24. Winnie
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
winnie
“I need another apple pie,” I shout, loud enough for it to echo off the cooling racks and over the heads of the three-deep line at the counter. My mom and dad are in the kitchen, moving as quickly as they can.
“It’ll be just a minute,” I say to the woman in front of me, a local with peach-pink lipstick and three screaming kids. I ring her up and hand her the receipt. The line hasn’t let up since we opened.
After another half-hour of chaos, I yell back, “I think the line’s finally dying down.”
“Saw this coming. Rodeos always get the town to remember how good we are,” Dad grunts. Then he glances over my shoulder to make sure Mom’s not in earshot. “Your mother’s worried you’ve been working too hard.”
I snort. “She worries too much. I’m fine!”
“Uh huh.” He hands me a tray of still-warm cheese danish, which I maneuver out front to give the last customer waiting.
“It’s been like this all week,” Mom says, her face somewhere between proud and panicked. “I had to order double from the dairy truck. And the strangest thing happened—went to pay rent and they said it was already taken care of for the month.”
I’m scraping out a bowl of filling, not looking at her. “Huh. Weird.”
“Even paid off the supply invoices.” Her eyes flick up to me, sharp. “You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?”
I keep scraping. “No idea.” I try not to sound too defensive. She keeps watching, and I get the feeling she knows, or at least suspects, that it was me.
She sighs, tucks an errant curl back under the net. “We’ll make it, you know. We always find a way. You could give yourself a break, maybe quit one of those jobs?”
I nearly laugh. “And risk losing my title as Most Overworked Daughter in the Tri-County Area?”
She softens, brushes flour off my shoulder. “We’ll be fine here, love. Don’t burn yourself out.”
I want to tell her it’s not that simple, that the bakery is the only thing our family has, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “I’ll finish up here, then head to Saddle and Oak for the happy hour rush.”
She nods, then kisses the top of my head. “You’re allowed to do something nice for yourself once in a while,” she says. “Maybe spend your money on a nice massage!”
“I’ll think about it!”
I walk back out, wipe my hands on my apron, check the clock. I’ve got half an hour to kill before my shift at the bar. I lock up the pastry case and head to the back to grab my bag.
I catch my reflection in the breakroom mirror and nearly wince. There’s a streak of cinnamon above my eyebrow. I fix it as best I can, retouch my lipstick. Then, take off my apron and fold it up, stash it in the cubby, and check my phone.
Two new texts. Both from Danger.
Danger
Fisher was disappointed he had to deal with me this morning
Get any sleep?
Not much, thanks to a certain bull rider who kept me up most of the night talking inside his truck until he brought me home at 4:00 a.m.
Winnie
Barely but thank you for stealing my morning chores
You might’ve earned hero status
Danger
I’ll take it
Didn’t even break a sweat
Winnie
You broke a sweat last night
Danger
Wow. That’s what you’re calling it now?
Told you never to talk about that
Winnie
Fine
I’ll just replay it in my head…
Danger
Replay what exactly?
Winnie
You know what
Danger
You’re thinking about my ?? right now aren’t you?
Why yes. Yes I am. But admit that? Never.
Winnie
You wish
Danger
Then what are you thinking about?
Winnie
Wouldn’t you like to know
Danger
I’d like to know what time you’re off
Winnie
Just happy hour. Four to eight.
Danger
You any good at makin’ cookies?
Winnie
I’d hope so. I was raised right.
Danger
Fisher’s requestin’ dessert and baking ain’t my thing
Come by after? Help me out
Winnie
Guess I can stop by
The walk across the square is always easy—past the dry cleaners, past the antique store with the hand-painted rocking horse in the window. Everyone’s prepping for the weekend, which means streamers and banners and music drifting from the park.
Inside, Honey’s already behind the bar, polishing a glass. She sees me, gives me a once-over, and tilts her head.
“Was wondering when you’d drag your ass in here,” she says. “I have been dying to hear what happened last night.”
I shake my head. “Not until you tell me what happened with Charming. I saw he kissed you on the cheek last night.”
Honey cackles. “He was just being Charming. That’s all.”
Does she really not see how much he likes her?
