Chapter 16 #2
She wiped down one of the bar area’s pub tables with deliberate strokes, turning the rag over and doing it again even though the surface was already clean. Four days had passed since she’d slipped out of Seth’s bed before the sun was fully up, muttered something about seeing him around, and left.
Like it had been a mistake—even though it hadn’t felt like one that night.
The memory surfaced anyway, whether or not she wanted it to.
She remembered the weight of his arm draped over her and the warmth of him at her back.
The room had been so quiet she'd heard nothing but the steady rhythm of his breathing.
He'd touched her as though he wasn't in a hurry, as though he was learning her instead of simply taking what he wanted.
Then there was his voice at her ear—rough and gentle at the same time—whispering words she hadn't expected and hadn't known what to do with.
It had never been like that before. Not with anyone. None of it had felt casual, like something she could walk away from.
Which was exactly what she'd tried to do.
Because it had felt different. And different was dangerous.
Since that morning, Seth had called and texted more times than she wanted to count. Aside from a few brief replies to let him know she was okay, she'd stayed clear of him, the ranch, and anywhere else their paths might cross.
The worst part was that she wasn't entirely sure what she was trying to accomplish. Staying away hadn't stopped her from thinking about him. If anything, it had made things worse.
She pressed the rag harder against the table, her jaw tightening as she forced the thought away.
She hadn't come to Hazard Falls to build a life. She still had Shane to deal with, questions that needed answers, and truths she hadn't told. The longer she stayed, the more complicated everything became. Seth was already proof of that.
“Girl, if you scrub that any harder, you’re gonna take the finish off.” Giselle’s voice carried across the bar, amused and knowing in equal measure.
Shylo glanced up, then nudged a chair back into place with her foot before straightening the others around the table. “It’ll survive.”
“Mm-hmm.” Giselle stepped in beside her, lowering her voice. “You good?”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” She set a hand on Shylo’s arm, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m here if you want to talk. And I don’t repeat things—I’ve been on the wrong end of that before.”
She didn’t respond.
Giselle studied her for a second, then nodded. “I won’t push. Just don’t wear yourself out before we’re done.”
With another quick squeeze, she let go and headed toward the kitchen.
Shylo adjusted the last chair, turned—and froze.
Seth stood inside the entrance, one hand still on the door as his gaze scanned the bar.
The neon beer signs cast a low glow across the room, catching on the brim of his straw hat and the line of his shoulders.
Snug Wranglers rode low on his hips, paired with a charcoal gray Triple-R T-shirt that fit him a little too well and black boots.
Her stomach dropped. Four days hadn’t changed a damn thing—she was still attracted to him.
And of course he’d come there, the one place she couldn’t easily avoid him.
He spotted her almost immediately, his gaze locking on hers, and something clenched inside her. He didn’t look angry. Didn’t look amused. Just... determined. Like he’d made up his mind about something and wasn’t leaving without seeing it through.
Her first instinct was to turn away. Her second was to pretend she hadn’t seen him. The third—the one that actually took over—had her grabbing a nearby tray, using the motion as an excuse to avoid standing there staring at him.
She didn’t make it far.
“Shylo.” His voice carried enough to reach her without drawing attention.
She slowed as the sound of his boots hitting the wooden floor marked each step behind her. By the time she turned, he was already a few paces away, his stride unhurried but purposeful.
He stopped in front of her. “Hey.”
Up close, he looked a little tired around the edges, but there was nothing uncertain about him. Not in the way he stood. Not in the way he looked at her.
“What can I get you?” she asked, defaulting to routine. “Beer? Something to eat?”
He gave her a quick once-over, as if he were taking in more than just her question. “I’m good.”
Right. He hadn’t come in for a drink, and they both knew it.
She nodded anyway, forcing herself to stay in motion. “Then I’ve got to finish up here. It’s almost the end of my shift.”
The excuse sounded thin, even to her own ears.
“Then finish.” He pulled out a stool and sat at the bar as though he had all the time in the world. “I’ll wait.”
She stared at him for a second, then set the tray down a little harder than necessary. “You planning just to sit there?”
