The pit in my stomach grows deeper. "Yeah. I know."
"Do you think you two can just be friends?" Paisley asks.
Evelyn scoffs. "Oh, please. That man would crawl across broken glass to get her back, and it's not to be friends."
"Evelyn," Mom warns.
But Evelyn's not backing down. "I'm serious. He's either here to fully win her back or ruin her life again. There's no halfway with Wyatt, and you all know that."
Mom sighs, exasperated. "Willow, Evelyn is right. You need to decide how you want to handle him. Because if you don't, he'll decide for you. And while I love Wyatt, you're my daughter. If he's not what you want, then don't go back down this road with him."
She's right. I have to fully jump in or get out now.
My pulse beats faster between my ears.
Silence follows, growing more nagging with every second. I shift, with every eye in the room on me, waiting for me to tell them my decision.
But I can't. My brain's a tornado of heartbreak, anger, and a shameful undercurrent of want. And I don't want to be a woman who leads a man on only to break his heart.
I rise off the stool. "I need to figure this out on my own."
Evelyn's gaze is soft, but she firmly states, "Then you'd better get started. Because the longer he's here, the deeper this will cut if it's not what you really want."
Mom rubs her temples, adding, "Willow, I let him stay because he's family. But if he hurts you again, I will throw his ass off this ranch so fast he won't know what hit him."
That finally gets a tiny smile out of me. "Thanks, Mom."
Georgia graces me with a small smile. "We're here for you, Willow. Whatever you decide."
Ava points a finger at me. "But don't you dare lie to us again. Because we'll find out."
Paisley softly reminds me, "We love you and have your back."
"Thanks. I love you all too," I choke out, grateful I have such a loving and supportive family.
I move toward the door. "I'll talk to you later."
"Wait!" Ava calls out.
I turn back, arching my eyebrows.
"How bad do you still want him?" she taunts.
My face feels like it bursts into flames. "Shut up."
"Scale of one to ten," Evelyn prods.
"Eight," I admit before I can stop myself, then correct, "Nine."
"Liar!" Evelyn smirks.
I don't admit it's a ten.
A collective gasp fills the kitchen, followed by hoots of laughter.
"You're so screwed," Ava sing-songs.
Evelyn grins. "Or maybe you'llgetscrewed. There's a difference."
