"I'm not nervous." The lie comes out too quickly.
"No?" He steps closer, close enough that I catch his scent, leather and woodsmoke and something purely him. "Then why are your hands shaking?"
I look down, surprised to find he's right. I clutch the coffee cup tighter, trying to still the tremor. "We need to talk. About the barn."
"The barn." His tone suggests he'd rather discuss anything else.
I pull out my phone, showing him Levi's message. As he reads, I watch his expression harden, jaw setting in that stubborn line I'm learning to recognize.
"They think they can blackmail me?" His voice drops to that dangerous low register that makes my stomach flip.
"It's not blackmail. It's community involvement." I step closer despite every warning in my head. "The Christmas Eve sleigh rides are a tradition. Families bring their kids, the church choir sings carols. It's magical."
He looks at me like I've suggested he sprout wings and fly. "I don't do magic."
"Maybe you should try."
The challenge hangs between us, and for a moment, something shifts in his expression. His eyes soften, and I catch a glimpse of the man beneath all that armor.
"If they pull the permits..." I continue, gentling my voice.
"I know what it'll cost." He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. "Fine. They can have their sleigh rides. But I'm not turning this place into some winter wonderland."
Relief floods through me. "No one's asking for that. Just a safe space for families to make memories."
He nods curtly, but I can see the concession costs him. Wyatt Callahan doesn't like being told what to do, and admitting the council has leverage over him clearly grates.
I glance around the loft, taking in the exposed beams and stacks of drywall. Weak winter sunlight filters through the gaps in the siding, casting everything in golden shadows. "This space has potential."
"For what?"
"A lot of things. Office space, treatment area for larger animals." I move toward the window, imagining the view once it's properly framed. "I could set up a satellite clinic here. Treat foals and calves without having to transport them to town."
When I turn back, he's closer than before, having moved while I was distracted. Close enough that I can see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes, count the days of stubble shadowing his jaw.
"You'd want that?" he asks, voice rough. "To work here?"
"The animals would benefit. And..." I trail off, unsure how to finish. How do I tell him that the idea of spending more time atDry Creek, more time near him, makes my heart race with equal parts terror and anticipation?
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys that catch the light. "Then do it."
I stare at the keys, then at his face. "Wyatt, I can't just take over your barn."
"You're not taking it. I'm giving it." He holds the keys out, waiting. "Make it what you need."
My throat tightens with emotion I wasn't expecting. This is more than just barn space. It's trust. It's him letting me into his world, onto his land, into his life in a way that clearly doesn't come easy.
I reach for the keys, and again our fingers brush. This time, neither of us pulls away. The contact burns through me, and I see my own want reflected in his eyes.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He doesn't respond with words. Instead, his free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with devastating gentleness. My breath hitches, and I find myself leaning into the touch.
"Emmy." My name sounds like a prayer on his lips.
I know I should step back. We're in his barn in broad daylight with Matty's crew hammering away below us. Anyone could climb that ladder and find us. But I can't make myself move, trapped by the intensity in his gaze.
He leans closer, and I think he's going to kiss me. I want him to kiss me, despite every rational thought screaming that this is complicated enough already.
