Chapter 21
Addison
The kitchen is a mess. Flour coats the countertops and floor, and a failed tray of croissants sits smugly on a nearby cooling rack—taunting me.
The staff won’t get fresh pastries tomorrow morning at breakfast like I’d hoped, but Hank assures me they’ll live—that I’ve been spoiling them too much anyway.
And while this might be the most stressful day yet of my new job, it pales in comparison to my old life. Even with dirty floors, wasted ingredients, and a failed project, I’m happy.
Because I know my next batch will hit the mark. Or at least get closer. And for the first time in my life, I feel good enough at something—and motivated—to give it all I’ve got.
“I promise you those cowboys will live without a pastry tomorrow morning,” Hank reminds me with a smirk as I eye the bags of flour in the corner, half considering trying again tonight. “Just get this kitchen cleaned up and go home,” he presses.
I sigh. He’s right. I just need to take the loss and try again tomorrow. No one’s going to die without a croissant.
Just then, the kitchen doors swing open, and Cruz strides in. “You working my girlfriend to death in here?” he accuses Hank with a lopsided grin.
“I just told her to finish up and leave,” Hank defends himself. “It’s not my fault she’s a perfectionist.”
Cruz chuckles, then turns to me. My stomach summersaults. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the term girlfriend coming from his lips. Or the way those dirty jeans hug his body in all the right places, his muscled arms underneath that thin t-shirt, or that damned cowboy hat …
“Whatcha thinking about, Princess?” he murmurs, spanning the distance between us and placing his hands on my waist.
Hank exits the kitchen, shaking his head. “See you both tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder before the doors swing shut.
I cock my head, staring up at Cruz. “Oh, just how hot my boyfriend looks today.”
He gently squeezes my waist. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about my girlfriend.”
I hadn’t even left Cruz’s cabin the night I got back before us ironing out our relationship status—without any hesitancy, I might add.
Some staff members were more shocked than others to learn of it.
While some, like Hank, simply said that they’d been waiting for the announcement.
Tate took it in stride. He seemed neither happy nor upset by it, which I suppose is as good of a reaction as one could expect.
I assume he’s worried that a potential breakup could cause ranch drama that he doesn’t want to deal with.
But somehow … I doubt that’s in the cards. I love this man with every fiber of my being. And this love, this relationship, this man, it all feels different.
“You need some help in here?” Cruz asks, dipping his head to gently kiss the nape of my neck.
“If you mean actual help, then yes,” I say with a giggle. “Now that I’m an official employee, it’s my turn to care about health code violations.” I playfully swat him away, and he steps back, chuckling. “There’s a broom in the corner you could make use of.”
He does as he’s told, grabbing the broom and methodically sweeping up the stray flour from the floor. I go to work cleaning off the counters and tossing the failed croissants. It doesn’t take us long, and soon we’re striding out of the mess hall and into the evening air.
Cruz reaches for my hand, clasping it in his as we make our way through the Village to his cabin. “Movie night, or game night?” he asks.
I purse my lips, making a show of deciding. “Movie,” I settle on.
He squeezes my hand.
When we reach his cabin, I set my jacket and purse by the front door while Cruz disappears into his bedroom, beckoning me to follow.
I laugh. “Someone’s in a hurry.”
But when I enter the room, he’s standing by the side of the bed, pointing rather proudly at a new piece of furniture in the room.
True to bachelor fashion, his furniture and décor is pretty minimal.
His bedroom contained the bed and one singular bedside table.
But now, there’s a new one. It doesn’t match his and stands out a bit in the sparse room, but it’s wide enough for a lamp and contains two medium-sized drawers.
I cock my head, a small smile spreading across my face. “You got me a bedside table?” I ask through a giggle.
He shrugs. “Told you I could make room.”
The gesture is small—tiny, even—but it’s far from meaningless. I cross the room, folding myself into his open arms. “We’ve only been officially dating a few days,” I whisper.
He grins down at me, undeterred. “Yeah, but I knew you were the one for me the second you stepped foot on Thatcher Ranch in those ridiculous pink boots.”
I scrunch up my nose. “You didn’t know then,” I retort.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe not subconsciously, but somewhere, I knew.” He leans down, his forehead against mine. “And now that I’ve got you, Princess, I’m never letting you go.”
And then the cowboy scoops me up into his arms and kisses me.
The End