There will be plot debates, unsolicited matchmaking, and enough scented candles to trigger a migraine. Apparently, it adds atmosphere. Thank God I’m just the backup driver—Missy usually takes her. She’s built for that kind of minefield.
She nods, stands, and smooths down her blouse.
“I’m ready. Stormy’s coming too. She wants to meet the local readers ... talk about her bookstore opening.” My stomach tightens. I know some of the regulars at the book club, and not all of them are thrilled about the change, especially when it comes with the potential loss of sales. But I don’t say anything. Stormy’s eyes are bright and hopeful. I won’t dim that.
Mom walks past me, tutting under her breath.
“Boots on my clean floors. Honestly, I mop, I scrub, and you treat it like a barn.”
She throws me a look over her shoulder, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it.
Stormy follows, and as she passes, I reach out, placing my hand gently against the small of her back. Her skin is warm through the fabric, and she leans into the touch just enough to make my pulse skip. We fall into step behind Mom, and I lean down, close enough that my mouth brushes her ear.
“Hey,” I whisper.
She looks up at me, her smile blooming like sunlight.
“Hey,” she says back.
I press a kiss to her temple, pausing there for a moment and inhaling the scent of coconut and vanilla on the strands of her hair.
“You look beautiful,” I murmur.
Her smile deepens.
“Thanks,” she says, nudging my side with her elbow, playful and shy all at once. “Looking pretty good yourself, cowboy.”
Cowboy.
It’s not a word I’ve ever paid much attention to. Just part of the job, part of the landscape. But the way she says it, soft and teasing, it makes my blood run a little hot. The playfulness in her voice, the appreciation of that side of me—it makes me feel more connected to her, like she’s inviting me to lean in, to be a little more daring.
Her cowboy.
A thrill shoots through me. She’s touched something I didn’t know was waiting. It feels personal. Intimate.
I glance down at her, heart thudding.
“You know, when you say it like that … it makes me want to be your cowboy.”
Her smile blooms, brighter than before.
“Careful,” she says, voice low and teasing. “I’ve read a lot of cowboy romance. I’ve got a thing for the ones who know how to ride.”
Before I can respond, she rises on her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek, just long enough to leave me stunned. Then she turns and walks off after Mom, hips swaying, hair catching the light. I stand there for a beat, heart thudding, blood humming, her words echoing against my skull and my pants suddenly feeling a hell of a lot tighter than they did a minute ago.
I drag in a breath, trying to steady myself, to calm the heat that’s settled under my skin. Then I fall into step behind them with the day stretching ahead, full of possibilities and forbidden tension.
38
Stormy
Walking into the back room of the newly built community centre—the one that apparently sprang up after the original stopped running—I’m hit by a wave of scented lavender candles, mingled with that unmistakable undercurrent of old biscuits and pensioners. Folding chairs form a loose circle in the centre of the room. Most are already filled, mostly by women who are chatting in clusters. Their voices are warm and animated. Some are young—most are not. It's the kind of crowd that you know would remember your birthday and your pet's name, even if you forgot theirs. I take the seat beside Grace, nerves fizzing with excitement. I’m here to meet people, pass out flyers for the bookshop’s opening, and maybe talk about a few favourite reads. I reach into my tote bag just to double-check that they’re still there.
Ford drops into the seat on my other side—well, tries to. He’s too big for the room and definitely too big for the chair. The poor thing groans under his weight like it might collapse at any moment. He scans the crowd, eyes darting to keep track of the exits. The room notices.
A handful of women glance over, not even bothering to pretend they weren’t watching. One smiles like she’s just spotted a celebrity at Tesco. Another elbows her friend and whispers, too loudly. I hear his name spoken as if it’s legendary.
Ford nods politely when someone waves and offers a small smile when someone else says he looks ‘handsome as ever.’ He takes it in stride but doesn’t feed into it. He’s not rude, just … not vain, I guess.
