Okay, I’m not usually this insecure but to be frank, I haven’t seriously dated anyone since Mercedes and the time since Teagan left for Houston and now, I’ve been working on myself so that I could be the best father to Willow and heal from the past hurts in relationships so that I could be in a relationship again without being a total fuck up. I’m sorely out of practice when it comes to dating and I’m sure it shows.
Finally, that grounding and familiar gravel crunches under the tires of my truck as I pull into the driveway in front of my childhood home at Ashwood Ranch. I hop out and open the door to the passenger side, helping her down from the tall lift.
“Right this way,” I gesture to the path that leads inside the main house.
She raises a brow. “You moved out of the pool house?”
I nod. “Built my parents their own place on the property a few miles away so that they can stay close to Willow. My dad still works on the ranch, but I’ve taken over most of the management. It’s just Willow and me in the main house now, and Cody occasionally when he’s home from being on tour.”
“On tour?”
I nod. “Yeah. He quit the NFL. Ended up making it in Tennessee as a country music artist now.”
“Wow. Well, that’s quite a jump.”
I smile and nod and open the front door to the home, gesturing inside.
“I hope you like seafood and pasta. I made garlic butter shrimp pasta and a salad for us.”
“I love it,” she says, walking into the living room and taking in the space with admiring eyes.
Over the past five years, I’ve put my own stamp on this house, remodeling it little by little. Most of the furnishings my parents left behind were outdated—faded patterns, creaky chairs, and a kitchen that felt more cramped than cozy. While the kitchen was technically open to the living room, it wasn’t nearly big enough for my growing passion for cooking or Willow’s budding interest in baking. So, I expanded it, knocking down part of the living room wall and creating an oversized island that now anchors the space. It’s brighter, roomier, and perfect for us to experiment with recipes together.
Cooking became something I had to learn—not just for me, but for Willow. I wanted her to have home-cooked meals as much as possible, something steady and comforting to come home to and with the new layout, together we’ve spent hours working in here together.
“Dinner’s in the dining room,” I say, motioning for her to follow me.
She trails behind as I lead her to the room adjacent to the kitchen, where I’ve already set the table. It’s nothing fancy, just simple place settings and a small vase of flowers I picked myself from my mother’s garden earlier today. She sits, and I serve her salad and pasta before uncorking a bottle of wine, the pop of the cork breaking the silence that’s been hanging in the air. I pour her a glass, then mine, before settling into my chair across from her.
Underneath the table, my palms are sweating, and I have to fight the urge to rub them on my jeans. The nerves are clawing at me, louder now that we’re sitting face-to-face. Five years of silence stretch between us, heavy and unspoken, like a chasm I don’t know how to cross.
It’s an odd thing, sitting across from someone who feels like both a stranger and someone you once knew by heart. Back then, we barely scratched the surface of each other, but it didn’t matter—it was enough for us toknow. And now, I can’t help but wonder if there’s still a chance to bridge the gap, to rediscover whatever it was that connected us in the first place.
I take a slow sip of my wine, using the moment to calm my racing thoughts. My eyes meet hers briefly, and there’s something there—something tentative, but not closed off.
She forks some of the pasta and places it in her mouth, chewing silently. “This is delicious. Thanks for cooking tonight."
“Guess I never really had the chance to cook for you when you were here last.”
She smiles and I hope it's because she's reflecting on the last evening that we spent together. That wild and carefree night underneath a Texas storm that had us both saying things we knew we could never come back from. “It’s been a while,” she responds.
I clear my throat. “You know, I called and texted you six months after you left for school. I was in Houston for a trade show.”
“I know,” she responds quietly.
I nod as I chew while trying to think things through. So, she’d seen my call and text and ignored it. I can’t fault her for that. That was probably the right thing for her to do.
“It wasn’t the right time for us, was it?” I ask.
“It wasn’t. You were right, Wilder. We both had some growing and healing we needed to do separately at that stage in our lives.”
“Do you think now might be the right time?” I ask because I know I’ve spent the past five years fighting for a new normal. Breaking apart, learning and changing in ways that have made me a different and better man.
She bites down on her bottom lip and lifts her wine glass to herlips before answering, “I’m not sure.”
Well, at least it isn’t no...
A lot has changed since she left—changes with the ranch, the city, with Willow, and with my mindset. She's always lingered in the back of it, but I needed to figure things out before I felt like the man she deserved. A man worthy of a woman like her.
