5. Aiden
Aiden
By Wednesday afternoon, I’ve checked the same mineral feeder twice and nearly walked into a fence post because I can’t stop turning Paige Whitaker over in my mind like a knot I can’t work loose.
The first mistake is annoying.
The second would have been embarrassing if Axel hadn’t been facing the other direction.
“Open the gate,” I tell him.
“I came over to drop off paperwork.”
“And now you’re helping me move yearlings.”
“I’m wearing clean boots.”
“Poor planning.”
He mutters something about family exploitation, but he lifts the latch while I guide the last two animals into the adjoining pasture. Once they’re through, Axel swings the gate closed and leans against it while I secure the chain.
“There. You survived.”
“My boots didn’t.”
“They were ugly anyway.”
He looks down at the mud splattered over the leather. “These cost more than anything you own.”
“I own cattle.”
“You know what I mean.”
I pull out my phone to check the time. Josie is with my parents for the afternoon, which gives me another two hours before I need to pick her up.
It also gives me two hours to think about the title I memorized from Paige’s paperback.
Four days should have been enough for the memory of her standing in that aisle to fade. It hasn’t.
I open the search page I abandoned earlier.
The cover appears beside a description that stops me cold.
According to the blurb, the male lead spends roughly four hundred pages alternating between brooding introspection and, apparently, an almost athletic dedication to a woman’s pleasure.
The reviews confirm it. One commenter gave it five stars and simply wrote: *my husband is so confused about why I keep sighing. *
“Are the cows reading romance now?”
I lock my phone, but Axel has already moved close enough to see the screen.
“No.”
“Researching techniques?”
“Go home.”
His grin widens. “Was that Paige’s book?”
I shove the phone into my pocket and start toward the equipment shed. “You have work to do.”
“I did my work. Then my brother forced me into unpaid ranch labor while secretly shopping for dirty books.”
“I wasn’t shopping.”
“So you admit it was dirty.”
One marked sentence was enough to make Paige blush and challenge what a real man could deliver. I’ve replayed the exchange all week, especially the way she held my gaze while a flush climbed her cheeks.
“I wanted to know what she was reading.”
Axel falls into step beside me. “Why?”
“Because she’s interesting.”
“You say that like it hurts.”
“She’s also difficult.”
He stops walking. “She turned down one invitation.”
“She’s turned down several.”
“How many times have you asked her on a date?”
“I invited her to the cookout.”
“With half the family and your six-year-old.”
“She knew I wanted her there.”
“Did she know you wanted her, or did she think you were filling another chair at a family event?”
I yank open the shed door, and it swings back and cracks against the wall. “She knows I’m attracted to her.”
Axel follows me inside. “Because you told her?”
“I’m fairly obvious.”
“That might be the most arrogant thing you’ve said this month.”
“It’s only Wednesday.”
He laughs while I shove the sorting flags onto their hooks. “You like her.”
“I’m attracted to her.”
“You memorized the title of her filthy book.”
“Because she challenged me.”
“She declined an invitation and read a book in your general vicinity. Neither one makes her difficult.”
“She enjoys watching me scramble for my footing.”
“Probably because you keep approaching her like she should be grateful for access to the Slade calendar.”
“I invited her to a cookout with my family. That’s welcoming, not demanding.”
“It’s demanding when the invitation is a summons.” He crosses his arms. “A woman having plans she likes more than potato salad isn’t a personal insult, Aiden.”
I give him the kind of look that ends conversations.
He lifts both hands. “Sadie taught me a few things.”
Dismissing him would be easier. But then I picture Paige on her porch, content with her hammock and her book. I see her in the library aisle, chin tipped up, refusing to retreat.
I can keep calling her difficult. It’s a good story, and it protects my pride. Or I can ask her for what I want and give her the chance to say no.
Axel studies my face. “You’re going into town, aren’t you?”
“I have an errand.”
“At the library?”
I grab my keys from the shelf.
He laughs, then calls after me, “Tell Paige your brother says hello.”
“I won’t.”
“And ask her properly.”
I keep walking toward my truck. This time, I’m going to the library without Josie, without a family invitation, and without anyone else to hide behind.
The library is quieter than it was Saturday, which means Paige looks up the instant the door closes behind me.
