I blow out a breath. “I’m sure you’ve already heard some of it…”
Olivia’s eyes soften. “I know the headlines. Not the you of it.”
I sip my coffee, choosing my words. “He was my boss. We got involved. It was… intense. We worked insane hours together. It felt like a partnership. Until it didn’t. When it went public, he protected himself and the restaurant group by painting me as the hysterical underling. I signed a piece of paper saying I wouldn’t argue.”
Ivy’s whole expression sharpens. “I hope he gets explosive diarrhea before every important event for the rest of his life.”
A laugh hiccups out of me. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I have triplets,” she reminds me. “I know the power of bodily functions.”
Olivia tilts her head. “And now you’re here. With the ranch guys.”
I wince. “Yeah. It’s complicated.”
“Everything worth having is complicated,” Olivia says calmly. “Especially here. Trust me, I’m shacked up with three firefighters. The flow chart of our relationship would terrify a normal person.”
“Boone is grumpy and hurting,” Ivy adds. “Caleb is grumpy and soft. Silas is loud and lonely. That house needed someone like you years ago.”
“You’ve known them a long time,” I say.
“We’ve known the whole damn town a long time,” Ivy corrects. “Which is why I’m going to say this carefully: people are going to talk about you anyway. You might as well give them something true to work with.”
Panic flickers in my chest. “I don’t want to be the scandal of Coyote Glen.”
“You won’t be,” Olivia informs me. “Because one, this town already has several. Two, we’re going to make sure when peoplemention you, they follow it up with ‘she’s lovely’ and ‘her biscuits made me cry.’”
“And three,” Ivy adds, before trailing off. “Uh oh, Dottie Langford’s on the way. Gossip queen extraordinaire.”
A sharp voice pierces the hum of the market. “Is this my girl?”
Dottie approaches in big sunglasses, floral blouse, lipstick the color of ripe cherries, white hair in a swoopy style that looks like it has its own wind machine. She’s leaning on a cane she absolutely does not need, and her expression says she’s already updated the mental town bulletin board twice today.
Sloane straightens. “Dottie, this is Delaney.”
Dottie stops in front of me and gives me a slow once-over. Like she’s deciding which shelf to put me on in her internal library.
“You cook,” she declares.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say automatically.
She squints. “You bake?”
“I… yes?”
She nods, satisfied. “Good. Boone pretends he doesn’t like muffins… liar. Sadie likes berries, Caleb eats cookies like a raccoon at two a.m., and Silas will eat drywall if you salt it. You keep them fed, they’ll remember they’re human.”
I blink. “O…kay.”
She leans in a little, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper that still carries three tables away. “Now listen, sweetheart. I run the Tea with Dottie group. I write half the market flyer. I know everything that happens in this town and have opinions on it by sunset.”
“I’ve seen the Facebook page,” I admit.
She pats my cheek, surprisingly gentle. Her hand smells of rose lotion and garlic.
“I’ll give you my number,” she adds briskly. “If someone’s talking out of turn, you text me. I’ll redirect. A little gossip oil in the hinges keeps the town door from sticking, but you don’t let it slam on your fingers, you hear?”
A startled laugh escapes me. “I… hear.”
