Chapter 9 #2
"Don't get ahead of yourself. This is a one-time thing," Jo said, but Vivi could tell she was having a good time. "Now, how does one accidentally fall into bed with the town's grumpiest bachelor?"
Vivi leaned back into the chair and let herself relax a little. Being so far from home was harder than she'd expected, and the first few days on the ranch hadn't exactly gone smoothly.
Boone helping her after she'd face-planted into the river had been a mix of mortifying and strangely endearing.
Then there was the fire-side chat, which was confusing as hell.
But now, being able to share the ridiculousness of the moment, and maybe even the little sparks of tension with someone who actually got it? That felt good.
"As everyone in town apparently already knows, I rented his house for the month. I was in bed minding my own business when I woke up to a hungover Boone cupping my boob, with me playing the role of the little spoon and his, well, his, um—"
"Dick."
"Shhh—"
"You write dating bios for a living and can't say dick?"
"Fine. His dick was pushed up against my backside."
"Asscrack."
"Gross. Anyway. We both freaked out and I never want to talk about it again. There."
"Which is how you know he's packing heat."
Vivi looked around the store and leaned in like she was about to impart secrets of national security. "His pack is nuclear in nature."
"Oh, I know," Jo said as though she had prior knowledge of the answer to the Double Jeopardy question.
A flash of something close to jealousy shot through Vivi like a bolt of lightning. She blinked, shaking it off.
Stop it. You're being ridiculous.
But she couldn't deny it. That flash, however brief, had her heart racing—and a tiny, annoying part of her admitting it had something to do with the way he’d looked at her when he’d said “I got you.”
How absolutely silly was that?
"To clear things up," Jo said with a knowing grin, "I don't know, nor do I give a shit about Boone's dick. I just assumed it ran in the family."
"Right," Vivi said, remembering the way Eli had looked at Jo the other night. The question he'd asked her about being stood up at the altar. "Were you and Eli engaged?"
Jo snorted, the sound half-laugh, half-growl. "We barely survived the first year of dating without me threatening to duct-tape him to a fence post. Engaged is a strong word," she said—but it was a lie, and they both knew it.
It made Vivi wonder why she'd bother. Then again, Vivi lied all the time. Saying yes when the answer was really no was just as dishonest, and she'd been doing it her whole life.
She'd spent years twisting herself into pretzels when a churro felt more natural—smoothing over edges, agreeing to plans she didn't care about, all to keep the peace or avoid disappointing someone.
And yet here she was in Bridlewood, facing a cowboy, his family, and a town full of people who had no idea who she really was—and for once she didn't want to hide behind a mask.
She wanted to be honest. Messy and awkward and all of it, even if it scared her.
"I'm sorry it didn't work out," she said.
She could see Jo weighing which direction to take the conversation. Vivi was disappointed when she landed on: "Life's a bitch. I knew better."
A sharp tug pulled at Vivi's chest for a woman who'd clearly been handed more than her fair share of hard luck.
She knew that tired-to-the-bone feeling, the kind that came from knowing better and going along with something anyway. She'd learned it early—mostly from her dad.
He wasn't a bad man. He was a reasonable man, which somehow made it harder.
Sensible choices, stable plans, a future she should have wanted.
There'd been a dozen moments when she'd almost told him she wanted something different—something louder that was hers.
But then he'd smile, proud and relieved, and she'd swallow the truth like it was the impolite thing at the table.
It never worked—pretending never did. And the worst part wasn't disappointing him; it was knowing she'd disappointed herself first.
Maybe that was what Jo meant. I knew better. Not anger. Just the shitty realization that she'd known better and done it anyway.
Maybe Bridlewood was her chance to stop being sensible. To finally be honest, even when it was awkward.
"That's bleak," Vivi said quietly.
"Bleak? Nah. Truth? Yes."
Before Vivi could come back with one of her sunshine epiphanies, there was a tap at the glass window. She whipped her head around to find two gray-haired biddies peering in.
Two gray-haired women stood on the other side, staring in like they'd paid admission.
One wore a floral dress with deep apron pockets and loafers that had clearly seen decades of errands and Sunday church.
The other had on a buttoned-up cardigan and the kind of grin that came from years of hunting down and dolling out gossip.
They looked to be somewhere north of seventy and not the least bit embarrassed about being caught spying.