Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
IZZY
DYLAN: Don’t buy supplies for the leak. I fixed it.
IZZY: I didn’t ask you to do that!
DYLAN: You spelled “thank you” wrong.
IZZY: I can fix my own roof!
DYLAN: I didn’t say you couldn’t. But I had time and I didn’t want you to wait until a snowstorm to go back up there.
IZZY: Sullivan…
DYLAN: ??
IZZY: Thank you.
DYLAN: Why does it seem like you have a gun to your head saying that?
IZZY: Feels like it.
DYLAN: You’re welcome.
IZZY: And you sound smug!
“Two of my favorite people in the world are banging. I can’t believe it.” Flic’s warm hand presses against my back. She leans in, tweezers in hand, and digs the splinter from my skin.
“I don’t think people still say ‘banging,’” I say, wincing at the sting radiating from my back.
“And we’re not banging,” I hiss as she digs deeper.
Even with the pain, heat floods my face remembering the way my body ached from the kiss in the barn this morning.
Dylan’s touch… “We’ve kissed three times.
And judging by the way Dylan walked away this morning when I tried to talk to him about what he’s doing with the horses, it was a mistake. ”
Flic huffs. “A mistake is climbing on a trailer roof in the middle of a rainstorm,” she says. I’m already regretting telling her that. “A mistake is—”
“Buying horse stock without having the first clue what you’re doing.”
Flic laughs. “A mistake is something you regret. A mistake is something you don’t repeat.”
“We haven’t—”
Her reply comes in a sing-song voice, like she’s so goddamn pleased with herself. “You kissed him in the bar, you kissed him last night, and then you kissed him this morning, right?”
I groan. “Should’ve just left the damn splinter in there if this is the abuse I’m going—”
A final sharp scratch cuts the words short, and a second later, Flic is spinning me around on the barstool, brandishing the splinter like a trophy. “Got it!”
I reposition my tank top and make a face. It’s barely a thorn. “It’s tiny.”
Flic pulls a face. “That’s what she said.”
“Really?” I say in a deadpan voice. “Are we doing that now?”
“Always,” she quips, tossing the splinter into the trash before settling back on the barstool.
Her long, white-blonde hair falls over her shoulder as she tilts her head, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
She’s makeup-free, in sweats and a loose tee, looking like a different person from the badass bartender she’ll be later tonight when the Friday crowd rolls in.
The Hay Barn feels different, too. The overhead lights are on full, and the place is empty.
The smell of cleaning products lingers in the air, competing with the aroma of the take-out coffees sitting on the bar between us.
It turns out Flic’s “payment” for splinter removal is a double-shot oat milk latte with caramel syrup, and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.
I swear she only orders it because she knows it drives me nuts. What’s wrong with black coffee?
I look up at the row of NFL team merch stapled to the wall, confiscated by Flic from anyone foolish enough to step into her bar wearing anything but Stormhawks red. Then across the room, I spot a mop and bucket leaning against the wall.
“I thought you had a cleaning team,” I say, looking back at Flic.
“I did.” She sighs. “Until the landlord hiked the rent up, and…” She pretends to hold a magic wand in her hand, like the fairy godmother she tells Mad she is, making a joke of her cleaning. But I see the pinch of worry beneath it.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask.
“Because there isn’t room in this friendship for us both to be in crisis. And I’m fine. Seriously. I like cleaning, and if it means I can keep this place, I’m happy.”
Flic swipes up her drink and changes the subject. “Anyway, can I just say, you look a lot less in crisis and a lot more…” She trails off like she’s searching for the right word. “I can’t even describe it. You look… relaxed?” She shakes her head like that wasn’t quite what she wanted to say.
I roll my eyes, grabbing my coffee, but I can’t stop my fingers drifting to my lips. How is it possible they’re still tingling after our kiss this morning? “Relaxed? You make it sound like I’ve been walking around looking—”
“Like you want to kill someone?” she cuts in, her face surprisingly serious. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I choke out a laugh, causing a splash of coffee to land on my bare thighs. “I have not.”
“You have. Very I’ll-stab-you-with-a-pitchfork-if-you-look-at-me-wrong. But today…” She pauses, tilting her head as she studies me again. “You’re almost… glowing.”
I snort. “Glowing? Are you kidding me?”
“I’m serious! If Dylan Sullivan’s kiss can do this, think what—”
“Flic!” I shout, covering my face with my hands but laughing too. “I’m begging you to stop talking.”
“Why?”
When I look up, she’s grinning wickedly.
“Admit it,” she says. “You’ve got the hots for Dylan.”
“What are we, twelve?”
Flic narrows her eyes, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh my God, you do, don’t you?”
“I hate you,” is all the reply I give, but the flush creeping up my face betrays me.
The truth is, I do have a crush on Dylan.
Who wouldn’t? The man is infuriatingly sexy, and when he kisses me, it’s like the rest of the world stops existing.
But I’m not about to dive in headfirst. I’ve done that before and have the failed marriage to prove it.
Underneath the electricity between us is still a man who hasn’t asked me to stay.
Still hasn’t said a single word about the future.
A man who hasn’t proven he’s reliable. A man I don’t know if I can trust. And as of next week, I’m out of time.
Back to square one. Without any other ranch work going—despite what I told Dylan—I’ve got one option left.
I have to move into my parents’ house with Madison, where everything feels tight and small and suffocating. Fuck.
So what if I want him? Want this? That’s not enough. Wanting something doesn’t make it real. Doesn’t make it sustainable. Especially not with a man who can’t talk about tomorrow.
“Mm-hmm. Sure you do,” Flic says, picking up her coffee and taking a smug sip. “But more importantly, does Dylan know?”
“Know what?” I ask.
“That he’s turned you into a human being again. All… kiss-tinted and relaxed.”
