Chapter 18
Seth pulled into the parking lot of the Copper Kettle and cut the engine.
The restaurant sat on the edge of Wexler, tucked between a farm supply store and an insurance office.
It wasn't fancy enough to make a person worry about using the wrong fork, but it also wasn't the type of place where folks showed up wearing work clothes covered in dust and manure either. In other words—perfect.
He'd worn his best black jeans, black boots, and a button-down shirt the color of bluebell flowers. Paige had ended his indecision about the latter by insisting the shade made his eyes stand out.
He glanced toward the passenger seat. Shylo sat staring out the window at the brick building, the skirt of her green sundress pooled around her knees while the early evening sun caught the dark strands of her hair.
She studied the restaurant's sign and the flower-filled planters out front as if deciding whether his choice passed inspection.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Three weeks ago, he hadn't known she existed. Now, he'd spent most of the past two days looking forward to having dinner with her. The thought should've bothered him more than it did.
Normally, anticipation had very little to do with dinner. He’d always enjoyed women, flirting with them, occasionally taking them out, and of course, sharing their beds. Complications were what he avoided.
Shylo had become one anyway. Somewhere between helping her on the side of the road and the night they'd spent together, he'd stopped thinking of her as temporary.
That should've been a warning sign. Instead, he'd filed it away as a problem for another day.
The truth was he liked being around her, and that realization had become impossible to deny after she spent several days keeping her distance.
He'd called and texted her, more than he cared to admit. But aside from a handful of curt responses claiming she was busy, she'd all but disappeared.
Under normal circumstances, Seth would've taken the hint and moved on. Entanglements weren't his thing, and there had never been a shortage of women interested in spending time with him.
For some reason, though, he hadn't been able to do that with Shylo. The problem was that June's hay season didn't care about his personal life.
For several days last week, it'd been all hands on deck—one of the few times a year he worked out in the fields instead of handling repairs around the ranch.
The harvest window was always a race against both time and weather.
Once the grass was ready, there wasn't much room for delay if they wanted to preserve its nutritional value before summer storms moved in.
He'd joined Tucker, Shane, and the rest of the crew in long days spent mowing, raking, baling, and hauling hay from sunrise until dark.
By the time he made it back to the bunkhouse each night, he was dirty, exhausted, and in no mood to drive into town searching for a woman who clearly didn't want to be found.
That hadn't stopped him from thinking about her.
When he'd finally walked into Bar None and spotted her, he'd half expected her to brush him off when he asked her out. Instead, she'd surprised him and said yes.
Now, she turned toward him and caught him staring.
“What?”
He considered answering truthfully. Unfortunately, if he admitted she looked beautiful sitting beside him or that she occupied his thoughts far more than any woman should after less than three weeks, she'd probably roll her eyes and call bullshit.
Which, considering some of the things he'd said to women over the years to get them into his bed, wasn't entirely unfair.
Instead, he said, “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Her eyebrows arched. “Uh-huh.”
Grabbing the door handle, he grinned. “C'mon. Let's get some dinner.”
She continued to study him for another second. “You keep smiling like that, and I'm going to assume you're up to something.”
“Maybe I'm just happy you're here.”
For a moment, she seemed surprised. Then she rolled her eyes exactly as he'd known she would. “See? Now I'm suspicious.”
He laughed and climbed out of the truck. The evening air carried the scent of fresh-cut grass from a nearby field and whatever was cooking inside the restaurant. When he walked around and opened her door, Shylo stepped onto the pavement. The tan wedge sandals made her legs seem a mile long.
She pointed towards the restaurant. “This looks like a nice place.”
“Good. That's what I was going for.” He took her hand, lacing their fingers together and trying to ignore how good it felt as they headed toward the entrance.
“You put actual thought into it?”
He pressed his free hand to his chest. “Darlin', I'm wounded. Of course I put thought into it. I even asked Paige where I should take you.”
Her gaze whipped toward him, eyes wide. “You did not.”
“I did.”
A few seconds passed before she said, “Wow.”
