She takes her hand away, and I can’t help but grin as she breaks into a giggle.
“Nothing. It’s just…you really have a grumpy side, don’t you?”
“I told you I did. Though I suspect you’ve got enough sunshine for the both of us.”
“Well, I’m going on one of the ranch’s organized trail rides, and I’m so excited. You’re lucky you have family who own such a beautiful ranch.”
Of course she’s right. I don’t let her in on my secret—that I tend to be grumpy whenever I’m afraid. I’ve fallen off a horse practically more than I’ve stayed on, and being called a grouchy asshole is a lot better than a coward.
We don’t talk about anything related to our pasts at breakfast.
I’m definitely curious to know more about her.
But if I ask her questions, she’ll ask me questions too.
And I came to Montana to get away from the boat, not to delve into the fucked-up complexities of my love affair with an inanimate object that takes me out on the water but can’t love me back.
So, I deflect by letting her take the conversational lead.
She willingly shares about the promotion she wanted so badly but didn’t get.
“You clearly deserved it,” I say with certainty.
“You have no idea if I was even qualified or not,” she says, but I catch the smile she tries to hide.
“I do know because I know you wouldn’t be this upset about something you weren’t fully prepared for. And if you didn’t think you deserved it, you would tell me that.”
She blushes. “Thank you for the kind words, Wild.”
That’s the first time she’s called me by my last name, and it hits me right in the chest. Wild was what Ma called Dad when she was feeling extra affectionate.
There’s that funny feeling of familiarity again.
Emery and I lock eyes.
“I still feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,” I confess.
“Same.” She turns up her hands. “But I have no clue where.”
“Me neither.” I gesture to her plate. “I’m keeping you from your breakfast. Eat up.”
We dive into our plates, and I devour the eggs and hash browns on my plate while Emery finishes most of her pancakes.
“When have you last ridden a horse?” she asks me.
Before I can answer her, our server drops off the bill, and Emery offers to split the tab.
“I’ve got it,” I assure her, but she reaches for her purse anyway.
She ends up knocking over her glass of water, and as she reaches for the tipped glass, her purse falls onto the floor.
Contents spill everywhere.
Like all women’s purses that I’ve seen, this one is filled with enough crap to fill a small room.
“Oh, shit.” Emery scrambles off her chair and dives to the ground. “I’m such a klutz.”
I follow suit and kneel down next to her. “Let me help.”
