Chapter 12
Two days later, Vivi sat at the kitchen table surrounded by cheerful disorder. Paint swatches fanned across the surface, glossy photos she'd printed off Pinterest were piled in different stacks, and a note was stuck to her laptop screen that read Manifesting My Next Mistake.
She was deep in debate with herself over the relative emotional weight of "dusty blue" versus "weathered sage" when the screen door swung open.
"What is all this for?" Rea said, stepping in on a cloud of expensive perfume that was at odds with the landscape of rural Montana.
Her posture was impeccable, and her silver-streaked hair pulled into a loose chignon that managed to look effortless in a way that would take Vivi a full day and nine hair products to accomplish.
Then there were those trademark sunglasses.
This pair was jade green, and even though they covered half her face, she still looked catalogue-ready.
"I have a plan to help the ranch," Vivi said proudly.
"Do tell," Rea said, walking to the counter to put the tea kettle on the stove.
"You know the bunkhouse?"
Rea grimaced like she'd bitten into a lemon. "That eyesore?"
"What if it got a facelift and was turned into a weekend rental? The fee could help cover the ranch's monthly costs."
"I think it's brilliant." Rea clapped her hands. "But please tell me you're not trying to rebrand it like it's a Napa tasting room."
"I was going for rustic charm. You know—less chainsaw massacre, more country chic."
Rea slipped off her sunglasses. "Good, the last thing this town needs is another woman trying to turn a stable into a wellness space. It always ends with goats wearing flower crowns."
"Noted. No goat couture."
Rea dropped tea leaves into an infuser, set it in the teapot, and placed it next to the warming kettle, then came to the table to inspect Vivi's Instagram-worthy collage.
"Come now, darling, do tell. You've got that look, the one that says some poor chap's made a right fool of you and you're pretending a bit of home improvement will save your dignity."
Vivi sighed, leaning back. "You're not wrong. I spoke with Lewis earlier."
"Oh, the jet-setting finance boy," Rea said, lips curving into a knowing smirk. "What did he do? Forget your birthday or propose in a tax bracket?"
"Worse, he sent the rest of my belongings to Singapore after hiring someone to Marie Kondo my things.
The whole 'if it doesn't spark joy' movement. This stranger went through my things and tidied them up, throwing out items she didn’t think were necessary, then shipped what was left on its merry way.
Then he acted like he was doing me a favor. "
The kettle whistled and Rea stood and poured herself a cup. "He did this without your consent?"
"Yep, apparently my opinion was optional."
"That's not a man. That's a cautionary tale."
"So here I am, in the middle of nowhere, trying to figure out who I am when I'm not just someone's plus-one. Trying to see what I actually bring to the table, and he goes ahead and boxes up parts of my life that weren’t his to decide."
"Darling," Rea said, voice velvet with steel underneath. "You're not a server. You are the table. Mahogany. Custom-built. Imported. And he is lucky if he gets a chair—folding, at best."
Vivi laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her mug. "Oh my God, Lady Rea."
"Don’t ever let a man make you feel like your worth depends on his itinerary. Men like that think they're the main course—until they meet a woman who knows she's the whole damn dining room."
"You know, I'm starting to believe you."
"Good," Rea said. "Now show me these paint colors again. If you're going to rebuild your life, at least do it in something more flattering than beige."
"What about dusty blue?"
Rea examined it with a critical eye. "Acceptable. But to pull off that color you’ll need to add a chandelier. A woman should always have good lighting—especially when she's reinventing herself."
"Today's Glow Up exercise," Glow said. "Imagine your ideal connection. Close your eyes and picture someone who makes you feel alive and understood, and safe all at once. Who is it? Go."
Vivi stared at the screen like the app had just handed her a loaded gun. A face came to mind, and she snapped her eyes open—then nearly sent her phone flying across the coffee shop, which would have been tragic for the phone and catastrophic for her dignity.
Because there it was, sitting in her chest like a live wire:
Boone.
Not just Boone—the rugged, irritatingly competent, calf-rescuing, somehow-made-her-heart-flip-while-he-lifted-her-on-the-counter Boone.
She could still feel the way their hands had brushed when he’d patched her up and the way he'd actually listened when she babbled about always trying to please everyone.
The way he'd looked at her in the bathroom—sweet baby Jesus! Just thinking about the heat in his eyes made her hormones sigh.
And somewhere between laughing at how ridiculous they both were and realizing how intensely they clicked, she'd felt something—something insane that she probably shouldn't admit even to her own reflection.
She squeezed her eyes shut until she was seeing little white orbs and began reciting the hottest men alive.
Zac Efron.
Chris Hemsworth.
The other Hemsworth.
Timothée Chalamet.
Ryan Gosling.
But it was another man who came to mind like a shot ringing into the night.
Irritating, aggravating, infuriating, exasperating, mind-mangling, annoying-as-hell Boone Callahan.
