Chapter 11
Kassi
Idon't expect to see him. Not here and certainly not at this hour. But when I walk into the little diner on Main that has the best food and coffee to get my iced coffee to start my day after I've had little sleep, and there he is.
Asher Hayes.
Standing in line like a normal person, as if he didn't just turn my world sideways twice in a week.
He looks up at the sound of the bell above the door, and our eyes lock. Even though his expression doesn't change much, something in his shoulders eases. I feel it in my own body too, that strange unspoken pull that makes my breath catch.
He nods. "Morning."
I manage a smile and get in line behind him. "Morning."
We stand there in this quiet, suspended moment until he gestures toward the register. "Go ahead. I haven't decided yet."
"Thanks." I step forward and order my morning usual, the house special iced vanilla latte, while trying to ignore how close he's standing.
He smells of fresh air and clean laundry.
It's annoyingly appealing. Comforting, too, in a way I didn't expect.
I fumble for my wallet like a nervous teenager on her first date, paying for my drink.
Then, I step aside and take a deep breath.
Austin shoots me a look, obviously sensing something is up, but I know she won't ask. She’ll wait until we’re alone, or she will blow up my phone later tonight.
When I move over, he steps up.
"Black coffee," he tells Austin. "No room."
Classic.
We wait by the pickup counter, pretending we're not watching each other. I toy with the strap of my bag. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. There's a sort of buzz in the quiet between us—a low-hummed chord waiting to resolve.
Then, like it's the most casual thing in the world, he says, "You headed anywhere?"
I blink. "Just taking a walk. Needed to clear my head."
He lifts his coffee. "Mind some company?"
Every instinct tells me to say yes and no at the same time. I settle for a nod. "Sure."
We walk out together, the bell above the door jangling behind us.
Then, turning toward the lake, we walk on the paved walking trail next to the lake.
It's early enough that the path is quiet, the surface still damp with dew.
Birds chatter overhead. The lake glimmers through the trees.
There's a hush to the world that feels almost sacred.
We walk in silence for a while, sipping our drinks. It's not awkward. Not really. It's something different—something with the pull of an old song you haven't heard in years, but still know by heart. Comfortable and aching all at once.
At first, I don't look at him because if I don't see Asher, I can pretend I'm walking with Bear, and I'm much more comfortable with Bear.
Finally, I glance over. "I thought you might be avoiding me."
His lips curve just slightly. "I thought you might be avoiding me."
"Touché."
He takes a slow sip of his coffee. "Things got messy."
I nod. "They still are."
"But not everything has to be."
I stop walking. He stops too. I look at him, really look at him. "What are we doing, Asher?"
He studies me. "Having coffee. Walking. Talking."
"You know what I mean."
He nods. "I do. And I don't have a good answer."
We start walking again. My fingers are wrapped tightly around my cup.
He adds, more quietly, "I just know I like talking to you. Even when I shouldn't. Especially when I shouldn't. And I don't want to stop."
I stare at the path. "You're not the only one."
He glances over. "No?"
I shake my head. "Bear was easy. Until he wasn't. Until he was you."
He's quiet for a beat. "Bear was me. But not a lie—not the parts that mattered.
Bear is the me that doesn't have to be the older brother taking care of my family.
The cowboy who is busting his ass from sunup to sundown so my brothers can still have fun.
Bear is who I am when you look at me and leave all the rest at the door. "
We walk a little farther and fall into a more natural rhythm. After a few minutes, he glances over and says, "Finn's the wild one. Still chasing rodeos."
I raise an eyebrow. "Really? I didn't realize that."
"Yeah," he says with a chuckle. "He's good, too. Has the kind of flair that gets the crowd on their feet. But it's a hard life. Unpredictable. Lots of highs, lots of crash landings."
"Did you ever do it? Rodeo?"
"One season," he says. "Bull riding. Thought it'd be a thrill. And it was. But it wasn't me."
"Why not?"
He shrugs. "Too much noise. Too much pressure to be someone I wasn't. I needed something steadier. So I started working ranch jobs. Saved every dime, paid into the ranch bit by bit. Learned on the ground. One mistake at a time."