“To wait for you? If that’s what it takes.” There wasn’t any bite in his response. No pressure. Only a quiet persistence that said he had nowhere else to be.
Annoyingly effective.
“What do you want, Seth?” she asked, lowering her voice as she set the tray aside, needing something to do with her hands.
A beat passed.
“You.”
The one word landed hard, cutting through the noise of the bar—the low hum of conversation, the clink of glassware, the muted game playing overhead.
Her breath caught, her pulse kicking up before she could stop it, and every nerve in her body came alive.
She forced herself not to look away. “That’s not a good idea. ”
“Why not?”
Because I’m not who you think I am. Because I’m leaving. Because this is going to blow up.
“I’ve got things going on,” she said instead, reaching for the first excuse that sounded reasonable. “I've got work. Things I need to deal with.”
His focus remained fixed on her. “You said that the other morning.”
Irritation flared even as something else twisted underneath it. “I meant it. I’m busy.”
He didn’t move or look away. Instead, he watched her as if waiting for her to admit something she had no intention of saying out loud. “You’re dodging, Shylo.”
“I’m not—” She broke off with a frustrated breath, dragging a hand through her hair as the weight of his attention pressed in on her. “We had a good time, Seth. That was it.”
The words rang hollow even as she said them, but she pushed on. “What do you want from me?”
“That morning,” he leaned on one forearm against the bar, angling toward her, “you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Why?”
Her gut knotted at the reminder, the image flashing too easily—pulling on her clothes, not meeting his eyes, and talking too fast. “I wasn’t trying to make a big deal out of it—”
“No,” he cut in, a trace of irritation breaking through. “You were trying to make it nothing.”
That stung more than she’d expected. Not because he was wrong, but because he wasn’t.
She looked away, her fingers curling against the edge of the bar, the worn wood rough beneath her palm. The silence stretched between them until she thought it would snap. “I don’t do this,” she finally said. “Whatever you think this is.”
“I don’t know what this is. Damn it.” He dropped his chin and dragged a hand along the back of his neck. “I just...” He exhaled, then met her eyes again. “I wanted to ask—”
“What?” she cut in, her brows pulling together.
“I wanted to ask you out to dinner,” he said. “One night.”
It should’ve been easy to say no.
It wasn’t.
She missed him—four days without seeing him felt like a month. If anything, time had made it worse, not better—sharper, harder to ignore. She’d thought about him more than she should have, replaying that night in fragments—like movie clips she couldn’t shut off.
“Shylo.” Her name came out more gently that time.
She drew in a slow breath, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. “Dinner,” she repeated.
“Dinner. Not at the ranch—out somewhere, just the two of us.”
Her thoughts stalled for a second, then rushed back in all at once. This was a bad idea. She knew it. Nothing about this was going to stay simple, not with him, not after that night.
She should say no.
Walk away, keep her distance, and stick to the plan she’d come here with.
But one dinner didn’t have to change anything—it didn’t mean she had to lose sight of why she was there.
That was the excuse she clung to.
“Fine.” The word came out softer than she intended.
Something in his expression shifted—subtle, but there. The tension he’d been holding eased enough to show, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, almost relieved smile before disappearing again.
“When’s your next night off?” he asked.
“Wednesday.”
“Then Wednesday it is—six o’clock?”
She nodded, a flicker of nerves blooming low in her stomach at how easily he’d locked that in. “Okay.”
He held her gaze for a second longer, then slid off the stool and stepped back. “Have a good night.”
She watched him turn and walk out. The night air drifted in for a second before the door swung shut behind him. For a moment, she stood there as the bar slipped back into its usual rhythm around her, as if nothing had changed.
“Uh-huh,” Giselle said from behind her.
Grabbing the rag she’d used earlier, Shylo turned to clear another table. A couple of regulars that’d been sitting there had left a few minutes earlier. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m definitely starting.” Giselle grinned as she leaned on the bar. “So... you and Seth?”
She said nothing, focusing on wiping down a spot that didn’t need it—her movements were slower now, since it was less about cleaning and more about avoiding. Because the truth was, she hadn't said yes because he'd been persistent. She'd said yes because she wanted to.
And that was the problem.