“Please stop talking,” I beg, but Flic just laughs harder, clearly having the time of her life at my expense.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” she says breezily.
“For what?”
“For being your best splinter-removing friend.”
“Best friends don’t tell other best friends they look like they want to murder people,” I mutter, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
“Just so you know—if you two start banging, spare me the details.”
“Please stop saying ‘banging.’ Why are we friends?”
“Because I’m delightful,” Flic replies. “And because no one else would dare pull a splinter out of your back while simultaneously giving you a pep talk about your love life.”
She’s got me there.
“So what now?” Flic asks. She peeks at me over the edge of her cup, taking a long sip and purposefully leaving a mustache of foam on her upper lip to make me laugh.
“Now I go back to Oakwood Ranch and pretend I didn’t lie awake all night thinking about one kiss,” I reply.
“I meant with Dylan.”
I groan. “The truth? I don’t know. He’s infuriating. He’s stubborn and grumpy and would throw the ranch and me under the bus if a chance to play for the Stormhawks came up.” I fall silent and take a long sip of my coffee. Swallowing back the thoughts I can’t say to Flic.
Like how he didn’t hesitate to step into the rain and coax me down from the roof of the trailer last night. How his hand felt warm and solid in mine as he pulled me gently into the ranch house.
Or how when I told him about my past, it felt like he listened—really listened. There was no judgment in his face either.
Or how he notices things about me. How I take my coffee with a splash of cold water first thing in the mornings so I can drink it fast. The way my day isn’t done until I’ve checked over every horse, and how he’s started doing it with me, shortening the time before I can rest.
If I’m honest with myself, I’ve noticed things about him too.
The way he rubs a hand over his beard when he’s lost in thought or unsure what to do.
How his jaw tightens when he’s holding something back.
The way his smile is rare, but when it comes, it sends me spiraling.
The way his hands are strong and capable but when they brushed against my skin last night, they were gentle.
Somewhere in the weeks we’ve spent together, Dylan has stopped being the pro athlete with the ego and the chip on his shoulder.
Instead, he’s become a constant presence in my thoughts, in my space. And I hate how much that scares me.
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. I can’t afford to get caught up in this. Not when I know better than to let my guard down.
“And I’ve got to think about Madison,” I continue. “What would bringing another unstable man into her life do to her?”
“But Mad is crazy for Dylan, right?” Flic asks.
“Yeah, she is. But he’s hardly reliable, is he? He promised he’d build her a rope swing and he hasn’t. Once again, a man lets my daughter down and it’s up to me to pick up the pieces. Plus, we’re leaving—”
“Kind of makes sense he might not build a rope swing for a kid he’s never going to see again after this weekend. I still can’t believe he asked you to leave when these six weeks are up. I mean, he hasn’t found a buyer, has he?”
I cringe a little, sipping my coffee and wishing I could hide inside it for what’s coming next.
Flic’s brows shoot up. “What?”
“He didn’t exactly ask me to leave… I told him, no matter what, I’d be leaving.”
“Wait. You quit?”
“I didn’t quit. I…” My voice trails off, and Flic rolls her eyes. “You have no idea how impossible he is. Just look at these messages he sent me an hour ago.” I unlock my phone and shove the screen at Flic, expecting her outrage to mirror mine when I first got Dylan’s message.
Instead, her ringing laughter fills The Hay Barn.
“Yeah, I really hate it when people fix things for me, too. And hello? I spent most of my childhood weekends and into my teens at the ranch while Mom and Dad ran this place—well, Mom, anyway. Harry and Mama practically raised me. I know how impossible Dylan is. Just how I know how impossible you are too, Iz. Has it occurred to you that he hasn’t talked about you staying because you’ve made it abundantly clear to him that you want to leave?
And I bet you haven’t talked to him about wanting to stay, have you?
You’re seriously risking leaving the ranch and the horses you love to move back in with your parents—your absolute last resort—because you won’t tell him you made a mistake. ”
Her words hit me with the same force as the gust of rain-soaked wind on the trailer roof. For a moment I’m unbalanced and can’t answer.
“He hasn’t even told me he’s keeping the ranch going,” I say quietly. “He hasn’t even looked for a new ranch hand to replace—” I stop mid-sentence as the smile slips from Flic’s face.
“What?” I ask.
“He is looking,” she says slowly, pulling out her phone and swiping to a message Dylan sent her. “Apparently, he’s talking to Ron Winters. He wanted to know if I thought Ron was a good guy.”
I tense. My mood darkening. “Ron does cattle.”
“Yeah, but Ron’s nephew, Travis, is looking for work on a horse ranch.”
My stomach twists, my anger suddenly hot. I shove my coffee cup away, the stool scraping loudly as I stand. “So he’s keeping the horses and hasn’t bothered to tell me! And now he’s hiring a kid with no experience who he thinks can do my job. I’m going to kill him.”
Flic rolls her eyes, unbothered by my change in mood. She pulls me into a tight hug and I don’t protest even with the heat scorching through my body.
Flic gives me a final squeeze before stepping back. “Try not to actually kill him. I don’t want to spend my Friday night bailing you out.”
“I can’t promise anything.” With that, I shout a thanks, which she waves away as I storm out of the bar, teeth clenched and fists balled.
I knew this was coming. I knew.
How dare he? How dare he kiss me like he did this morning and then line up my replacement before my coffee’s even cold?
Even as I slam the truck door and gun the engine, I know my annoyance isn’t entirely fair.
I told him I was leaving when my time on the ranch was up and I haven’t exactly said I wanted to stay.
But it doesn’t dull the ache in my chest. I want him to want me to stay.
I can’t believe I’ve spent the morning practically swooning over that man.
Dylan Sullivan is about to regret the day he became a rancher.