an expectant look.
“They had ambitions for me. And they meant well, but it was suffocating. And I get it—my mom immigrated here from Mexico before meeting my dad. She had a hard life, sacrificed a lot to get here, and wanted my sister and I to have and achieve everything she never got to. It all makes sense. But spending a decade getting a dozen degrees and becoming some doctor or lawyer? That wasn’t me. ”
“They don’t like that you work on a ranch?”
He shrugs. “They didn’t at first. They’re okay with it now. At least they’ve stopped hounding me at holidays. They’ve accepted my choice.” He shakes his head. “And it helps that my sister’s a little genius—getting a PhD in biochemical engineering.”
“Nice of her to take the heat off you.”
He nods. “It is nice of her, isn’t it?”
I grin down at my drink—now half-consumed—and then glance at the dancefloor, thinking of all the times I’ve had to overcome that little voice in the back of my head telling me that something was too scary.
It’s funny, as much as that voice has quieted over the years, it never quite goes away.
But I can tell when I’ll be able to win it over.
And in this moment, I know I can.
I look back to Cruz. “I’ll take you up on those line dancing lessons,” I say.
His eyes light up, and he stands, taking a step toward me and offering his hand. I stand and take it, and he leads us out onto the dance floor.
The band is in the middle of a song—something upbeat and catchy. Cruz finds an uninhabited corner, which I appreciate, and then stands a few feet away from me while still holding my hand.
“Okay,” he instructs, “you’re basically just stepping to the music. Watch me.”
I do, and he’s pretty much right. Line “dancing” is pretty much just line “stepping.”
“Okay, wanna try with me?” he prompts.
I nod, and he counts us off. On three, I follow his steps—to the right, a spin, to the left, and a kick. I find myself giggling as I fall a few steps behind Cruz, trying my hardest to keep up.
“You’ve got it,” he assures me with a grin. “You’re doing great.” His voice is low, only for me—and it sends flashbacks of last night running through my mind. My cheeks burn, but it’s hot in here, so I don’t think it’s noticeable.
As I pick up the steps, he slowly adds more, and soon we’re simply grooving to the beat.
I watch the dancers around me, the band up on stage, and I can feel my grin widening.
I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place like this.
No—I know I’ve never been in a place like this.
In fact, I never would have picked it. But this might just be the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time.
“You wanna know the best part about line dancing?” Cruz asks, breaking my steps to take both my hands in his and spin me around. He pulls me back against his chest, swaying with the music. “Nobody gives a fuck how anybody else dances.”
He releases me, guiding me to twirl out, away from him, and under his arm—and then he’s spinning me back in. And as my body presses against his, my hands to his chest, his on my waist, his smiling eyes gazing down at me, I realize there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.