But I know that look.
That’s the look of someone who just got confirmation of every worst assumption she’s made about you.
Damn it.
Melissa finally gets the hint and backs off with a flirty wave. My jaw tightens, pulse still racing, not from her, but from the way Avery looked at me just now.
Like I was exactly the man she expected me to be, the wrong one. And that guts me more than I want to admit. I’m not that guy anymore. Hell, I’m not sure I ever was. But convincing her of that? Might be thehardest damn thing I’ve ever tried to do. “Your loss, cowboy.”
Harper, now officially on a mission, nudges me hard enough to spill half my drink. “Smooth. Real smooth.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“No,” she says. “But you didn’t stop it fast enough either.”
I want to chase after Avery. To explain. But how do you explain something that didn’t happen, yet still hurts just as much?
I turn back toward the arena, heart pounding and throat dry.
Because even though I didn’t touch Melissa, Avery saw enough to think I wanted to. And that? That stings worse than any bull ride ever could.
I don’t see Avery for the rest of the night.
Not at the snack stands. Not by the stables. Not even during the final fireworks when everyone else gathers close and tips their hats to the booming sky.
She’s gone. Vanished like smoke.
I check my phone. Nothing. Not a message. Not a missed call. Even Harper shrugs when I ask if she’s seen her.
"Left early," she mutters. "Said she had a headache."
Bullshit. Avery Blake doesn’t run from headaches. She runs when she’s hurt.
I drive back to the ranch alone, the truck cab too damn quiet. The headlights cut through the gravel driveway like a spotlight on regret. Emmy’s tricycle sits half-tipped on the porch. Lights are off inside the house.
Still no sign of her.
I head for the bunkhouse, but I don’t sleep. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant creak of the windmill and the occasional soft whinny of the horses.
Next morning, she’s in the barn, brushing down Dusty like the world hasn’t shifted. Her back is straight, jaw tight, and when she glances at me, the look is pure frost.
“Morning,” I say.
She doesn’t answer.
I lean against the stall door, arms crossed. "Look, about last night—"
"You don't owe me anything," she cuts in, voice flat.
"I wasn’t with her."
"Didn’t say you were."
I step forward, closing the space. "But you thought it."
She finally looks at me. Really looks. For a second, I let myself hope, that maybe she sees more than just the guy who let her down. Maybe she sees the man who wishes like hell he could take it all back and start fresh.
The one who wants more than anything to be someone she can count on.. Her eyes are tired, wary. "I thought a lot of things. Doesn’t mean they matter."