He laughed. “Don't sound so surprised.”
“I have to admit, I am a little surprised.”
The smile she gave him made pretending to be offended impossible.
“Yeah, well...” He shrugged. “Usually, I don't put much thought into it and just randomly pick a place.”
Her expression softened. “But not this time?”
The question gave him pause. For a second, he considered brushing it off with a joke. Instead, he shook his head. “For you, I wanted to get it right.”
His honest answer hadn't been planned, but he didn't retract it either.
She held his gaze for a moment before looking away. Whatever she'd been thinking, he wished she'd say it out loud.
Keeping hold of her hand, he led her toward the entrance and pulled the door open. “After you.”
She stepped inside, and he followed her into the restaurant.
The Copper Kettle was busy without feeling crowded.
Rich wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, while a stone fireplace anchored one end of the dining room.
Wrought-iron light fixtures cast a soft amber glow over tables dressed with crisp white tablecloths, polished place settings, and simple centerpieces.
Everything about the place felt thoughtfully done—comfortable enough that nobody worried about speaking too loudly, yet refined enough to make the evening feel like more than an ordinary night out.
The scent of grilled steak, garlic, and fresh-baked bread drifted from the kitchen, making his stomach remind him it had been several hours since lunch.
A few families occupied the larger tables while couples filled most of the booths, their conversations blending into a pleasant murmur beneath the soft country music playing overhead.
The hostess led them through the dining room to a booth near the back.
Once they were seated, the woman handed them menus and wished them a pleasant evening before heading off.
A server appeared a minute later to take their drink orders.
By the time he returned with a beer for Seth and a glass of wine for Shylo, their conversation had already wandered through several subjects.
He was beginning to suspect she had an opinion on almost everything. And, for once, he found that more entertaining than annoying.
After their dinner orders were taken and a busboy dropped off a basket of rolls and butter, Seth took a sip of his beer and met Shylo's gaze. The soft lighting caught in her eyes, and for a second, the rest of the restaurant faded into the background.
Curious to learn more about her, he asked, “So, what's your favorite movie?”
She didn't hesitate. “My top three are The Shining, The Amityville Horror, and The Exorcist. Can’t say which is my all-time favorite, though—I love all of them.”
Seth stared at her in disbelief. Of all the answers he'd expected, those hadn't even made the list. “You're joking.”
Her grin appeared instantly. “Nope.”
“Those are horror movies.”
“Nice observation, Sherlock.”
He set his beer down and shook his head. “I’ll never understand why anyone would voluntarily watch them.”
“Because they’re fun.”
“There's nothing fun about demons that want to kill you.”
The laugh that escaped her drew a glance from a nearby table before she lowered her voice. “You work on a cattle ranch.”
Seth frowned. “And?”
“Well, a two-thousand-pound bull can kill you.”
“That's different.”
She tilted her head. “How?”
The question should've had a straightforward answer. Instead, he found himself opening his mouth and coming up empty. Across from him, she leaned back against the booth, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “That's what I thought.”
“A bull is real.”
She lifted her wineglass. “Demons aren't.”
“Exactly.”
Her brow furrowed. “You realize that doesn't help your argument.”
“Sure it does.” Seth pointed at her with his beer bottle. “I know what a bull can do. I don't know what some creepy demon is gonna do.”
She stared at him. “Your argument is that imaginary things are scarier than real ones?”
“Now you're catching on.”
A laugh escaped her. “That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”
The conviction in her voice made him grin.
Most people would have dropped the subject by now.
Shylo seemed to treat every disagreement as a challenge, and if he were being honest, he found that far more appealing than he probably should have.
It was as if she enjoyed proving him wrong almost as much as he enjoyed arguing with her.
She took a sip of her wine, then set the glass on the table and crossed her arms. “You just don't like being scared.”
Seth scoffed and tore off a piece of his dinner roll. “I've been thrown off horses.”
“That's not an answer.”
“And I've been kicked by horses.”
“Still not an answer.”
