Chapter 38
Vivi was buzzing on top of the world, heart hammering like a jackhammer, stomach a riot of nerves, fully aware she’d just made a decision that could absolutely, spectacularly ruin her life—and she didn’t give a damn.
This was hers. Every messy, reckless, gloriously stupid bit of it.
A choice that made her feel like she was sprinting barefoot across a cliff edge with no net and a grin plastered on her face with the kind of insanity that set her pulse racing and her thoughts spinning.
The kind that was both terrifyingly exposed and impossibly alive, like the world had just thrown her the keys and dared her to drive straight off the map.
"I didn't get the promotion," Vivi said, flopping dramatically across her bed like she was auditioning for a tragic indie film, her phone held high like a makeshift spotlight aimed at her face.
Her mom, calm but with that tight-lipped worry only moms could pull off, said through the phone, "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."
"I'm not. He's a total dick. Once a dick, always a dick. And I've had enough dick to last me three lifetimes."
Well, with the exception of Boone's dick. That one? Morning, noon, and night and she'd happily take dessert afterward and ask for seconds.
Her mom blinked, but her eyes twinkled despite the concern. "You sound like you need a plan, honey."
"I have a plan!" Vivi jabbed at her phone.
"My self-help app says if I want to break out of my rut, I need to do something spontaneous.
Not spreadsheets, not prick bosses who steal my work, not boyfriends who sell my apartment out from under me—spontaneous.
Big, reckless, can't-believe-I-did-that spontaneous. "
Her mom's lips pressed into a thin line that read, motherly caution mode engaged. "I wanted you to find yourself. Start a new life. Not burn it to the ground."
"You were the one who called this my 'phoenix rising era,'" Vivi shot back, one hand pumping up toward the ceiling. "Can we get back to the spontaneous part?"
Gloria shook her head with mock exasperation, a tiny smile breaking through. "Spontaneous, huh? Tell me more."
Vivi sat up and leaned forward like she was about to deliver a TED Talk on courage and throwing caution to the wind. "Okay, Glow—my app—gave me a list. Base jumping, salsa lessons, living a little dangerously. But the first thing I could think of? Calling Peter."
"To yell?"
"Better. To quit."
Her mom gasped like the air had turned to concrete. "You what?"
"I quit," Vivi said, her grin all kinds of triumphant.
"Told him exactly what I thought about being overlooked, reminded him how brilliant I am, and hung up like a boss.
Turns out, Peter's just another in a long line of controlling assholes I kept editing myself for so he wouldn't be disappointed. I'm done being that girl."
"What are you going to do for work?"
"I opened my own company. Because why wait?"
"Your own company?"
"Yep. Me, myself and I. My dreams. My life. My decisions." She flopped back onto the mattress and grinned at the ceiling. "That's the new plan. Total reign of fabulousness. And honestly? I've never felt more alive."
"Have you thought this through?" her mom asked quietly.
"I have and I haven't. It's not like I just came up with the idea. I've been experimenting with it all along. I just didn't realize what it was until I was talking with Boone."
"You're sure you're not just doing the same thing again? Reshaping your life around a man?"
Vivi shook her head, smiling—because this time the answer felt solid.
Bedrock solid. "No. Boone didn't give me the idea.
He just helped me hear myself say it out loud.
This isn't about him. It's about me finally choosing what I want, the way I want it.
If Boone fits into that? Great. If not? I'm still doing it. "
Her mom studied her for a long beat. "That's new."
"I feel new. Like my phoenix has finally risen."
"Tell me about this company."
"It's a dating profile consultancy," Vivi said, her voice practically vibrating. "I called it—wait for it—Sweet Tea and Swipe Right. Instead of working with big-city people, I'm going to specialize in small-town folks looking for small-town love."
"That's bold."
"You told me to find myself." Vivi flopped onto her stomach and kicked her feet back and forth like a kid who'd just discovered recess was forever. "I found myself."
"You broke up with Lewis. Started your own company," Gloria beamed. "I am so proud."
"Thanks, Mom," Vivi whispered. "I'll help people craft profiles that actually reflect who they are—not the cookie-cutter nonsense Peter wanted. I get to call the shots and I get to help everyday people find extraordinary love."
Her mom leaned in until only her eyes and nose filled the screen. "Just be careful that wherever you settle, it's where you want to be. Not where you feel you're needed."
