His laugh is quiet, dangerous. More vibration than sound. “Oh, sugar…” He leans in, his lips inches from my ear. “I could tell you every detail of how it felt, watching you like that. But I think you already know since you saw what it did to me.”
My skin prickles, heart hammering.
“That,” he murmurs, “was me thinking about you.”
And suddenly, it’s not the altitude making it hard to breathe. It’s him. Every word, every slow, deliberate inch closing the space between us. The air’s too thin, the seat too small, and all I can think is: if he keeps talking like that, I won’t survive the rest of this flight without doing something irresponsible.
By the time the plane touches down in Texas, I’m more than ready to put distance between me and Will. But he’s right there through baggage claim, through the doors, like a shadow I can’t shake.
The Texas heat slams into me the second we step outside. It’s thick, dry, and unapologetic. It doesn’t just wrap around me. Itgrabs hold and clings to my skin like a dare, like it’s testing me to see if I’ll wilt or rise.
Fort Worth smells like dust, like scorched earth and hot pavement but there’s something wilder underneath. Horses. Cattle. Sweat. Leather. Grit. The scent of lives lived hard and loud. It’s not just heat. It’s history. It’s defiance. The kind of weight that seeps into your bones and settles there, reminding you exactly whose ground you’re standing on.
This isn’t a place that welcomes softness. It’s the kind of air that knows how to buck and doesn’t care if you hold on or not.
The drive to the hotel isn’t long. It’s boutique and charming in that effortlessly curated way. Wrought iron details, soft golden light, pillows that look hand-stitched by someone’s stylish grandmother but probably cost half my rent. It’s the kind of place that whispers stay awhile and makes you want to linger in the lobby just to admire the wallpaper. It’s nice. And in the back of my mind, I file it away.
Because something like this? It would be perfect in Broken Heart Creek.
I make a mental note to tell Bonnie the next time we talk. Her aunt, Ruby, has been threatening to retire from the B&B for the last two years, and when she finally does, Bonnie’s going to inherit a relic and a headache since Missy doesn’t want it. This hotel is the blueprint for what Bonnie could do. Something fresh without losing the soul. Maybe that’s what I’ll do while I’m here. Steal a little inspiration. A little space. A little clarity.
But that plan crashes and burns the second the front desk clerk says the words that ruin everything.
“Here’s the key to your room. If you’d like turn-down service for the bed, please let us know.”
“Bed?”
The woman nods. “Yes, ma’am. One king-size bed. Is that a problem?”
My breath catches. “Well, can’t he just rent another one?”
The woman offers an apologetic smile I immediately want to slap off her face. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re completely booked. Everything in the area is, to be frank.”
Of course it is.
Will sighs beside me, dragging a hand through his hair like this is all just mildly inconvenient. “It’s fine. Come on, Phern.”
“No, it’s not fine.”
But I follow him anyway. Through the lobby, into the elevator, and up to a room that might as well be a ticking time bomb. Every step is an argument I don’t say out loud. Every breath, a reminder that I’m about to be stuck in close quarters with the one man who gets under my skin just by existing.
One bed. One night. One chance to not unravel.
God help me.
So, I do what I do best. I pretend nothing’s bothering me.
I toss my bag by the door and flash a smile. “See you later.”
Will arches a brow. “Whoa now. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“The bronc event starts in an hour.” I look in my purse, rummaging for my press pass like it’s suddenly fascinating.
Behind me, I hear the soft thunk of his bag hitting the floor, followed by the familiar slide of fingers through his hair, then the low rustle of felt as he settles his hat on his head. That hat. The same damn one he put on my head back at Liam’s. He better not get any ideas about doing that today!
My cheeks heat, so I keep my head down, pretending I can’t feel the weight of his eyes on me.
“Good luck getting in,” I say, forcing a casual tone. “I heard they sold out.”
