Dixie's mouth fell open. "I — here? In front of everyone?"
"Why not?" Ruby's eyes twinkled. "All of Bitter Root's going to know by Tuesday anyway. Might as well make it official."
"I don't know what to say." Dixie turned to me, eyes wide. "Hunter—"
"Say yes," I urged.
"But Daisy — my schedule — the diner—"
"You can figure it out." I took her hand under the table. "This is your dream. You told me about wanting to go to pastry school, about your grandmother teaching you to bake. This is that dream, Dixie. Right here."
"We're flexible on hours," Pearl added. "We know you have responsibilities. Family comes first — always has for us, always will."
Ruby dipped her chin. "We'd work around your daughter's schedule. Whatever you need."
Dixie stilled. "You know about Daisy?"
"Honey, we've known Della Lane for forty years." Ruby's voice softened. "We know everything. And we think you're exactly the kind of person we want carrying on our legacy."
Dixie blinked hard, fighting back the wetness in her eyes. She squeezed my hand once, then turned back to the sisters.
"Yes," she said, voice steady despite the emotion underneath. "Yes, I'd be honored."
Pearl actually clapped her hands. Ruby pretended she wasn't getting misty-eyed and failing.
"Good," Ruby said briskly. "Monday morning. Eight sharp. We'll discuss details over coffee and cinnamon rolls."
"Thank you," Dixie managed. "Thank you so much."
AFTER BRUNCH, WE SAIDour goodbyes — Hudson and Kendall heading to the airport for their honeymoon, my parents returning to the ranch with promises to "have dinner soon, all of us." My mother actually hugged Dixie before leaving, which was basically a Massey endorsement.
We packed quickly and checked out. In the truck, I pulled the envelope from my jacket.
"Dixie."
She saw it. Her face shuttered immediately.
"No." She was already shaking her head. "Hunter, no."
"It's what we agreed on. Five thousand dollars for—"
"For being your fake girlfriend." She pushed the envelope back toward me. "That's not what this is anymore. You know that."
"I know. But the money—"
"I can't take it." Her voice was steady, certain. "If I take five thousand dollars after what happened between us, I'll feel like I sold myself. And I've worked too hard to respect myself again to throw that away."
"Dixie—"
"I'm not saying this because I'm noble. I'm saying it because I need to know this is real." She met my eyes. "If I take the money, there will always be a part of me wondering if you stayed out of obligation. I can't live with that question."
I took her in — this stubborn, incredible woman who'd rebuilt her life from nothing and refused to let anyone make her feel small.
"Okay," I said. "No money."
She sagged with relief. "Thank you."
"But I want to meet Daisy."
