"Cared. Past tense. I'm over him."
"Sure, of course. You're dating Jared now."
"Right. And he's—"
"Good and nice?"
I give her a dirty look. "Stop."
"I'm sorry, it was too easy."
I shake my head and allow a small smile. I don't tell her those words were about to come out of my mouth.
Wyatt brings Colt back to Dakota. "He's rooting," he informs Dakota.
Dakota grins proudly at Wyatt, then turns to me to explain. “Last night I taught him what rooting means. Wes and I stopped by the homestead for Juliette's pie."
"There wasn't enough, but that didn't stop you," Wyatt grumbles playfully.
Dakota takes Colt from Wyatt. "Wyatt thinks he's the only person who likes cherry pie," she teases, elbowing Wyatt. He doubles over, pretending to be injured.
I've never seen this side of Wyatt. Bantering with family, being an uncle. It paints him in a different light and makes me uncomfortable. I need him to be an asshole, so I can operate firmly in the safe world of being over him.
Dakota pulls a cover from her bag, slipping it over her head and covering Colt, almost like an apron. She reaches under the fabric, adjusting her top, and peeks down to look at the baby. The cover must be for Wyatt's benefit, because she has nursed in front of me before. "So listen, Jo," Dakota starts, while Colt's happily eating. "I think your last day at The Orchard should be sometime soon."
"What? No. I'm on the schedule all next week." Not to mention my savings account was recently bled dry so I could put money down on this place, and my checking account isn't exactly flush with cash.
Dakota gestures out. "This should be your priority. It's your dream."
She's right, but also… food. Shelter. "I need the money, Dakota. Fixing this place up isn't going to come cheap."
She nods. "I understand, believe me. You can work at The Orchard for as long as you need."
After Colt's finished, Dakota takes Wyatt through the place, pointing out things we talked about yesterday and put on our list. She takes off after that, saying she needs to get back to go over the wine order at the restaurant, and it's just Wyatt and me.
"Ready to get started?" Wyatt asks, slipping his hands into work gloves.
I stretch out my fingers and look down at my bare hands. "Um, yeah. I just need to run into town quickly. I'm sure the Merc carries—"
"No need." Wyatt walks to his truck and reaches into the bed, coming away with a second set of gloves.
They'll be too big for me, but I don't mention it. "Thanks," I say, taking them. A tag dangles from the outer edge.
Size small. Definitely not Wyatt's size. I tell myself they're probably his little sister Jessie's, but in my heart I know they're not.
I meet his gaze, and he holds it there for just a moment before looking away.
With my hands sheathed in the gloves, we get started. Biggest stuff first, he says, and then down in size from there. The smaller stuff will fall into the cracks and crevices created by the bigger pieces.
We work side by side, falling into a comfortable silence. It's impossible not to notice the swell in his forearms, his T-shirt clinging to his swollen biceps, the way he works with a singular focus. Maybe I was wrong about Wyatt. At least a little.
After a while we take a break, sitting down on the open tailgate of his truck and gulping water. Sweat rolls down my rib cage, the back of my neck, even the insides of my thighs.
"Are you thinking about changing the name of this place?" Wyatt asks. He swings his foot back and forth, regarding me as he waits for me to answer.
I look out at the Circle B sign in the distance. "Definitely, I just need to figure out the right name. I have some ideas."
"Do you want to share them?"