I glance over at him. There's something so grounded about the way he says it. He's not trying to impress me. Just telling the truth."
"That makes sense. You seem like someone who earns every inch."
He smiles faintly. "That's the goal."
We reach the part of the trail where the ground dips slightly, roots threading through the dirt like veins. My foot catches on one, and I stumble, coffee sloshing dangerously.
Before I can fall, his hand is on my elbow, steadying me. His grip is firm, warm. I reach out with my other hand to rest on his arm to steady myself.
"Got you," he says, his voice hoarse.
I freeze. His fingers linger. So do mine.
When I glance up, he's closer than I realized. The trees seem to go still around us, and my breath hitches.
He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my cheek, his thumb grazing my skin. It's the lightest touch. But it’s charged with electricity.
His eyes flick to my mouth. My heart thuds, slow and heavy—bracing for impact.
I think he's going to kiss me.
I want him to. I shouldn't, but hell, do I want him to.
He leans in slightly. His breath mingles with mine. I'm caught between leaning forward and running.
But then a voice shouts from across the trail.
"Asher!"
We both jerk back. A man with a fishing pole and a tackle box waves as he heads toward the dock.
Asher raises a hand. "Hey, Baxter."
I step away, adjusting my bag like it's the reason my heart's racing. My pulse is still loud in my ears. The moment is gone, but the feeling lingers as I try to steady my nerves.
We keep walking, slower now. Our shoulders don't brush, but they come close.
Neither of us says anything for a few minutes. Then I speak up. "That was almost..."
"Yeah."
I take a shaky breath. "This is complicated."
He nods. "But some things are worth the mess."
He tells me about Duke, the old horse who injured himself.
About how he called the new vet, and how the guy surprised him.
He laughs a little when he talks about how Finn and Zach showed up right on cue.
There's something tender in the way he talks about his brothers, about the land.
It's not just where he works. It's who he is.
I tell him about Emma's pancakes and bedtime giggles.
About how she told me I was the brave one.
His smile deepens when I talk about her.
That smile alone can melt my mom heart when he truly seems interested in my daughter.
That's the smile you don't see on the other end of the text messages late at night.
We turn around at the county park on the lake and head back to the diner. The sun is higher now, and the day is stretching open before us. Light sparkles off the windshield of a nearby truck, and for a second, everything feels like possibility.
He turns to me. "Thanks for the walk."
"Thanks for catching me."
His eyes linger. "Always."
We linger in the parking lot, neither of us quite ready to leave.
He walks me to my car, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his coffee cup like it's suddenly the only thing keeping him grounded.
He pulls his hand from his pocket and reaches for the handle of his truck door, opens it, then pauses.
"I don't say things easily," he says, voice low. "But I meant it earlier. I like talking to you. Not just as Bear. Not just as Asher. Just... you and me."
I nod, heart in my throat. "I know."
He starts to say something else, then shakes his head with a small smile. "Guess that's all I've got today."
"It's enough," I whisper.
I watch him go, coffee in hand, shoulders relaxed, with that familiar gait that says he belongs to the land more than any man I've ever met.
And I think maybe I'm not as lost as I thought.
Maybe I'm just beginning to find my way.
Maybe this thing between us isn't about the mess at all.
It's about choosing something real even when it scares you.
Sitting in the car, keys still in hand, I let myself replay it.
The moment he steadied me. The way his fingers brushed my cheek.
How close he got. The look in his eyes. I wonder what would have happened if we hadn't been interrupted.
If I had leaned in too. Part of me is glad we didn't cross that line, and part of me aches because we didn't. And now I'm left with the memory of almost. Of almost kissing him.
Of almost falling. Of almost saying something real.
And somehow, that almost feels more dangerous than anything else.
Then I glance down at my phone as a new message lights up the screen.
Bear: I liked seeing you today.
I bite my lip, a small, secret smile tugging at me.
Me: Me too.
Bear: Thanks for the walk. We should do it again sometime.
Me: I'd like that.
And just like that, the world feels a little lighter.