But he answers anyway. "Confidence. Intelligence. Someone who's real instead of playing games." He pauses. "And yeah, okay, curves don't hurt. But mostly? It's about connection. About actually wanting to talk to someone instead of just going through the motions."
I want to believe him. Want to take his words at face value and accept that maybe, just maybe, he actually does prefer me to those other women. But there's this voice in the back of my head—Derek's voice, Jessica's voice—telling me he's just saying what I want to hear. That nobody actually prefers curvy over skinny. That I'm being naive.
"You don't believe me," Colt observes.
"I want to," I admit.
"But?"
"But I've heard pretty words before. From people who turned out to be lying."
He nods slowly, processing this. "The thing you're running from. Someone hurt you."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah. Someone did."
"Then they're an idiot." He says it simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And I know you don't know me well enough to trust me yet. That's fair. But for what it's worth? I meant what I said. About all of it."
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight. I take another sip of beer, trying to figure out how to respond. Trying to decide if I can let myself believe him, even just a little bit.
Maybe it is my problem. My lack of self-esteem talking. My inability to accept that someone might actually find me attractive exactly as I am.
I need to change the subject before I spiral completely.
"So," I say, forcing brightness into my voice. "Tell me about Colt. Who are you when you're not fingering strangers in bar bathrooms?"
He grins at that, clearly relieved by the shift in conversation. "Well, I'm a rancher. I co-own Promise Ranch with my brother and four other guys."
"Six owners?" I raise my eyebrows. "That's a lot of cooks in the kitchen."
"Yeah, but it works for us. We all grew up together, more or less. The guy who owned the ranch before us, Frank, he took us all in at different times. When he died, he left it to all of us."
"That's... actually really sweet." I try to picture it. Six men working together, running a ranch, making decisions as a group. "Do you all get along?"
"Mostly." He laughs. "There are definitely arguments. Especially between me and my brother Boone. But at the end of the day, they're my family. The only one that really matters."
"Boone," I repeat. "That's an interesting name."
"Yeah, our parents were apparently really into old Western names. Could've been worse, I guess. Could've been named Wyatt or something."
I smile despite myself. "What's it like? Ranching, I mean."
"Hard work," he says honestly. "Early mornings, long days, dealing with weather and equipment failures and animals that have their own ideas about what they want to do. But it's good work. Honest work. And I can't imagine doing anything else."
There's passion in his voice when he talks about it, genuine love for what he does. It's refreshing after spending years with Derek, who complained constantly about his job but never did anything to change it.
"What about you?" Colt asks. "What do you do? Or what did you do, before you came here?"
"I worked in marketing," I say, and it sounds hollow even to my own ears. "Corporate stuff. Lots of meetings and emails and presentations."
"Did you like it?"
I open my mouth to give the automatic yes, then pause. Did I like it? Or did I just do it because it was expected? Because it paid well and looked good on paper and fit the life I was supposed to be building?
"I don't know," I admit. "I thought I did. But now I'm not sure I ever actually stopped to think about whether it made me happy."
"That's honest, at least."
"Yeah." I finish my beer, setting the empty bottle on the table. "Honestly, I don't know what I want anymore. The plan I had for my life just... imploded. And now I'm here, in a town I've never been to, talking to a man I just met, trying to figure out what comes next."
