He was supposed to be back that afternoon.
I was at my new job when I heard the commotion.
Not loud—just … different. The kind of energy shift that made heads turn before brains caught up. I was standing near the front entrance of the city building, reviewing a schedule with one of the outreach coordinators, when the security guard’s eyebrows shot up and a smile split his face like he’d just witnessed something straight out of a movie.
I stepped outside.
And there he was. My man.
Black cowboy hat. Crisp white shirt. Belt buckle glinting in the sun—the one I’d had etched withValentine, TX. Sitting tall in the saddle of a grulla horse, slate-gray coat dusted with silver like the Lowcountry light had settled into him on purpose. Dark mane, dark points, steady as stone. The kind of horse that looked born knowing where he belonged. The reins hung loose in Wyatt’s hands, easy and sure, like he trusted the world not to betray him now—and knew exactly who he was riding toward.
My breath left me in a rush.
He looked unfairly good up there—familiar and entirely new at the same time. All Texas confidence and quiet authority.
The hat shadowed his eyes just enough to make his gaze dangerous, the belt buckle catching the sun when he shifted in the saddle. His shoulders were relaxed, posture loose, like he belonged anywhere he decided to stand—or sit astride a horse in the middle of Charleston.
There was a swagger to him now that hadn’t been there when we were kids. A knowing. The kind of presence that made space without asking for it.
He swung down with easy grace, boots hitting pavement, hat tipped low for half a second before he lifted his gaze to find me.
And then he smiled.
Not a careful smile. Not the restrained, guarded one he sometimes wore with other people. This was the full, unfiltered version—the one that lit up his whole face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners like he couldn’t help himself. The one he’d always saved for me, even when we were kids and the world was smaller and simpler and all he had to do was see me to feel better. It was the same smile that used to greet me at the end of hot afternoons and long summers, like my presence alone was enough to make something in him settle.
I loved that smile.
“His name’s Dusty,” Wyatt said, patting the horse’s neck. “Felt right.”
“Of course,” I whispered, already grinning too wide to control it.
Dusty.
The name landed with a soft, electric familiarity—like the worn wooden floor under my boots that night in North Charleston, neon buzzing, music loud enough to drown out everything except the way Wyatt’s hand had found mine. Our first kiss. Dusty’s honky tonk. The moment everything had shifted.
“He’s from the Cuthberts back home at the ranch,” Wyatt added, walking toward me. “Figured if Flapjack gets Charleston, Dusty should, too.”
People had stopped. Not in a gawking way. In athis is adorableandwe’re emotionally invested nowway.
I thought of Natalie and Ethan telling us the story over dinner one night—about the flood, about Ethan riding Flapjack straight through downtown when the streets were underwater, about how he’d gone looking for her because, apparently, Danemen didn’t believe in waiting for updates. How someone took video. How it went viral. How national news outlets ran with it.
Natalie had laughed when she told me the details, but she’d also shrugged like this was just the kind of thing that happened when a man in this family loved you.
Wyatt reached me, took my hands, and for a second it was just us. No city. No onlookers. Just the steady warmth of his palms and the familiar pull in my chest that saidthis is mine.
“I missed you,” he said quietly.
“You were gone four days,” I murmured.
“Too long.”
Then he dropped to one knee.
My brain stalled.
His hat tipped back slightly, sun catching the edges of his smile, and the ring in his hand caught the light like a promise already made.
“Sophie Clarke,” he said, eyes warm and certain. “You’ve felt like home to me since we were kids. I just didn’t have the words for it back then. I don’t want a life where we keep finding our way back to each other—I want one where we stay.”
