Chapter 16-Bit
Shopping with a cowboy turns out to be a whole lot more fun than it sounds.
We hit the big three—Walmart, Tractor Supply Co., and this massive old mall about twenty minutes from the ranch.
Everywhere we go, Sawyer carries my bags like it’s no big deal, opens every door, and gives me that half-smile that makes my insides turn to warm syrup.
At some point, he swiped my credit card right out of my hand.
I figured it was a macho thing—he’s got that protective streak a mile wide—so I let him.
But now we’re standing in line at this incredible little place in downtown Dry Creek—Devil’s Food Bakery, which smells like heaven and sin rolled into one—and when I check my banking app, I frown.
Not a single charge.
“Sawyer?”
“Yeah?” He’s studying the display case like he’s about to propose to a chocolate éclair.
“Did you use my card in those stores when I told you to?” I turn my phone toward him. “Because this says otherwise.”
He glances down, then up at me, grinning that lazy, devastating grin that ought to come with a warning label.
“Sure did. Used it so I had an excuse to hold your hand in line.”
“You brat!” I laugh, smacking his arm lightly. “I didn’t want you to pay for my clothes, Sawyer.”
He shrugs one broad shoulder, unbothered.
“Now hold on, Lil Bit. I bought stuff in each store we went to. It would’ve been too much trouble to separate the purchases. No worries. I’m sure we can figure it out later.”
Then he steps up to the counter, effectively ending the discussion. Typical.
I cross my arms, pretending to pout, though the truth is my heart’s doing a happy little dance.
Still, I can’t let him get away with it forever.
He’s too used to carrying the world on his back—and I want to find ways to carry a little of it for him.
While I’m thinking about that, he orders a dozen dark-chocolate cayenne brownies with cinnamon-fudge topping. The woman behind the counter raises an eyebrow like she’s impressed.
“Can we also have two of those chocolate sourdough loaves, and oooh, a large rosemary focaccia?” I ask quickly, leaning forward to point at the display.
Sawyer shoots me a look, one brow raised. “Planning on feeding the whole county?”
“Ha! I need something for me and Angie with all you cowboys around. And don’t you sneak any brownies before we get home,” I shoot back, smiling sweetly.
He chuckles, low and warm, and the sound curls through me like melted sugar.
Standing there, with him beside me and the scent of chocolate in the air, I realize something simple and terrifying all at once.
I’m happy.
Not running. Not pretending. Just happy.
And maybe—just maybe—I don’t need to think about how to repay him right now.
Maybe being here, choosing to stay, is enough.