Chapter 5
Kassi
Ishould be concentrating on the report in front of me, but instead I find myself glancing at my phone for the fifth time in as many minutes.
It's ridiculous. I've got deadlines looming, a spreadsheet that's not balancing, and a daughter who's going to need help with her volcano project when she gets home.
I should not be grinning like an idiot at a text thread.
But I am.
Bear: Are all infrastructure consultants this easily distracted, or is it just you?
I bite my lip, fighting the smile threatening to stretch across my face. I type back quickly.
Me: Only when charming cowboys refuse to stop texting during business hours.
The response comes within seconds.
Bear: You didn't say you wanted me to stop.
Me: I didn't say I wanted you to keep going either.
Bear: So, you're saying there's a chance.
When I laugh out loud, I earn a curious look from the woman two desks over. Today, I'm spending part of the day in the office since I have a meeting, so I need to remember to keep my emotions more in check. I duck my head and focus on my laptop for all of ten seconds before my phone buzzes again.
Bear: You're smiling. I can feel it.
Me: I'm scowling, actually. It's very intimidating.
Bear: If your scowl is half as cute as I imagine, I'm in trouble.
Okay, that one makes me blush. Heat creeps up my neck, and I glance around to make sure no one's paying attention. Everyone's too busy typing or talking on their headsets. No one notices me melting into my office chair.
This is not professional. I barely know him. I don't even know his real name. Bear. Who calls their son that? It's clearly a nickname, and the story behind it was adorable enough to make me save his contact as "Bear ??" in my phone.
Still, I shouldn't be texting a stranger in the middle of my workday. But I can't help it. Every message feels like a spark. Every teasing reply makes my stomach flutter.
Me: Do you flirt with all the women your mom picks out for you?
Bear: Only the ones who steal my attention and don't give it back.
Oh.
Okay.
I lean back in my chair, staring at that message for a second longer than I should.
It's just words on a screen. Harmless banter.
But it feels like more. There's something about him.
A steady confidence that doesn't feel rehearsed.
I try to picture his face, but all I see is the idea of him.
A cowboy with rough hands and a gentle voice.
Still, curiosity gnaws at me. Who is Bear really?
I've caught myself more than once hovering over the search bar, tempted to plug in his number or see if I can find him on social media.
Would he even be there? What if I asked for a photo?
Just a simple one, to satisfy the itch in my brain.
But I haven't. Because deep down, I think I like not knowing.
I like the mystery. And I'm not ready to risk ruining the little magic we've built through texts. Not yet.
Because of the bad experience with one guy I've dated since Emma's dad, I wonder how many other women his mom has sent his way. How many women he’s dating.
Flirting with. He seems attentive and remembers even the little things.
But the feelings I'm experiencing are strong for a guy I haven't met in person, and don't know his real name.
It is Walker Lake. I know I could ask around, but really... I'm not ready to shatter the illusion just yet to find out he's the town recluse or some washed-up cowboy with a beer belly who never leaves his house.
A buzz pulls me out of the daydream.
Bear: You're thinking too hard. Dangerous habit.
Me: And how would you know that?
Bear: I've got a good imagination. Bet you're chewing your lip right now.
Me: Stop it.
Bear: Make me.
My fingers hover over the screen, I could end this. Tell him it's inappropriate. That I have too much going on. That I'm not looking for anything, especially not from a cowboy who's probably too handsome and too unavailable for his own good.
Instead, I type:
Me: Do you always win your little text wars?
Bear: Only against worthy opponents.
I laugh again, softer this time. God help me, this is dangerous.
But it's been so long since I let myself have something that felt like this.
Something light. Playful. Not about survival or money or work.
Just two people teasing each other across a digital thread, pretending the real world isn't waiting right outside the screen.
My phone buzzes again.
Bear: What's the weirdest thing on your desk right now?
I glance around. "Hmm."
Me: A tiny purple stapler shaped like a cat.
Bear: That sounds terrifying. I'm impressed.
Me: What about you? What's on your desk?
Bear: I'm currently sitting on a hay bale eating an apple. Does that count?
Me: That might be the most cowboy thing I've ever read.
Bear: I aim to please.
God, he's funny. And smart. And apparently knows exactly how to press my buttons without crossing any lines.
Me: What else do you do on your hay bales besides flirt with unsuspecting consultants?
