1. Winnie
CHAPTER ONE
winnie
CaptainCory
What are you wearing?
WinnieHeartsYou
Silk pajamas and curlers
Thinking about adding fuzzy socks to really complete the look
CaptainCory
Hot
WinnieHeartsYou
And what are you wearing, Captain?
CaptainCory
Face mask
WinnieHeartsYou
…like skincare? Or Michael Myers?
CaptainCory
Yes. Chase you
WinnieHeartsYou
Chase me where? Into a pumpkin patch? Down a dark alley?
I feel like I need clarification
CaptainCory
You chase me?
WinnieHeartsYou
…why would I chase you?
CaptainCory
Yes. Come now?
WinnieHeartsYou
Come… where?
CaptainCory
You want me to come?
WinnieHeartsYou
I think there’s a language barrier
CaptainCory
No barrier. Sit on face.
WinnieHeartsYou has blocked CaptainCory.
I used to think rock bottom was crying in the car while listening to Taylor Swift.
But no, this may officially be rock bottom.
I drop my phone onto the bed and press my forehead down on top of it.
“What is wrong with men? Honestly, there should be a psych eval before they’re allowed to download this dating app. ”
Sawyer’s muffled voice floats in from the walk-in closet. “That bad?”
It’s strange how things work out. Sawyer is the last person I ever expected to become this close with, but somewhere between her stoppin’ by the bakery and long conversations that weren’t about him, she stopped feeling like the girl who stole him from me and started feeling like my friend.
It took time. And yeah—being around Trouble still comes with a quiet edge of awkwardness, and it might never fully leave. But in a town this small, you either learn how to exist in the same spaces or you let it shrink your life.
Besides, they love each other. Really love each other. And if what I got out of losing him was a real friendship with her, then I can live with that.
I really like Sawyer.
You can’t help but love her.
“Bad is an understatement,” I sigh, head still down. “I’d take bad at this point. If this is any indication about what kind of men are out there, there’s no hope for me. I might as well start knitting sweaters for my future army of cats.”
Sawyer pops out of the closet in a sleek red dress. “There are good men in Weston,” she says with a smirk, hands on her hips. “But you won’t find them on that dating app.”
“It’s sickening how you can put on anything and look like a model,” I grumble, tossing a pillow at her.
She dodges it with a laugh and disappears back into the closet. “Trouble’s taking me to a fancy dinner, and he never does fancy dinners.”
I snort. “Oh, I know.”
She pauses just long enough that I hear the shift in the room. When she steps back out, her smile is softer. “Oh. I—sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
“Don’t be,” I say quickly. “Really.”
She studies my face, like she’s checking for cracks.
“You changed him,” I add, quieter now. “For the better. If he says differently, he’s lying.”
Sawyer tilts her head. “You think so?”
“I know so,” I say, then wrinkle my nose. “Doesn’t mean it’s not still sickening how in love you two are. I might throw up just thinking about it.”
She laughs with relief. “You’re the worst and the best all at the same time.”
“I prefer the best,” I say sweetly.
Sawyer pops her head out of the closet, cheeks pink. “Okay, serious question,” she says. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
I sit up on the bed, twisting my hair into a messy knot. “About?”
She gives me a look. The kind that says you know exactly what I’m talking about. “Finding a new job. You said you had to find something like yesterday.”
I sigh, flopping back against the pillows.
“I know. My parents keep saying they’ll figure out the bakery.
That they don’t want me worrying. But I see the numbers.
I see how late they’re staying. They shouldn’t still be doing sixteen-hour days.
They want to retire in the next three years. It’ll never happen at this rate.”
Sawyer steps fully out of the closet, dress in hand, her expression softening. “I’m sure they just don’t want you feeling like it’s your responsibility.”
“Too late,” I exhale. “They can hardly afford to keep the bakery going, let alone payin’ me for working on days that we only get a few customers. I have to find more ways to help.”
She sits beside me. “Fair. But listen—Honey mentioned the bar’s short-staffed again. A few nights a week. And…” She hesitates, then smiles. “Mama Stetson is also looking for some help on the ranch. Cleaning, check-ins, light ranch work. And she loves you.”
My stomach does a weird little flip. “She said that?”
“She did,” Sawyer says. “She said you're the town's local sweetheart.”
I think about the bakery. About my parents’ tired smiles. About how small towns don’t give you the luxury of avoiding the people, no matter where you work—or give you much of a selection of options.
“That might actually… work,” I say slowly. “I’ll look into both.”
Sawyer grins. “See? Look at Weston providing solutions.”
I snort. “Weston provides complications.”
She laughs, nudging my knee. “Same thing.”
