Chapter 9
WREN
“The problem with modern men is,” Miller says, tossing a handful of popcorn into her mouth, “they think knowing your love language all of a sudden makes them husband material. But who gives a fuck if it’s ‘acts of service’ when he can’t even service you properly?”
The room erupts in a mix of gasps and laughter. Sage nearly chokes on her wine while Lark throws a pillow at Miller’s head.
“I’m just saying,” Miller continues, unfazed as she smooths her hair, “if your love language is ‘gift giving,’ but the best he can do is a gas station rose and half a protein bar, he can take that self-help podcast shit and shove it right up his—”
“Okay!” I interrupt, laughing so hard my ribs hurt. “We get it. Romance is dead.”
Sage wipes tears from her eyes. “You’re awful, Mills.”
“I’m honest,” Miller corrects, waving a hand.
“There’s a difference. And until someone invents a dating app that screens for grown-ass men who own actual plates instead of eating cereal out of mixing bowls, I’ll stay happily single.
” She pauses. “Or at least single. The happiness part is negotiable. Let’s be real—I’ve always been a moody bitch. ”
Sage’s laugh vibrates through her blanket burrito, just dark hair poking out over the fleece as she drifts off.
Across the couch, Lark fiddles with her wedding ring, her messy blonde braid sliding over her shoulder.
I sink deeper into the cushions, Ridge’s worn crewneck swallowing my hands, still smelling faintly of crisp fabric softener.
Sage lets out a muffled groan. “God, it’s bleak out here. I hate dating.”
“It’s fucking criminal,” Miller says. “If I wanted to raise a man, I’d have kids of my own.”
She says it like a joke, but there’s something a little sharp underneath it.
The fire pops softly behind us, filling the room with warm, sleepy air.
It’s one of those nights that feels stitched together by small things—blankets, popcorn, easy company.
Old Faithful—Boone and Lark’s house on the Wilding Ranch property—used to be decrepit and half-collapsed until Boone fixed it up.
It was an old ranch house with a sagging porch, broken windows, and weeds clawing up through the floorboards.
Now?
Boone rebuilt it from the studs out—every beam, every stone.
It’s still got the bones of what it was, but now it smells like woodsmoke and warm vanilla and feels like a real home instead of the ghost of one.
Outside, the wind rattles the windows, but inside it’s warm enough to pretend the world’s spinning without us for a little while.
Miller shifts on the couch like she’s too restless to sit still. Even her version of “casual” looks expensive —an over-sized cream turtleneck flowing over tailored leather joggers, both of which are probably some sort of designer. Her idea of “girls’ night comfy” is…aspirational at best.
She tosses another piece of popcorn in the air, tries to catch it in her mouth and misses. “Honestly, I’m about three months away from adopting a dog and calling it quits.”
“You hate dogs,” Sage says, narrowing her eyes.
“I hate bad dogs,” Miller corrects. “I could find a chic dog. A minimalist dog.”
“Like what?” Lark says, laughing now. “A hairless one you carry around in a tote bag?”
“Exactly,” Miller says, unbothered. “I’ll name her Blanche and we’ll grow old together.”
I stretch my legs out on the ottoman, my knee bumping Sage’s under the blanket, and close my eyes for half a second.
We’re all sitting too close, laughing too loud. The popcorn bowl shifts between hands. The world feels smaller here. Easier. I feel like I can breathe.
Miller flops back against the cushions like a Victorian lady succumbing to a dramatic faint. “I’m taking a vow of celibacy.”
Lark doesn’t even look up from her water. “Mhm. Just like last time.”
“And the time before that,” Sage adds, poking her head out from her blanket nest. “Right before you hooked up with Car Wash Carl.”
Miller waves a hand. “First of all, his name was Ryan, and second—”
“—and second, you said you were ‘assessing liquidity options,’” I finish, grinning.
“Exactly!” Miller sits up, pointing at me. “He owned a business , Wren. A profitable one. And he had dental.”
Sage blinks. “You checked his insurance before having sex with him?”
“I’m not an animal, Sage,” Miller says, reaching for the popcorn. “I checked after . A woman has to have her priorities straight.”
Lark rolls her eyes. “ This is why you’re still single.”
Miller gasps. “Excuse you, I’m single because the universe is still curating my soulmate. As we speak, some divine being is probably hand-stitching his Italian loafers or teaching him how to properly pronounce Givenchy .” She pauses. “Or, ideally, both.”
I snort. “So what you’re saying is…you’re holding out for a man who’s basically just…you, but taller?”
Miller considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, if the shoe fits.”
Sage throws a piece of popcorn at her. “You’re impossible.”
Miller catches it effortlessly. “And yet, here you all are. Adoring me.”