Her gaze drops to my empty hands, then slides past me.
“Did you forget someone?”
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“Where’s Josie?”
“With my parents.”
She rests one hand on the cart of returned books beside her. “So you came to the children’s library without a child.”
“There are books here for adults.”
“I’m aware. I’ve read several.”
Her mouth curves, and my gaze lands there before I force it back to her eyes.
“I need a trail guide.”
“A trail guide.”
“For Colorado.”
She stares at me.
I wait.
“You grew up here.”
“I spent a long time in Texas.”
“Did Texas erase your knowledge of mountains?”
“Gradually.”
Paige presses her lips together, but a laugh escapes anyway. “You own enough land to wander around for days without seeing another person.”
“That’s how I’d prefer to hike.”
“You also have a phone.”
“I’m trying to reduce my screen time.”
“You looked up my book.”
I should have known she’d make the connection that fast.
“Research doesn’t count.”
“Of course it doesn’t.” She steps around the desk and gestures toward the nonfiction section. “Come on. Let’s find you a completely necessary guide to the state where you were raised.”
“I appreciate your dedication to public service.”
“I appreciate your commitment to this terrible excuse.”
She walks ahead of me, and I watch the way the hem of her skirt shifts with each step, a small and maddening rhythm. She is manageable behind her desk. Out here, she is not.
Paige stops in front of a shelf and scans the spines. “Are you looking for an easy day hike, a serious climb, or enough wilderness to protect you from basic honesty?”
“Whichever one you recommend.”
“That depends on what you’re avoiding.”
“I came to see you.”
The teasing leaves her expression, but her eyes stay on mine.
“That almost sounded honest.”
“It was.”
Saying it leaves me more exposed than the ridiculous excuse did. I’m here because I want her attention when Josie isn’t with me and my family isn’t waiting somewhere nearby. The guarded line of her mouth softens. Her gaze moves over my face.
She turns back to the shelf, and I step closer to look over her shoulder. There’s room for a polite distance. Neither of us seems interested in it.
Her perfume reaches me first, clean and faintly sweet. She tilts her head, and the ends of her hairbrush my shirt.
“You’re crowding me, Mr. Slade.”
“You can move.”
“So can you.”
Neither of us does.
Paige reaches for a guide on the upper shelf. I reach at the same time, closing my hand over the spine above hers. Her breath catches, a small, sharp sound only possible this close.
“I found it,” she says, her gaze fixed on the book.
“So did I.”
“You don’t even know which book I picked.”
“I’m not talking about the guide.”
Her eyes lift to mine. This close, I can see the gold mixed through the brown, and I see the instant she understands exactly what I mean.
“Did your research teach you anything useful?” she asks.
“It confirmed the hero follows instructions.”
“Eventually.”
“He has poor impulse control.”
“He has excellent follow-through.”
I lower my voice. “You liked the part about keeping your hands above your head.”
Color spreads across her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “A competent reader pays attention to the entire passage.”
“I paid attention.”
“You read one sentence.”
“I read more after I got home.”
Her lips part. “You bought it?”
“I needed context.”
“For your research.”
“Exactly.”
She releases the guide, leaving my hand on it. “And what did all that context tell you?”
“That he talks too much.”
Paige’s eyebrows rise. “The fictional man talks too much?”
“He spends three paragraphs explaining what he’s going to do.”
“Some women enjoy anticipation.”
“I’m better at the follow-through.”
The space between us goes tight.
She could step around me. Instead, she tips her chin up and studies my mouth with the same open interest I’m giving hers.
“That’s a confident claim,” she says, her voice low.
“I can back it up.”
Her fingers curl around the edge of the shelf. “Maybe I’m waiting for a better offer.”
I let go of the book. I’m close enough to feel the warmth of her body and see her inhale when my eyes drop to her lips.
She isn’t retreating, and the awareness coils low in my gut. I could close the remaining distance with one step. The thought of finally learning how her mouth feels is strong enough to make my hand tighten at my side.
“Miss Paige?” a man calls from the computers. “The printer ate my document again.”
Her focus shifts to a point somewhere over my shoulder. When her gaze returns to mine, amusement has replaced the heat, though her cheeks are still pink.
“The public awaits.”
