“Already?” Gabby looked sad to see them go.
“Station calls,” Conner muttered, which would’ve been convincing if he wasn’t smiling like a liar.
Hux clapped Devon on the shoulder. “You stay. Enjoy your afternoon.”
They were gone in seconds, all three wearing matching smirks. Devon looked like he wanted to strangle every last one of them.
“Ignore them,” he said. “They’re terrible.”
“They seem nice.”
“They’re not.”
Gabby laughed and pulled out her notepad. “What can I get you two?”
Devon pointed at a high-top by the windows. “We’ll take that one. And I’ll have a Big Timber Lager. Rylie?”
“Margarita. On the rocks with salt.”
“And the loaded nachos and wings,” Devon added. “I never got lunch.”
“You got it.” Gabby winked at me as she left.
We sat, sunlight sliding across Devon’s jaw in a way that felt personally rude. The man really had no business looking that good for someone I’d met in a forest.
"So," he said, leaning back. "You local, or commuting in?"
"Commuting. I'm in Hartsville—about twenty minutes from here." I peeled off my coat, trying not to look like I was peeling off a layer of nerves too. "I want to move closer eventually, but have you seen the rent here? I’d have to auction a vital organ."
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, it’s steep. So, do you plan to move here someday?”
“That’s the dream.” I sighed. “Mountains. Quiet. Actual seasons. Hartsville is…flat. Emotionally and geographically.”
“What kept you there?”
Before I could answer, Gabby returned with our drinks. My margarita was perfect. I took a sip and felt my whole body unclench.
“My dad,” I said once she left. “He’s a pastor. Very involved in the community. And in my life. Like…extremely.”
“Involved how?”
“Like…‘Tell me who you’re with, where you are, what time you’ll be home, and no boys.’” I made a face. “That was my entire adolescence. He meant well. Just…overprotective.”
Devon’s brow creased. “That sounds tough.”
“I mean, I survived,” I said, taking another drink. “But yeah. I didn’t date in high school. Or college. Or after college. Christian university close to home, living at home, entire social life monitored from a church office—it was a whole thing.”
He nodded. “Makes sense you’d want some freedom now.”
“Exactly.” My voice came out embarrassingly earnest.
Gabby returned then with nachos and wings that looked like they could solve at least half my problems. We dug in, and the conversation rolled surprisingly easily. Devon talked about the new station. I asked about his construction work and pretended I didn’t internally swoon every time he said something gravelly.
By the time I finished my first margarita, I had warmth in my veins and confidence—like, actual confidence—circling my bloodstream like a little drunk cheerleader.
Gabby appeared again. “Another?”
“Yes please,” I said, a little too happily.
