No messages from Wyatt.
Which was fine.
The dinner invitation stood on its own. His apology had stood on its own. And I didn’t need constant reassurance to keep walking toward this.
Still—my chest tightened, because part of me wanted to know he was okay.
I thought of his voice when he’d texted.
It isn’t you. I promise.
I care about you more than I can explain.
And I believed him.
But believing him didn’t erase what had happened at Mama P’s—his hands lowering mine, his careful distance, the way he’d looked like he was fighting himself.
He’d been romantic at Dusty’s. He’d kissed me like he meant it.
Then he’d shut it down.
Tonight would tell me whether that shut-down was temporary. Or permanent.
When I went back inside, the craftsman set a small, velvet-lined box on the counter.
He opened it.
The buckle sat there like a quiet, solid thing—heavy enough to mean something. The letters were crisp. Clean. Perfect.
VALENTINE, TX
My throat tightened.
“Can you wrap it?” I asked softly.
He nodded. “For someone you love.”
It wasn’t a question.
And I didn’t pretend.
“Yes,” I whispered. “For someone I love.”
He wrapped it carefully in brown paper and tied it with a simple black ribbon. No frills. Just intention.
By the time I got back to The Palmetto Rose, my pulse had turned into a living thing under my skin.
Beth was sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop open, like she’d been pretending to work while actually refreshing social media.
Natasha looked up from a book and smiled knowingly when she saw the shopping bag in my hand.
“Tell me you found the dress,” Beth said immediately.
I held up the bag.
She made a satisfied sound. “Good. Because if you show up to a fancy dinner in something you wore to brunch, I was going to riot.”
Natasha’s gaze flicked to the small wrapped box in my other hand. “And that?”
