2
SKYLAR
“Duck face? Really?”Stevie asked, putting her hand on her hip.
“Duck face is and always will be a classic,” I said, snapping yet another selfie. “And your grandmother’s divine pasta deserves nothing less than the best.”
“Whatever.”
Despite the serious eye-rolling, Stevie didn’t complain when I dragged her into a hug. This time, when I held up my phone, we both executed the perfect duck face, and the pic was flawless.
I felt like I was crashing pasta night, but Stevie’s dad had married my best friend’s cousin a while back, and somehow that made me an honorary uncle. It wasn’t the most straightforward family tree, but since my own family refused to acknowledge my existence, I planned on sticking around until someone figured out I didn’t belong.
“Mind if I tag you?” I asked, bopping her nose.
“Go ahead, tag away,” she said, turning toward the oven, where she was baking delicious-smelling bruschetta.
I wasn’t here for the first time she made that appetizer, but I was told her maiden attempt was a bit on the crisp side. Today,however, she pulled a gorgeous pan of bruschetta from the oven, and I stole a piece.
“Thief,” she complained, then winked at me. “Oh! Are you coming to my birthday party on Saturday?”
I grinned. Daddy Big Bucks would pout because I was going to see friends on a Saturday, but this was Stevie’s fourteenth birthday and attention had to be paid.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Stevie-girl.”
She smiled, somehow both effervescent and shy, then threw her arms around me and hugged me tight as everyone gathered to snatch a piece of the fragrant bruschetta.
Pasta night with the best family ever, I posted with the selfies, plus the group picture we all took right before we dove into Dawn’s Pollo alla Cacciatore.
When I checked my messages—after dinner because there was no way I was disrespecting Dawn’s cooking—I had a message from a name I didn’t recognize. I hesitated; a rando DM usually led to some sort of come on and, frankly, I was tired of being digitally drooled on by gross men with no sense of self. Or style, for that matter.
I glanced at the notification again and decided to get it over with. Grimacing, I tapped on the message.
Then laughed my ass off.
TXRANCHER87: HEY, SKYLAR. THIS IS KIT. I SAW THAT YOU JUST POSTED AND SINCE I WAS ABOUT TO CALL YOU I FIGURED I SHOULD DM YOU INSTEAD.
I’d been to Kit’s house a few times over the past several months to deal with his knee situation and had butted heads with him about wearing his damned brace. Unfortunately forhim, I had a couple of spies on the ground in the form of Stevie and her best friend Jaxon, who both worked at his dude ranch.
The notification went off twice in rapid succession.
TXRANCHER87: THAT’S WHAT THIS IS CALLED, RIGHT? A DM?
TXRANCHER87: THIS IS MY FIRST DM, EVER BY THE WAY. SORRY IF I SUCK AT IT.
I snuck into the hallway by the bathroom and started typing.
Me: Cowboy Kit! What has your sexy ass been up to? And why are you yelling at me?
TXRANCHER87: I’M NOT YELLING. I NEVER YELL.
Me: TYPING IN ALL CAPS IS THE EQUIVALENT OF YELLING AND IT’S RESERVED FOR THE NEW AND THE ELDERLY.
TXRANCHER87: Oh, Lord. It really looks like yelling, doesn’t it? My son said I had to get with the times, but I’m so bad at it.
Me: You’re not supposed to be good at your first rodeo, Kit. I thought all cowboys knew that. Besides, you’re already a quick learner.
txrancher87: That’s what my momma always said.
