Chapter 10 #2
A photo of his arm flexed in the gym mirror, the angle clearly calculated for maximum definition, pops up on my screen.
ME
Looking good!
Because that’s what he wants to hear. I type the right responses in the right order, and it feels exactly like what it is.
A performance.
The same one I’ve needed to give since the night he made sure I knew his dad and my editor had a tee time on Saturday.
My therapist would call this compartmentalizing… if I still saw her, that is.
FELIX
I know, right? Ok gotta shower. Talk later babe.
He doesn’t ask about the interview. Doesn’t ask about the article, or the ranch, or the town, or anything that isn’t already about him. I drop my phone onto my lap, simply grateful he ended the conversation so easily.
June’s still talking—something about the fundraiser setup and the silent auction items—before suddenly twisting in her seat to face me.
“Oh! I almost forgot. I need a favor.”
“Hmm?” I pull my gaze from the window, where the mountains are darkening against the sky.
“You know we’re doing the bachelor and bachelorette auction, right? Highest bidder wins a date—dinner at the Blackstone Inn, very tasteful, totally—”
“June, I don’t think—”
“—harmless. All the money goes straight to the Hendersons.” She barrels on like I haven’t spoken.
“Well, Sadie Perkins was supposed to be one of our bachelorettes, but she came down with mono. Mono, Daisy. At thirty-four. Don’t ask.
” She waves a hand. “Anyway, I’m short one girl, and you’re single—”
“The friend thing is messy enough already, remember?”
Wyatt clears his throat as June’s lips twitch with the hint of a grin. “Navy blue never needs to know. Besides, it’s one dinner, and you’d be helping a family who just lost everything.”
“June—”
“Please? I’m desperate.” She grabs my arm, those green eyes going full puppy dog. “I’ll owe you forever. Blank check. No expiry…”
“You know that’s how people end up burying bodies, right?”
June doesn’t even blink. “I’d bring snacks.”
The truck slows slightly as we round a curve. My eyes drift to Wyatt before I can stop them. His jaw is tight. I’m starting to think that’s just what his face does around me.
I look out at the valley—all that land stretching toward the mountains—and think about the Hendersons. Three generations of building something, and one bad year is all it takes for someone like Silas Blackwood to come knocking with a check and a smile.
“Fine,” I hear myself say before I can talk myself out of it. “But you owe me.”
June claps her hands delightedly. “You’re an angel. A literal angel.”
I turn back to the window and wonder what the hell I just agreed to.
The valley blurs past—fence posts and cattle and the occasional farmhouse tucked into the hills. June chatters on about auction logistics and who’s donated what. Whether they should serve wine or stick to beer.
“—and Shelby’s been texting me nonstop with ideas. She’s so thoughtful. Everyone loves her.”
I make a noise of agreement, but my mind snags on the image of Shelby leaning into Wyatt’s window. That easy laugh. The way he actually smiled back at her—a real smile, not the barely there twitch I’ve been working so hard to earn.
And why do I care anyway?
Shelby can smile at whoever she wants.
Wyatt can smile back.
It’s none of my business. I’m here to write an article, not audit his stupid facial expressions.
The truck slows, and I realize we’re pulling up to the ranch house. The sun is hanging low and golden over the mountains when Wyatt kills the engine.
I push my door open and climb out, holding it so June can slide across. She gathers her shopping bags, already halfway into her next thought.
“I need to get the steaks in the buttermilk if we’re eating at a reasonable hour.” She pivots on her heel, her eyes finding mine across the yard. “Daisy, you’re coming to dinner, right? I’m doing my chicken-fried steak.”
“Sure.”
“Perfect!” She’s already heading for the porch. “See you at seven!”
The screen door bangs shut behind her.
I should follow her. Head to the cabin. Let whatever this is stay buried.
But Wyatt hasn’t moved. His hands are still on the wheel, engine off, eyes fixed on nothing.
I turn back to the open door. “You planning to sit there all night?”
Silence. He doesn’t move an inch.
“Wyatt.”
“Go inside, Daisy.” He says it like I’m one more thing on a list of problems he doesn’t have the energy to deal with.
“Not until you tell me what your problem is.”
Now he looks at me. And the rawness in his expression steals my breath.
“I don’t have a problem.”
“You haven’t said two words since—”
“Since what?” His voice is gruff, those green eyes sharp enough to cut. “Since your ex got loud enough for the whole Inn to hear about red dresses?”
The words hit like a slap.
“That’s none of your business, and you know it, Wyatt Hartley.” My voice doesn’t shake, but my hands are an entirely different story. I don’t even know why he’s bringing it up like my personal life matters to him. Half the time he can barely stand to look at me.
“You’re right.” He shoves his door open and gets out of the truck. “It’s not.”
He’s almost to the barn before I find my voice, even though every line of his broad back tells me this conversation is over.
“Tomorrow,” I call after him, proud when my tone doesn’t waver. “The interview. You promised.”
He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t slow down either, but I hear it—low and rough, almost lost to the evening air.
“I’ll be there, Daisy-girl.”
I watch him disappear into the barn before turning toward my cabin. My feet drag the whole way back as I repeatedly tell myself the ache in my chest doesn’t mean a God damned thing.