“Of course, you already thought that far ahead,” I mutter.
She just smiles and goes back to the sink, humming louder now, her plan clearly in motion.
I look down at my empty skillet, then across the table at Trace. He meets my eyes and doesn’t look away. The idea of seeing him in a suit, walking into that gala on my arm, sweeps through me in a slow, dizzy wave. I came here this morning because Mama told me to. I’m leaving with a date to the gala with the man I’ve been trying and failing not to fall for. This is definitely more than I was prepared for today.
Trace and I step out onto Mama’s porch after she shoos us away from her kitchen. She’s humming and wiping the counter like she won a prize, and the sound follows us out the door.
We stand there for a second in the warm Wyoming morning, not saying anything.
“I really do have to buy a suit,” he says finally, voice low. “Didn’t exactly bring black-tie gear with me.”
“Cash will take you,” I say. “He knows where everything is.”
He nods, then looks at me like he’s trying to decide how honest to be. His hand brushes mine, just enough to make my pulse jump, but not enough to be anything anybody else could call a move.
“We’ve got a big night ahead,” he says quietly. “I’m… glad it’s with you.”
The words settle warm in my chest.
“I am too,” I admit, and that’s as far as I’m brave enough to go in broad daylight.
We peel off in opposite directions; him toward the pasture, me toward the barn.
I’m in bed with my bonnet on and my planner open like I’m really getting work done, but I’m not fooling anybody, least of all myself. I’ve written “feed store” three times, but all I’m actually thinking about is Trace.
I’m trying so hard to act unbothered about this gala situation, like my mama didn’t set us up on purpose, like I didn’t like the way he looked at me when she suggested it. The man said,“I’d be honored to go with you,”and now I’m in here kicking my feet in spirit and pretending I’m planning my week.
I flip pages, make lists, circle nothing, all while replaying the sound of his voice, the way he stood there, the way it felt like he wanted to go with me just as much as I wanted to go with him. And yes, I’m already thinking about what dress I’m going to wear. I want to look good next to him. I want him to look at me twice. I want to feel… chosen. Desired. I close the planner because at this point I’m lying to myself. I’m not planning myweek, I’m daydreaming about walking into that gala on his arm. And I can’t even pretend I’m mad about it.
CHAPTER SIX
Trace
I’m standingon a platform in a men’s formal wear shop, wearing a tuxedo jacket, I never expected to have to put one on again.
Cash is kicked back in a chair, boots crossed, hat tipped low, trying not to laugh.
“Damn, Buchanan,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “You clean up real good. Delta might pass clean out.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t start.”
“You're a city boy,” he fires back. “Stick you in a suit and suddenly you look like you’re about to shut down a boardroom.”
The tailor steps back and studies me. “This cut was made for you. I’ll take in the waist and hem the sleeves. The full tux will be ready by tomorrow at noon.”
“That works,” I say.
While he pins the slacks, Cash watches me with that look that says he knows more than he should.
“So,” he drawls, “we’re gonna pretend you don’t know why Miss Evie practically kicked me out of the house this morning to get you fitted? Or are we calling things what they are?”
I don’t answer out loud but I know what it is—Delta, the way her breath caught this morning when our eyes met across the kitchen before anybody said a word. She’s under my skin, and it’s driving me crazy. Cash smirks like he heard all of that anyway. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
At the register, he bumps my shoulder. “You know you’re in trouble, right?”
I answer before I can stop myself. “I don’t care.”
Delta