“I've also had a bull chase me through a pasture.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “And yet, a haunted house is where you draw the line.”
He shook his head. “See? Now you're making fun of me.”
“Because you're making it easy.”
The smile tugging at her mouth made him laugh despite himself.
One thing he'd learned about Shylo over the past three weeks was that she threw herself into things she cared about.
Her eyes brightened when she got excited.
Her hands moved when she talked. Even now, she leaned forward across the table, completely invested in proving him wrong about something as ridiculous as horror movies.
It was cute.
The thought slipped in before he could stop it.
He reached for his beer, pretending the sudden urge to keep her talking had nothing to do with the way her face lit up when she laughed.
It was one of the things he liked most about her. There was nothing forced about it, no fake giggle or practiced flirtation. When Shylo found something funny, she laughed because she genuinely meant it.
Their debate was still going strong when the server returned, balancing two plates. She set a steak and baked potato in front of Seth, then placed the chicken marsala Shylo had ordered on the other side of the table. After making sure they had everything they needed, she moved on to another table.
As they ate, the conversation continued much as it had all evening.
But as dinner progressed, he noticed a shift in her mood.
It wasn't dramatic enough that anyone else would've picked up on it, but he'd spent the better part of three weeks paying attention to her.
She pushed food around her plate more than she ate it, and every few minutes her attention drifted before returning to the table and him.
Twice, he caught her staring off into space altogether.
The second time, he set down his glass and studied her across the booth. “Okay.”
She blinked. “Okay, what?”
“You've got that look again.”
One eyebrow lifted. “What look?”
“The one where you're somewhere else.”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “I'm sitting right here.”
“Physically.”
That earned another smile, but it faded almost immediately.
Leaning back against the booth, he folded his arms. “Something bothering you?”
“No.”
The answer came fast enough to make him doubt it.
He let a few seconds pass before reaching for his beer. Pushing never got anyone anywhere, and he’d noticed Shylo had a habit of retreating whenever a conversation wandered too close to anything personal.
Still, something felt different tonight.
She sighed and set her fork on the table. “It's just...”
His attention sharpened.
For the first time all evening, it seemed as though she was about to tell him something she hadn't intended to share.
Her fingers wrapped around her wine glass, and when she finally spoke, her voice lacked its usual confidence.
“You ever find out something that makes you question everything you thought you knew about a person?
He frowned. “Sure. I guess.”
Her gaze remained fixed on the tabletop. “And then you're stuck trying to figure out what to do with it.”
He studied her for a long moment. The question seemed oddly specific, and after the way she'd avoided him for days, his mind went places he didn't particularly like. “Did I do something wrong?”
Her head came up immediately. “What? No.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders. “You sure?”
“Yes, I'm sure.” She looked away again and shook her head. “It's not you.”
Not you.
The words should've reassured him. Instead, they raised about a dozen new questions. “Then what is it?”
For a moment, he thought she was going to tell him.
Instead, she shook her head. “Never mind.”
“Shylo—”
“Seriously. Forget I said anything.” Before he could argue, she pointed her fork at him. “Let's talk about something important.”
Seth narrowed his eyes. “That sounds suspicious.”
“What's suspicious is a grown man putting ranch dressing on pizza.”
He groaned and dropped his head back against the booth. “We're back to this?”
The argument had started at the bar after Shane's birthday party and had resurfaced more times than he could count since then. Apparently, Shylo considered chicken and ranch dressing on pizza—his favorite—a crime against humanity.
“You brought it upon yourself.”
He listened to her argue about pizza toppings, laughed when she accused him of having the palate of a twelve-year-old, and did his best to convince her she was the unreasonable one.
All the while, part of his attention remained fixed on the look he'd seen in her eyes a few minutes earlier. For a moment, the teasing, opinionated woman he'd spent the evening with had disappeared, replaced by someone carrying a burden she didn't know how to share.
For a second, she'd almost told him something. Then she shut the door and changed the subject. Whatever secret she was carrying, it wasn't small. And he had a feeling that when it was finally out in the open, it would change everything.