But they do. I see it in the way her hands tremble, how her voice strains to stay level. It matters more than she wants to admit.
I want to reach for her. Tell her the only sweatshirt I care about is the one she wore last weekend that still smells like strawberries and sunshine. But I don’t. Because I don’t know if she’d believe me.
So instead, I step back.
"If you ever want to talk… you know where to find me."
She nods, barely.
And just like that, another wall goes up between us. Built from silence, misunderstanding, and everything we’re too scared to say.
Later that night, back at the rodeo for night two of the finals, the crowd starts shifting toward the concessionarea where a local band tunes up under a string of lights.
Emmy is with Harper, dancing around in her boots like she owns the dirt beneath her feet. Avery hangs to the side, arms crossed, watching her daughter with a soft look that stirs something deep in me.
I make my way over, just as one of the ranchers from a neighboring spread sidles up beside her. Chad Lawson. Loud, arrogant, and dumb enough to think charm is a wink and a beer.
"Didn’t expect to see a city girl stickin’ it out this long," he drawls, gaze not-so-subtly sweeping down her body. "Thought you’d have run back to high-rises and takeout by now."
Avery stiffens, lips parting like she’s about to deliver one of her patented comebacks, but I beat her to it.
"Watch your mouth, Chad."
He turns, clearly surprised I’m standing there. "Just making conversation. Didn’t know she came with a bodyguard."
I take a step closer. "She came with my respect. Which is more than I can say for you."
The music kicks up behind us, but I don’t flinch. Neither does Chad. We just stand there, tension thick enough to rope.
Avery clears her throat. "It’s fine, Cash."
"No, it’s not," I say, eyes still locked on Lawson. "You don’t talk to her like that. Not now. Not ever."
He scoffs, raises his hands in mock surrender. "Damn. Didn’t mean to ruffle feathers. You two have fun playing house."
He strolls off without another word, and I finally look at Avery. Her eyes are wide. Surprised. Maybe a little impressed.
"Thanks," she says, voice soft.
I nod. "He was out of line."
We’re both silent for a moment, the lights from the bandstand flickering across her features, giving her this golden glow that makes it impossible to look away.
She takes a step forward. "You didn’t have to do that."
"Yeah, I did."
A breeze picks up, carrying the faint scent of fried food and hay. Music spills into the air, a slow, sultry country ballad that doesn’t quite match the thundering of my heart.
She tips her chin up. "Come with me."
I follow her behind the horse barn, away from the lights and crowd of the rodeo, into the shadowed corridor between storage stalls and tack rooms. It’s quiet here. The only sound is the distant twang of a steel guitar and the soft rasp of her breath.
She turns to face me, eyes locked on mine. Her breath catches, just for a second, and I feel mine do the same. Every nerve in my body goes tight, like I'm waiting for a gate to fly open.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just hold her gaze, hoping like hell she sees the truth in mine.
"I’m done fighting you, done pretending I don’t feel everything I do. I hate that you got under my skin. I hate that you are so fucking gorgeous I can’t stop watching you. I hate that I care. But I do. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.