Just because she was helping small-town folks find love didn't mean she had to stay in Bridlewood.
Sutton had been right—there were dozens of little towns like this one, each with its own quirks and charm, and she wouldn't know which one fit until she'd seen them all. But a tiny, stubborn spark in her chest whispered otherwise.
Somewhere between the dusty streets and Boone's easy smile, she felt the faint pull of something that was dangerously close to contentment—like she'd already stumbled onto her happy place and just hadn't admitted it yet.
She shook the thought loose and focused on the pride humming through her instead. "And Mom? Sweet Tea and Swipe Right goes live next month. I already hired someone to build the website. Then it's all hands on deck."
"You should be proud of yourself."
"I am. And if I'm lucky, maybe I'll even find my own perfect match while I'm at it."
Even as she said it, her mind flashed to a picture of a stoic, rugged cowboy with steady hands and dark, fathomless eyes.
The bunkhouse smelled like fresh paint and sawdust and something that had started to feel like a new chapter.
Boone watched as Vivi, who was up on the top rung of a ladder like temptation had decided to grow legs, was stretching to reach the trim, the motion tugging her shirt up just enough to flash a sinful strip of tan, silky skin that hit him harder than any bull ever had.
Her cutoffs hugged her like they were proud to be chosen, her ponytail swished with every stroke of the brush, and she hummed under her breath like repainting a century-old bunkhouse was the most natural thing in the world.
She looked sun-kissed, determined, and so beautiful he had to remind himself to breathe—because nothing in his life, not winning a rodeo pot or saving a ranch on the brink, lit him up the way this woman did just by reaching for a damn paintbrush.
He set a giant pink bag on the freshly sanded dining table and took a moment to appreciate how far they’d come in a single week.
The foundation had finished drying yesterday, the foundation crew was set to come out tomorrow, and now they were painting and decorating the existing rooms that had already been sheet-rocked and stuccoed.
Hell, the place barely resembled the dilapidated eyesore it had once been. Now the walls were a rich, moody chocolate with soft blue accents—classy without trying too hard, warm in a way that made a man want to sit down, stay awhile, and maybe never leave.
Vivi had obviously been up there since they’d finished taking care of the animals, because his granddad’s old dining table, once a scratched-up relic, was now sanded to a silky finish and practically begging for varnish.
The woman didn’t stop. Ever. The woman who had slept through banging pots now woke up ready to conquer—caffeinated of course.
“How was it riding the herd?” Vivi asked, her voice making the corners of his mouth lift without permission.
The woman didn’t know jack shit about cattle or ranchin’, but every day she found something else to ask him about. Even when it made no sense. But that was her way. Her superpower was making people feel seen.
“We rode the south perimeter, moving the cattle and making sure none of the posts were down.”
“Sounds fun.”
Boone wanted to laugh. He wouldn’t call sitting on a horse for eight-hours in the dusty heat of the day fun, but there was no other job he’d rather be doing.
Now, fun? That was watching her heart-shaped ass sway from side to side as she hummed.
Boone pulled out a chair and sat, knowing she’d come down when she was good and ready. And why rush her when the view was so magnificent.
They’d fallen into an easy rhythm these past few days.
They were up before the sun, taking care of the barn, he’d head off to handle the ranch work and she’d disappear into the bunkhouse.
And the moment his watch blinked five o’clock, he was hauling ass back home just to get there—just to sit across from her while they talked about absolutely nothing and, somehow, everything.
They’d eaten at the dock yesterday. On the porch last night. Tonight, he wanted her to sit in this room she’d breathed life into. Wanted her to see what he saw every time she walked into the space.
Magic.
“I reheated last night’s chicken and made it into a couple of sandwiches,” he said. “Even brought a slice of your peach pie to share.”
That earned him a glance over the shoulder. “You keep eating my pie and I won’t have any left for the Summer Sunflower Spectacular.”
“Boots, I’d better be the only damn person eating your peach pie.”
She stepped down the rungs and hopped off the last one, stopped short, and her eyes landed on the pink box.
“What’s that?” she asked, trying for casual and failing.
Her face was fresh of makeup. The tiny top she wore hugged her breasts like a prayer. And then there were the cutoffs—those soft, worn-in, hip-hugging cutoffs—that put wicked thoughts in his head faster than a man should admit.
