“Standard cohabitation contracts,” Gwen explains, walking us through the terms.
It’s a temporary arrangement with a probationary period. Either of us can walk away at any time—no questions, no explanations required. We each receive a copy of the contract, including emergency contacts and follow-up check-ins. We have seven days to decide if this is genuine or just adrenaline masquerading as fate.
Jane smirks. “So if I decide this cowboy isn’t my flavor of crazy, I can bail?”
“You can,” Gwen replies with a calm nod. “No penalties, no pressure. If it’s not a fit, you walk.”
Jane glances at me sideways. “Or run.”
I hold her gaze. “As long as it’s toward me.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Jane’s breath hitches slightly, enough for me to know she felt it too.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The air shifts and tightens.
It’s too soon for promises, yet something in her eyes suggests she heard one anyway.
She reaches for the pen. Our fingers brush as I hand it to her, and the contact sends a jolt through me. She signs first; her strokes quick and decisive. I sign afterward, slower, aware that I’m committing to something I don’t fully understand yet. But I want to understand. I want to understand her.
Gwen collects the documents and places them in a sleek folder. “Congrats, you two. You’ve got seven days to figure out if this feels like fate or just a footnote.”
She walks away without waiting for a response.
Jane mutters, “Well, damn. She gives off the vibe of a hot librarian who secretly owns a taser.”
I glance at her. “You plannin’ to tase me already?”
She reaches for her waistband as if going for a weapon, and my training kicks in. I’m half a second from reacting when she grins.
“They gave us goodie bags backstage. Mints, mascara… and a taser.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I’m armed and dangerous.”
I stare at her, then laugh—surprised, genuine, and rusty from disuse. “You’re trouble.”
“The best kind.”
We walk toward the back exit. She doesn’t ask where we're going, and I don’t question why she’s here.Some conversations can wait.
My truck is parked to the side. I open Jane’s door, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s watching Tank help Jessie into his truck nearby. Jessie glances over, and Jane tips her hat in a small salute. Jessie smiles back—the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her all night.
Then Jessie ducks into Tank’s truck.
Jane turns back to me. “Still time to run, you know,” she says, her tone light but serious.
I nod once. “You’d be the one I’d chase.”
Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open slightly. Then she nods abruptly and climbs in.
I move around the truck and slide behind the wheel. Jane is fiddling with her seatbelt, yanking at it and muttering under her breath. Before I can think better of it, I reach across and help her click it into place. She goes still, and my hand hovers near her hip for a moment too long before I pull back.
“Thanks,” she says, her voice sounding strange.
“Anytime.”
Tank pulls up alongside us, with Jessie a quiet shadow in his passenger seat. He rolls down the window.
“Good luck, Saint,” he calls to Wyatt. His gaze moves to the woman at Wyatt’s side. “You’re in safe hands, Sadie.”
Then his gaze flicks to me. “Don’t be weird, Tex.”