The memory of his protective presence, the warmth of his hands, the intensity in his eyes—the way he made her feel seen—hit her like a physical jolt. An annoying jolt that had her head spinning.
But there was something about the way they'd both confessed—almost accidentally—that they'd spent half their lives bending to everyone else's will.
The way the stoic cowboy had made her laugh.
The way he'd laughed right back at her. The way something had clicked so hard it left her stomach twisting and her brain refusing to let go.
And yes, guilt for Lewis tried to elbow its way in, but the pull Boone had on her was undeniably addictive.
It was the exact kind of complication she didn't need.
And she didn't even like him. Imagine if she did. How dangerous would that be?
Vivi stirred her coffee absently, staring at the swirling cream and thinking about Lewis—safe, comfortable, predictable Lewis. The kind of man who made mornings smooth and dinners quiet and weekends uneventful. And yet—somehow—it all felt hollow.
Comfort didn't make her heart race. Comfort didn't make her feel alive the way Boone did when he leaned in close, when his hands steadied her without being asked, when his eyes actually saw her instead of the polished persona she'd been performing for everyone else.
Lewis had never really seen her. In fact, Vivi didn’t think he even tried.
He took her for granted in ways she hadn't let herself admit until now. Taking a new job without asking if she wanted to uproot her life, selling the apartment they'd shared without a single conversation about what she wanted or where she’d go or even how she’d fit into the plan.
Packing up her things and shipping them off.
He acted like she'd just follow along behind him, always being okay with whatever he decided.
Like her life, her wants and needs were negotiable.
And Singapore, of all places. It was a whole ocean away, which would mean uprooting herself from everyone she loved, all for a man who didn't seem to notice she had a life of her own. The thought made her chest tighten and her stomach twist.
Then there was the inconvenient realization that she wasn't just drawn to Boone, she was drawn to the woman she became around him. The version of herself who didn’t have to try to be seen—really seen. Around him she felt electric in a way she hadn't known she'd been missing.
Suddenly everything else, the comfort, the predictability, the polite and careful love Lewis offered, it felt like a cage she didn't want to live in any longer.
She sat back and let out a slow, shaky breath. This wasn't about Boone. Not really. It was about her. About realizing she'd spent her whole life compromising—sliding into someone else's plan while ignoring her own instincts and her own needs.
Vivi traced the rim of her coffee cup, thinking about the tiny choices she'd pushed aside, the laughter she'd swallowed, the moments she'd made herself smaller to keep the peace.
She wanted to stop apologizing for wanting more. For wanting her own path and wanting to feel alive in her own skin again. The person she'd become around Lewis was nice, reliable, and careful—but not her true, untempered herself.
Maybe Lewis would be shocked or hurt, but she was tired of deferring to someone else's life plan.
She was ready to make her own decisions, to stake her claim on her own freedom, to take up space without asking permission first. And as scary as it felt, as heartbreaking as it might be to say out loud, she knew what had to happen.
She had to call it off.
Ten minutes later, Vivi stared at her coffee like it might give her courage if she looked hard enough.
Her phone rested on the table, screen open to Lewis's contact, and she felt the familiar flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with caffeine.
She'd rehearsed this speech—fifteen, maybe twenty times—but now that the words were real, they felt impossibly clumsy like she was trying to wrangle that stubborn calf all over again.
Every day brought her closer to the thirty-day cutoff, and she needed to make some decisions and make them fast or life was going to make them for her—and it had a terrible track record.
Vivi's thumb hovered over Lewis's number for a full thirty seconds before she finally pressed Call. The line rang and rang until—mercifully—he answered.
"Vivi, it's three in the morning. Why are you calling?
" His voice was rough with sleep, clearly irritated, and a just a tad dismissive.
Just like every time lately that she tried to tell him something that mattered.
She knew he was busy with his new job, and the time difference was making it hard on …
Nope! She wasn't doing that again. She was done making excuses for his dismissive and sometimes hurtful behavior.
"I'm okay, don't worry," she said, voice dry as dust. "I'm calling to tell you I'm not coming to Singapore." She tried to keep her tone calm, but the words felt like a jackhammer in her chest.
"What?" He was suddenly awake.
"I’m not moving to Singapore and I'm not your girlfriend."
A long sigh—the kind that somehow made her chest tighten. "Can you tone it down? You're being a bit much right now."
A bit much?
She could practically hear the casual shrug behind it. The way he'd brushed off her feelings before and treated her life like a footnote to his own.
She channeled every ounce of Rea and the sharp, unapologetic woman Vivi was still learning to be.
"Too much? You know what, Lewis? Go find less.
" Her voice shook at first, then steadied.
"I'm not a discount version of myself. It's time I stopped wasting time with someone who's irrelevant to my future.
If I want the world to treat me better, I need to treat myself better first." A breath.
"Goodbye, Lewis. Good luck on your new chapter. I know I'm looking forward to mine."