“I can wait.”
“I’m sure you can. You’ve been circling this for over a week.”
She slips past me, then stops at the end of the aisle and turns.
“Why do you keep inviting me to things instead of asking me out?”
The patron calls her name again.
“I have to rescue a document,” Paige says. “Try to come up with an honest answer while I’m gone.”
“I already have one.”
“Then this should be easy.”
She walks away, leaving me no chance to prove otherwise.
I take the trail guide from the shelf and wait near the entrance while she fixes the printer, answers a phone call, and checks out a stack of picture books for a mother with two young boys.
She doesn’t hurry any of them. She looks at each person like they’re the only one in the room, but once, as she hands a receipt to the mother, her eyes lift and find mine for a second, a silent question, before she turns back to her work.
When the last family leaves, Paige joins me near the front doors.
“You stayed.”
“You asked me a question.”
“I assumed you’d dodge it.”
“I occasionally take the scenic route.”
Her smile appears, quick and pleased. “Why haven’t you asked me out?”
“I thought I had.”
“You invited me to a cookout.”
“That included food.”
“And your family.”
“They’re usually included with the food.”
“Exactly.” She folds her arms. “You offered me a place in plans you’d already made. You never asked if I wanted to spend time with you.”
“I wanted you there.”
“You never said that.”
Admitting Axel was right would make him unbearable.
“I assumed you knew.”
Paige leans in and lowers her voice. “Maybe you’re used to women figuring out what you want and making it easy for you.”
“Are you going to make it difficult?”
“I’m going to make you say it.”
The dare in her eyes is familiar now. So is the pull low in my gut when she refuses to hand me the answer I want.
My life is built on clear decisions. I can read a storm front, a sick animal, a fence line that won’t hold. A fence can’t look me in the eye and decide it would rather stand alone.
“I want to spend time with you,” I say. “Alone. No family, no event, and no excuse involving Josie.”
Her expression shifts, the challenge easing into something warmer. “Better.”
“If you want to ask me out,” she says, “ask me out.”
I meet her gaze, holding it. “Paige, will you have dinner with me Friday night?”
“Friday already has a cabin, a book, and food I like.”
“That sounds suspiciously like another refusal.”
“It’s information.”
“About how much you enjoy turning me down?”
“About what you’re asking me to give up.” The corners of her mouth ease, though her voice stays direct. “I like my Fridays, Aiden. I’m not trading one for a vague plan where you pick me up, decide what we do, and drop me back home after I spend the evening fitting into your schedule.”
I was prepared for her to tease me. I wasn’t prepared for her to tell me exactly where I keep getting this wrong.
Every invitation I’ve made has required Paige to leave her life and step into mine. Even now, I’m asking her to surrender the night she protects while offering nothing more specific than dinner.
“What if you kept the cabin?” I ask.
“And my book.”
“I’m beginning to resent that book.”
“You haven’t met this one yet.”
“What if you kept the cabin, the book, and the food you like?”
Interest flickers across her face. “That would depend on what you’re proposing.”
“I’m working on it.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“I plan things for a living.”
“Yes, and so far, your plans keep assuming I’ll rearrange mine.”
“Let me get it right this time.”
Paige studies me, then walks behind the checkout desk and pulls a square of paper from beside the computer. She writes something down, folds it once, and holds it out.
I take it from her. Her cabin address runs across the center.
“This is permission to ask me again,” she says. “It isn’t a yes.”
“I understand the difference.”
“And if the answer is no?”
“I leave.”
She searches my face, waiting for an argument. When she doesn’t find one, her fingers loosen from the paper.
Saying it settles something in my chest. The possibility of hearing no still sets my teeth on edge. Knowing she believes I’ll respect it makes the risk worth taking. I want her to open the door because I gave her a reason, not because she thinks refusing me will become a negotiation.
“Then maybe I’ll answer the door.”
I tuck the address into my wallet and pick up the trail guide.
Paige looks at it. “Are you actually checking that out?”
“I’ve become concerned Texas erased more than I realized.”
Her laugh follows me through the doors.
I came here intending to get a date. I leave with an address, a challenge, and no promise at all.
Friday is hers. If I want a place in it, I’ll ask at her door and be ready to walk away if she says no.