SIX.
Ever
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Sculpted by the Gods.
I chop carrots, celery, and potatoes in steady rhythm, the knife thumping against the worn cutting board while my phone leans against the microwave with a FaceTime call ringing endlessly.
I let out a long, tired breath, willing Marissa to pick up.
It’s been one of those days—long, emotionally bruising, with Tobias’s sharp words still echoing in my head and the banker’s unexpected visit leaving a knot of dread in my stomach.
I need to vent, to spill everything before it settles too deep and I start carrying it alone.
The call finally connects and Marissa’s familiar face fills the screen. Relief washes over me so fast I smile and wave my knife at her like a greeting.
“Whoa, hey—everything okay over there?” she teases, eyes wide in mock alarm.
“I’m making dinner. I couldn’t decide on music.”
“Any requests?”
“Some opera would be fantastic,” I say, deadpan.
She immediately launches into her version of an operatic aria—high-pitched, dramatic, gloriously off-key. I burst out laughing, wincing as the sound pierces my ears, but the ache in my chest loosens a little. God, I’ve missed her.
“Beautiful, darling. Just beautiful,” I manage when she finishes, clapping slowly with the knife still in hand.
She mock-bows, then flops dramatically back onto her couch. “How have you been? I’ve missed you. I’ve been meaning to call, but you always seem so busy over there.” I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and sigh, the weight of the day pressing down again. “That bad, huh?”
“I’m just…” I trail off, staring at the half-chopped vegetables as if they might help me organize the chaos in my head.
Marissa has been my person since the first week of college in Chicago—we met in the dorm laundry room over a shared hatred of quarters and became inseparable. She’s the one I’ve always told everything, no filter.
“So much has happened. I don’t even know where to start.”
“How was the funeral?” she asks gently.
I shrug. “It was a funeral. I met some of the townsfolk—they’re all nice. I already promised God I’d go to church more after He helped me find the spare key to the house.”
She stares, eyebrows climbing. “Wow. Do I even want to know?”
“No, you don’t,” I say, and she chuckles softly.
I go back to chopping, the silence that follows is comfortable in the way only long friendships allow. Neither of us rushes to fill it. We’re both still adjusting to the fact that my life looks nothing like it did a few weeks ago.
“What about, uh, the guy?” she ventures. “The ranch guy. I forget what you said his name was—something Southern I’ve never heard before.”
I scoff. “Tobias.”
“Tobias,” she repeats, drawing the name out like she’s testing it out. I groan and let out another deep sigh. “Uh-oh. What’s the deal with Mr. Tobias? You said he was young, right? Didn’t you think maybe he’d be more… hip, or whatever?”
“He’s definitely not hip.” I set the knife down and brace my hand on my hip, frustration bubbling up fast. “He’s such a pain in the ass.
If you met him, you’d want to slap him. The way he looks at me, the way he talks to me sometimes—like, who the hell do you think you are?
You can’t just talk to people like that.
And his eyes—ugh. I hate his freaking eyes. ”
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” she says, voice knowing.
“All of him,” I admit, the words rushing out before I can stop them. “He’s stunning. Like he was sculpted by the gods, given this macho, manly face and body, and then they infused him with the personality of an asshole. I can’t stand him. I swear, I want to shove his face in cow manure.”
I finish breathless, chest heaving, and realize how much I’ve been holding in. It feels good to let it out—to say it aloud to someone who won’t judge me for the contradictions.
Marissa tilts her head, a slow smile spreading. “Well, if you ask me, it sounds like you might be in love with him.”
“Marissa. I’m serious. This guy is the worst.”
“But he’s macho and manly? Sculpted by the gods?” She grins wider. “Sounds like you’re living in a romance book.”
I roll my eyes, but the image of him is already crystal clear in my mind: the way he holds himself with unshakable confidence, like the ranch, the land, the air itself belongs to him.
If it weren’t for that broody, infuriating personality, he’d be the kind of man who could walk into any room and make everyone forget how to breathe. It’s maddening.
“He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life,” I say quietly, almost against my will.
“Seriously?” Marissa leans forward toward the screen, eyes wide with excitement. “You have to take a picture and send it to me. I need to see this macho, manly man sculpted by the gods.”
“I’m not taking a picture,” I say firmly, shaking my head. “If he caught me or saw it on my phone, he’d never let it go. He’d probably make some snide comment about city girls and their sneaky habits for the rest of my life.”