She waits until we’re elbow to elbow, both cleaning glasses, then leans in. “So, spill. Did you two…?”
“No. We didn’t.” I hesitate, then add, quieter: “It’s… complicated.”
“Sawyer mentioned something. Said you might be dealing with a little Stetson situation.”
“What exactly did she say?” I ask, already bracing.
Honey grins. “Stetson Fog, babe. Full exposure.”
I scoff, heat crawling up my neck. “It is not the Stetson fog.”
She smiles. “Sure it’s not.”
I pick up a rag and scrub harder at the glass than necessary. “I mean—obviously he’s attractive. Everyone knows that.” I lower my voice. “I’m just… insanely attracted to him. And I don’t know if he feels the same way about me.”
Honey tilts her head. "You think he doesn't find you attractive?"
"It's not that." I throw my hands up. "It's just so unfair. I'm over here thinking about him constantly, and he's over there with all these stupid boundaries and rules. I don't want him to cross that line because I asked him to. I want him to want to so badly he can't talk himself out of it."
She laughs softly. "And by cross that line you mean sleep with you?"
I wince. "Yeah. That."
Honey leans back against the counter, studying me. "Trust me, sweetheart. It's not you."
I glance at her.
"A few of the local buckle bunnies have an actual bet going," she says. "Who can be the one to break him?"
My stomach drops. “And?”
“And none of them have.” She shrugs. “Which, I kind of respect. Not a lot of men around here hold out.”
I don’t say anything. Honey nudges my shoulder.
“He’s not waiting because you’re not enough. He’s waiting because he wants the right person. Someone he and Fisher can trust. Someone who sticks around.” She smiles at me, softer now. “It’ll happen. Trust me. Before you know it.”
I’m not Rylee. I will never be Rylee. Why does it feel like I’m serving her sentence anyway?
“Stetson Fog,” she adds sweetly.
I groan. “I hate you.”
She grins. “No, you don’t.”
I don’t respond, just keep prepping for the rush.
I know she’s not wrong. Despite everything, there’s just something about Danger—his hands, his voice, the way he looks at me like I’m the only person who exists in the whole goddamn town that tells me he wants me just as bad as I want him.
It should all worry me, but mostly it just makes me ache.
A couple hours and twenty-seven whiskey and cokes later, I’m dead on my feet. Honey waves me off early, says we’re dying down, and that they’ll close up.
“You go on,” she says, tossing me my jacket. “Enjoy yourself.”
I laugh, the sound dry in my throat. “I’ll try.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Or maybe you’ll go see your cowboy.”
I stick out my tongue, but I’m already out the door. I left my car here last night since I went with Danger and caught a ride to the bakery with my parents. The car is a junkyard miracle—one gray door, the rest red. The muffler drags. The key sticks. But it’s mine.
Except it doesn’t look like mine. I freeze, bag half-zipped, my keys fall out of my hand and onto the concrete.
My car. The gray door is gone, replaced by one that actually matches. The body is straight. The muffler doesn’t even touch the ground. There’s a bow on the antenna.
I stare at it for a long time, like maybe it’ll turn back into a pumpkin. Then I get in, put the key in the ignition, and start it.
It purrs like a happy kitten. It doesn’t take me three tries to start like usual. I laugh, just once, high and shocked. Then I grab my phone.
Winnie
Did you do this?
Three dots. Four. He’s typing, then stopping, then typing again.
Danger
Do what?
Winnie
My car
It’s fixed
Even the door
Danger
Hmm
Glad to hear that
You’re too pretty to be driving around in a death trap
Winnie
Was this you?
He sends a selfie. He’s in his kitchen, hair messy. His eyes are tired, but he’s smiling. Fisher’s in the background waving.
Danger
We’ll see you soon
I back out of the lot, watching my reflection of this renewed beauty of a car in the bar glass as I pull away.
He fixed my car? Why? Why would he do this?
I drive to the ranch, heart hammering. I’m not sure what I want—him, answers, or maybe just reassurance.
The house is dark except for one light in the kitchen.
I change in my car, tugging on a clean shirt and athletic skirt from my just-in-case bag.
The front door opens before I knock. Danger’s already standing there, leaning against the frame.