Rose Gracen stood on the porch of the main house, rigid in dark jeans and a forest-green button-down that made her red hair look like a warning flare. Waiting for her guests. For my team. For the awkward moment when I’d have to face her again after walking in on her in a towel.
The van turned onto the gravel drive right on time, three o’clock sharp, kicking up a dusty cloud that hung in the sunlight. Dex was driving, probably reminding everyone one last time. Use Graham. Just Graham. Not Fraser Kincaid.
My gut clenched.
Ten years of performing for the camera had blurred the line between Graham and Fraser Kincaid. Between the person and the brand. Between reality and the version of me fifty million people expected to exist.
For the next two weeks, I just wanted to be Graham.
The van rolled to a stop. Rose straightened her shoulders, and every trace of the woman who’d screamed at me in her cabin vanished behind something smooth and professional.
I took a breath and stepped outside.
Time to face the music.
Van doors swung open and my team spilled out. Jamie bounced on her toes, phone already in her hand, framing a shot of the mountains before her feet hit the gravel. Olivia checked her tablet, because Olivia could probably run a small country off a spreadsheet.
And Dex?—
Dex took one look at me and narrowed his eyes.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“Tell you later,” I muttered, forcing my mouth into something close to a smile as Rose approached.
“Welcome to Gracen Ranch.” Her voice was warm and practiced, the perfect host pitch. “I’m Rose Gracen, the owner. I hope you had a good drive from Denver?”
Dex stepped forward, all charm and efficiency. “Gorgeous drive, thank you. I’m Dexter Munro, creative director for Highland Adventure. This is our team: Olivia Gardner, operations manager; and Jamie Watts, social media coordinator.”
Rose nodded to each of them, shaking hands, making eye contact. Polished. In control.
Then her eyes landed on me.
The warmth she’d been giving the others cut off like a tap.
“And Graham,” Dex continued, oblivious. “Our, uh… he handles the on-the-ground stuff.”
Her eyes held mine for a beat too long. I could see her deciding exactly how much of the cabin incident to acknowledge in front of four strangers.
“We’ve met,” she said. Two words. Flat as a closed door.
I opened my mouth, desperate to apologize again, to say something that might crack that composure.
She turned away before I could speak, addressing the group instead. “Let me show you around the property. We’ll get you settled in your cabins, and then you can rest before dinner at six.”
The tour was thorough. Rose led us through the main house with its soaring ceilings and stone fireplace, pointing out the dining area, the library stocked with books about local history and horses, the wraparound porch that looked straight into the Rockies. She moved through the rooms the way someone moves through a space they were personally proud of. Touching doorframes, adjusting a stack of brochures on a table, the kind of micro-adjustments that saidmine.
My brain was already framing shots. The fireplace with late-afternoon light raking across the stone. The library shelves, worn spines catching golden warmth. The porch, wide and quiet, mountains so close they looked painted on.
“The ranch sits on sixty acres,” she explained as we stepped outside. “Thirty acres of pasture, fifteen of forest, and the rest divided between the buildings, arena, and trails. We’re borderedby national forest to the north, which gives us access to some spectacular riding routes.”
She said it casually, but sixty acres was a serious operation for one person. The fencing alone, the water infrastructure, the maintenance. This wasn’t a hobby. This was a life.
I hung back, letting the others ask questions. Tried to disappear into the group. Didn’t work. Every time Rose turned to point out a building or a trailhead, her eyes skipped over me like I was a dead pixel on an otherwise perfect screen.
She knew exactly where I was at every moment. She just refused to look.
The cabins were scattered across the property, far enough apart to offer privacy, close enough to the main house for convenience. Timber and stone, rustic on the outside, clean and comfortable inside.