Lark sighs, but she’s smiling. “Against our better judgment.”
I grin and lean forward, popping a piece of popcorn into my mouth. Luckily, Lark always buys the kind I can eat. “We all know your soulmate is Ridge. The universe keeps shoving him onto your path no matter how many times you push him out the way.”
Miller gags, clutching her chest like I’ve just stabbed her. Then she chucks a handful of popcorn at me with Olympic-level precision.
I laugh, brushing kernels out of my hair. Then I lean over and yank the bowl from her. “It’s true.”
Lark tips her glass toward us, looking way too pleased with herself. “He’s definitely in love with you.”
Miller lifts a brow, deadpan. “Ridge is in love with someone new every week. Usually whichever girl with somewhat decent tits and a pulse smiles at him first.”
Sage sighs dramatically, like this conversation is exhausting her on a soul-deep level. “As much as it pains me to even suggest this…why don’t you two just hook up already and get it over with?”
The room goes quiet for half a second, the fire popping loudly in the gap.
Miller starts ticking reasons off on her fingers. “One—he’s a man-child. Two—he’s insufferable. Three—he calls my Louboutins ‘fancy lady stilts.’ Four—”
But I’m not listening to her list. I just smile into the popcorn bowl, because we all know the truth:
Miller’s not disgusted. She’s terrified.
She acts like she’s immune, like Ridge is just another guy she can out-talk, outwit, outlast.
But I see it—the way her posture shifts when he’s around, as if she’s trying not to look like she’s paying attention. The way she picks at him, sharp and quick, because it’s easier to be annoyed than it is to be honest.
She’s obvious in all the ways she thinks she’s not.
And Ridge, bless him, is still too fucking blind to see it.
Miller shakes her head, still tossing popcorn into her mouth like it’s fueling her. She points a finger at Sage. “What about you? What’s your excuse?”
Sage blinks, caught mid-sip of her wine. “For what?”
“For being single,” Miller says, like it’s obvious and Sage is just being slow.
Sage leans her head back against the couch, her blanket slipping down to her shoulders. “You already said it yourself. Dating sucks ass.”
Miller snorts, reaching for her glass. “Surely there’s someone.”
Lark perks up, brushing her braid over her shoulder. “What about the new hands that just started? Colby and Jake?”
Sage shrugs. “I have no idea who they are. There’s too many hands running around this place now. I can’t keep track.”
Miller stares at her like she’s grown a second head. “How do you not know who Colby is? He’s hot.”
Sage raises an eyebrow. “Then why don’t you go after him?”
Miller sighs. “I tried. He said I scare him or something.” Then she rolls her eyes and takes a long sip of wine. “Pussy.”
I laugh, the sound slipping out before I can catch it.
Because it’s so perfectly Miller—sharp, unapologetic, completely immune to the idea that she should be anything other than exactly what she is.
Miller shifts her gaze to me, tipping her chin in my direction. “What about you?”
I raise a brow. “What about me?”
“Who do you like?”
I snort. “Nobody.”
Lark makes a humming noise that’s suspiciously knowing. “A little birdie told me you’ve been spending time at the Hart Ranch.”
Boone. Can’t keep his mouth shut for shit.
“I’m not ‘spending time,’ there,” I say, reaching for the popcorn. “I’m working. There’s a difference.”
Sage peeks out from under her blanket. “Since when do you work for the Harts?”
“Their trainer dipped out,” I say, shrugging. “I’m just helping until they find someone else.”
Miller leans in like she’s sniffing out blood. “ And? ”
“And what?” I say, popping a piece of popcorn into my mouth, even though my throat suddenly feels a little dry.
“There’s, like, ten million Harts,” Miller says, waving her wine glass around. “You’re telling me not a single one hit the genetic jackpot?”
Lark grins over the rim of her glass, wiggling her eyebrows. “Sawyer’s not bad looking.”
I scoff, tossing a kernel at her that bounces off her knee. “You’re insane.”
Miller narrows her eyes at me, slow and suspicious. “You totally like him.”
“What the hell?” I say, laughing. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Miller says, sitting up straighter like she’s cracked some unsolvable case. “I can tell.”
“What does he even look like?” Sage asks, stretching her legs out from under the blanket.
Lark sets her glass down, getting serious about it. “Imagine taking both Hemsworth brothers and smashing them together into one person. Then making him taller and broodier.”
Miller lets out a low whistle. “Jesus Christ.”
“He definitely takes care of himself,” Lark adds, like she’s sharing insider information. “Like…you can tell. That body belongs in a museum somewhere. Oh, and he’s a veterinarian.”
Miller turns on me, eyes wide. “Okay, and you’re not hopping on this because…?”