By the time his gaze made it down her legs, his body was already responding—tighter, hotter, more impatient. It was almost enough to make him forget his own self-control why he was holding out on telling her how he felt—why he kept telling himself they needed slow and steady.
But then she blinked at the bag again, curiosity outweighing the heat simmering between them.
“Seriously, Boone. What is that?”
“Got somethin’ for you,” he said, patting his lap.
Her whole face lit up like he’d just announced Christmas came early.
She set down the paint roller and, bypassing the chair, slid onto his lap.
The way their skin rolled over each other snapped him straight back to the way her legs had wrapped around his waist last night, and how her body had been hot and slick against his.
And don’t get him started on those perfect handfuls in his palms.
And if he shoved the gift aside? Hell, he could lay her out on the table, peel off that tiny top, and worship every inch of her until she forgot her own name. But he wanted to see the look in her eyes when she saw what was in the bag.
“Go on and open it.” He nudged it toward her.
Vivi made a valiant effort at neatness—folding each piece of tissue paper like it was a fragile antique—before losing patience three sheets in and crumpling the rest into a ball. She peeked inside, and her eyes went wide before snapping to his. “Boots? You got me boots?”
Then she pulled out the most aggressively pink, sparkly, over-the-top cowgirl boots he’d ever seen. Rea might’ve fluffed the present up, but the gift was all him—and now he wondered if he’d crossed from sweet to stupid in record time.
“I don’t get it,” she asked. “Won’t these give me blisters?”
“Nope.” He took her knee and gently slid her brown boot off. “I know a guy who makes real cowboy boots, not the ones you find in the store, and I commissioned a pair of sparkly, pink, city-girl boots that are as much fashion as they are function. Put ‘em on.”
He helped her. One foot at a time. And he may have gotten sidetracked smoothing his palm down her thigh but, lord help him, those cutoffs were going to be the death of him.
She stood up and bent at the waist, looking down on them, giving him a fine view of how those cutoffs hugged her ass like they’d been tailored by angels. Boone waited until the torn denim slid up high enough to show the underside of her cheek and planted a loud, open-mouthed kiss on each one.
“Boone!” she squeaked, smacking her hands over her backside.
“Well?” he asked, a little nervous.
“I love them.”
“Next time you need to be a badass and walk a mile in someone’s boots, you can walk in yours and look glamorous while doing it.”
She hugged the damn bag to her chest as she stepped close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her skin, smell her shampoo, and very nearly lose the last thread of self-control he had.
Because all he wanted was to haul her onto his lap and go for another ride.
But there was time for that. This time was about connecting.
And damn it if this old country boy hadn’t come to love him some communication.
The verbal and non-verbal kind. The first usually led to the second.
But without the first, the second was never as good he was finding.
She pranced around the room and swayed her body like she was modeling a pair of Louis Vuitton instead of sparkly pink shitkickers.
“Thank you.” She bent over and gave him the gentlest of kisses and, hot damn, it had him ready to bust through the corral door.
“I found a place that sells those sleigh beds you’ve been eyeballing for half the price in Big Sky. They even deliver,” he told her.
“We need to wait until the foundation is poured first. I don’t want to jump the gun again and buy things we can’t use,” she murmured, her fingers curling into the back of his neck like they had a mind of their own.
“The electrician come tomorrow bright and early, so I’ll place the order after he leave.”
“That’s fantastic,” she said, sitting her ass on his thighs and straddling him. “Well, look at you, Mr. Make It Happen.”
“You’re about to make it happen if you keep grinding on me like that.”
“Like what?” she teased while rocking forward, the soft press of her thighs igniting him like fire on gasoline.
Before she could blink, his hands were claiming her, tracing every curve like they’d been mapped there just for him.
“Vivi,” he moaned against the delicate length of her throat.
Vivi’s hands came up to his face—small and warm, and trembling just enough to make Boone’s heartbeat punch straight through his ribs. Her palms slid over the scruff he hadn’t bothered shaving, the kind that was well past five-o’clock shadow and edging straight into reckless decisions only.
“What?”
“I want you so fucking bad I’m about to break my zipper. But not in a dirty bunkhouse.”
“I like dirty—remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” Not only did she like dirty talk, she liked to get a little dirty in the sack.
“Good, then shut up and fuck me.”