And somehow, a few hours later, I’m standing at the bar while Honey eyes me skeptically from behind the counter.
“You sure about this, Winnie?” she asks. “Nights here can get a little wild.”
“I grew up in a bakery during harvest season,” I say. “I can handle wild.”
She snorts, then slides a tray toward me. “Can you start now?”
“Wait—like now, now?”
Honey grins. “Show me what you got, girl.”
And I try but I may be in over my head.
At this point, I’m not sure if this is a bar or an obstacle course designed specifically to humble me.
I’ve taken orders I immediately forgot, balanced trays that felt personally offended by gravity, and apologized to the credit card machine twice like it might start cooperating out of guilt.
My feet ache, my nerves buzz, and I’m pretty sure I just served a light beer to a man who definitely asked for whiskey.
Then the bell rings, and the front door swings open. In walks Danger Stetson. My ex's older brother. Trouble and I never technically had the boyfriend–girlfriend label, but we did plenty that qualified in my book.
His cowboy hat is tipped low, dark button-up pulled tight across broad shoulders that fill every inch of the doorway. Tattoos peek from beneath his sleeves, the rings on his fingers catch the light as he takes off his Ray-Bans. He scans the bar, lazy and sharp all at once.
Conversations falter. A few heads turn too fast.It’s like everyone feels him before they see him.
The lovely table of buckle bunnies clocks him instantly.
They always do. Hair gets flipped. Laughter gets louder.
One of them makes a beeline for him, pressing close, fingers sliding over his arm like she’s already claimed him for the night.
“Danger,” she purrs. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight. Let's get you a drink.”
I swear, if attention was worth something, he’d own the town twice over.
“Apron girl?” The woman on his arm looks over at me, her voice dripping with fake surprise. “Is that you?”
Apron girl.
It shouldn't bother me anymore. It did when I was younger, but it’s a less fun nickname when you’re fifteen and just trying to make it through the hallway without feeling like a walking joke. Bakery kid. Freckle face. Easy target.
Small towns love a label. Once it lands on you, it doesn’t wash off—no matter how many years pass by.
I glance over, deadpan. “Parking-lot-Penny—is that you? Wow. Almost didn’t recognize you.”
A few snorts break out. The women around Danger glare, whisper something to each other, and then peel away like my comment ruined the moment.
Nothing’s changed.
Back when I spent my childhood summers trying to run into his little brother, I saw Danger running around with the same type—gorgeous, evil cheerleaders who knew exactly how much power they had and used it like a weapon.
Still, the world bent around them anyway.
People always loved them, made room, followed.
One woman in particular made my life miserable for years, and he ended up having a child with her.
The math doesn't add up once you meet Fisher.
Sweet, funny, adorable Fisher somehow came from two people who carry so much darkness.
His eyes land on me.
“You lost?” Danger asks.
I turn, tray balanced on my hip. “Excuse me?”
He stalks closer, jaw set. “This ain’t the kinda place I’d expect to see you.”
“Well, get used to it,” I say lightly. “I work here now.”
Honey appears at my side instantly. “She sure does.”
Danger doesn’t even look at her. “She doesn’t belong in a place like this.”
“Oh hush,” Honey snaps. “She’ll be just fine.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve seen her get taken out by a calf half her size.”
Laughter ripples through the bar.
My cheeks burn. “That happened once.”
“Twice,” he corrects.
I was a child back then.
And there it is—that look. The same one he used to give me whenever Trouble and I laughed too loud or pushed things a little too far. Here came Danger. Dark. Broody. All storm clouds and silence. He never raised his voice. Never had to. One look from him and suddenly everyone listened.
Trouble included.
It’s still like that now.
In this town, what Danger Stetson says tends to become law. With his brothers. With the ranch hands. With people twice his age who should know better. I don’t know if it’s fear or respect or some unspoken agreement everyone signed without me—but he always gets the last word.
I don’t understand why everyone’s so intimidated by him. He’s only six years older than me. And I’m not a kid anymore. Not that he’s noticed.
“And how old are you now?” he asks. “Honey check your ID before she handed you a tray—or should I?”
One of the glasses on my tray wobbles. Tips.
I suck in a breath.
His hand shoots out, steady and fast, catching it midair like it never had a chance of hitting the ground. He sets it back onto my tray, fingers brushing mine just long enough to make my pulse oddly stutter.
Then his eyes lift to mine. Calm. Certain. Infuriating.
I step into his space, chin tipping up. “I’m not that much younger than you.”
“You think that changes anything?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “That I can handle myself now.”
“You might be old enough to argue,” he says easily, sealing it with a wink, “but you won’t win this argument.”