Bear: Mostly scheme ways to lure said consultants out here for a horse meet-and-greet.
Me: Are you trying to bribe me with ponies?
Bear: Maybe.
Me: It might work.
Bear: That's what I was hoping.
Me: I should warn you—my daughter might fall in love with the horses and never leave.
Bear: Sounds like my kind of kid.
Me: She is. Fierce and smart and curious. Keeps me on my toes.
Bear: Wonder where she gets that from.
I smile at that. It's subtle, but kind. Not just flirty anymore. He's paying attention. An email pops up that I quickly answer before rereading the last part of our conversation.
Bear: You're quiet. Did I scare you off?
Me: Just picturing what it'd be like.
Bear: And?
Me: Tempting.
Bear: Good. I'll take tempting.
Me: And if I say no?
Bear: Then I'll settle for texting you until you're tempted again.
I snort, shaking my head.
Bear: What would it take to entice you?
Me: Cupcakes. A solid cup of coffee. A view of the stars.
Bear: Easy. I've got two out of three.
Me: Which two?
Bear: The stars and the coffee. You'll have to bring the cupcakes.
Me: I make killer cupcakes. That's not a problem.
Bear: Then I think we've got a plan.
I glance at the clock. Only twenty minutes until I need to pick Emma up from school. I shove my laptop into my bag and stand, still smiling like a fool. As I head out, my phone buzzes again.
Bear: Can I text you again tonight?
It hits me that we've been texting long enough, he knows a good bit of my schedule, and I know a bit of his.
Yet I don't even hesitate.
Me: Please do.
When I pull up in front of the school, Emma is already waiting with her teacher. She climbs into the car, her backpack bumping against the door, and her curls wild from recess.
"You're smiley today," she observes, narrowing her eyes at me. "Is it because of a boy?"
I choke on a laugh. "Excuse me?"
She grins like she's caught me red-handed. "You always smile like that when you text. Is it Bear?"
I blink. "How do you know his name?"
She shrugs. "You said it once. When you thought I wasn't listening."
I shake my head, amused and mildly horrified. "You are way too observant."
"So? Is he nice?"
I pause, then nod. "Yeah. He's... nice."
"Are you gonna marry him?"
"Emma!"
She giggles and kicks her legs as we pull out of the lot. "I think you should. But first, you should get your hair done. You always say you feel fancier after a salon day. Boys like fancy hair, right?"
I bite back another laugh. "I don't think Bear is the fancy hair type, sweetheart."
"Well, then just wear your sparkly earrings and smile more. Boys like that, too."
I glance at her in the rearview mirror. "You're giving me a lot of advice for someone who still thinks macaroni and cheese counts as a food group."
"Mac and cheese is a food group," she says proudly. "And I give good advice. Just saying."
As I watch her kicking her legs in the back seat, face glowing from a day full of recess, snacks, and stories, it hits me all over again how much her happiness means to me.
Every choice I make comes back to her. Every risk, every hesitation.
And that's what makes this whole thing with Bear feel so dangerous.
If I fall for someone, it's not just my heart on the line anymore. It's hers too.
She laughs as she tells me about her day, swinging her legs as we drive. But the truth is, her question lingers longer than it should.
Later that night, after Emma's asleep and the house is quiet, I lie in bed with the glow of my phone lighting up the darkness.
My finger hovers over the keyboard. I almost type: "What's your real name?
" I even finished the message. But I stare at it too long, heart thumping, and eventually, I hit backspace until the words are gone.
Instead, I send:
Me: Can't sleep. You up?
Bear: Always. Thinking about you.
Me: Oh yeah? What about me exactly?
Bear: Wondering about your voice, your smile, that cat-shaped stapler.
Me: You barely know me.
Bear: I know enough to know I want more.
Me: You have a way with words.
Bear: You make it easy. You in bed?
Me: Yep. Curled up. Cozy.
Bear: Bet you look cute like that.
Me: I'm blushing now. You proud of yourself?
Bear: Very.
Me: Goodnight, Bear.
Bear: Sweet dreams, Kassi. I'll be here when you wake up.
The reply hits me low and warm and dangerous. I clutch the phone to my chest and let myself smile into the quiet. I'm not ready to know who he is. Not yet. Not if it means this ends.