She groans dramatically, and leans back. “Come on. Is there a social media page for the farm I can look up?”
“It’s technically a ranch.”
“Oh, forget the technicalities,” she says with a wave of her hand. I sigh in defeat.
“No, there’s no social media. I can’t imagine any of these guys running an Instagram account. Aunt Linda might’ve had a Facebook page somewhere, but I doubt it was anything active. Posting pictures of cows and hay bales probably wasn’t her thing.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, though, the idea sparks.
Maybe it should be. People are obsessed with ranch life right now—cowboy aesthetics, slow living, golden-hour shots of pastures and horses.
If I started posting, even just a few photos of the animals, the landscape, the sunrise over the fields…
it might actually bring in some interest. Maybe even some extra income down the line.
“I guess I’ll just have to come visit you sometime,” Marissa says, pulling me back to the call.
My heart lifts instantly. “Oh my gosh, will you really? Not right now—there’s way too much I need to figure out—but please, please come visit. It’s so quiet here. I could really use the company.”
“You know I will,” she promises, voice softening. “I hate the idea of you being out there alone.”
I sigh, and it feels like the sound comes from somewhere deep.
I miss hanging out with friends. I miss the small freedoms—like grabbing coffee on the corner, or walking to the corner store at midnight just because I felt like it.
Running this ranch is turning out to be so much more than I thought it would be.
If only I’d majored in business instead of English.
“Are you doing okay, Ever?” she asks, concern threading through her words. “You seem really stressed. And down. It’s not a good look on you.”
“I’m okay. I’m just… tired. There’s so much financial stuff to figure out.
I don’t feel qualified to do any of this.
” She gives me the sympathetic look that’s carried me through more breakdowns than I care to count.
“I don’t even feel like an adult half the time I’m breathing.
And all of a sudden I’m responsible for all these animals, this land, people’s jobs? I don’t even know who I am right now.”
“Well, you have options, right?” she says gently. “You said the lawyer could auction it off if you needed to?”
I nod, but the words hit like a punch to the gut. The thought of letting someone else take this place—of watching it get carved up and sold to the highest bidder—makes my stomach twist.
“If I can’t figure things out in a few months after really trying, I’ll consider it. But I want to try. This was such a special place to me when I was a kid. It feels like letting Aunt Linda and Uncle Ray down if I don’t at least give it everything I’ve got.”
She nods slowly, letting the silence sit for a moment. “Just remember you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. No one would hate you if it didn’t work out. Not Linda, not Ray, not me. You’re allowed to choose what’s right for you.”
That’s exactly what I needed to hear. The permission to fail—to walk away if I need to—takes some of the suffocating pressure off my chest. “Do you still have room on your couch just in case?”
“Oh, you know I do, baby,” she says playfully, throwing her arms wide. “I’m just waiting for you to come running back.”
I laugh, and it feels good. She’s always been able to pull me out of my head like this, bringing humor to the table when everything else feels too heavy. And right now, with so much weighing on me, I need that more than ever.
“Are there other ranch hands?” she asks, shifting gears with a mischievous glint in her eye. “What are they like? Anyone I’d be interested in?”
I lean back against the counter and stare off to the side. “Caden’s kinda young. He still has that boyish look to his face, but he seems really friendly and easygoing. Nothing crazy.”
“Go on,” she prompts when I pause.
“Jesse… Jesse I think you might actually find interesting.”
“I’m listening.”
“He’s got this dark hair that falls over his eyes sometimes—”
“Mysterious. I like it.”
“—and this intense expression, like he’s really looking at you. And charming. Definitely charming. Like he’s setting a trap just waiting for you to walk right into it.”
“Definitely my type,” she says, and we both chuckle under our breath, then sigh at the same time, staring at each other through the screen. “I miss you,” she says softly.
“I miss you too.” Of everything I left behind in Chicago, it’s her friendship I ache for most.
We used to talk every day, sending each other stupid memes at two in the morning, or voice notes that lasted ten minutes because neither of us could stop laughing. It’s only been a week since I drove away, and the distance already feels wider than the miles between us.
“I’m not sure if I’m going to make it out here, Riss.”
“It’s okay if you don’t,” she says gently. “I promise. But you’re trying. That’s what matters, right?”