I look up to see Rosie barreling toward me from the daycare room, her dark curls bouncing. She's six now—six—when did that happen? Emma right behind her, looking apologetic.
"She wanted to say goodbye before the sleepover." Emma giggles.
"It's fine." I come around the bar and scoop Rosie into my arms, even though she's getting too big for this. "You ready for your sleepover?"
"Yes!" Rosie's eyes are bright with excitement. "We're gonna watch movies and eat popcorn and Emma said we can stay up until ten!"
"Ten, huh?" I raise an eyebrow at Emma, who's now eleven and has definitely inherited her father's diplomatic skills.
"Dad said nine-thirty," Emma admits with a grin. "But we're going to negotiate."
"Good luck with that." I kiss Rosie's forehead. "Be good for Mr. Tucker, okay? And if you need me—"
"I know, Mama. Call you." Rosie rolls her eyes with the dramatic flair only a six-year-old can manage. "But I won't need you because I'm a big girl now."
My chest tightens. She is a big girl. Too big. Growing up too fast in that way all parents complain about but nobody believes until it's happening to them.
"Okay, big girl." I set her down. "Have fun. I love you."
"Love you too!" She's already running back to Emma, the two of them giggling about whatever secret plans they have.
Tucker appears in the doorway, his expression warm. "I've got them. You and Mason have a good night."
"Thanks, Tucker." I mean it.
Tucker's been like an uncle to Rosie these past four years, and Emma treats her like the little sister she never had. It's everything I never knew we needed.
I return to the bar where Harper's already covered my section, working both sides like the badass she is. She moved in withColt three and a half years ago and watching them together still makes me believe in love. The real, lasting kind.
"Rosie get off okay?" Harper asks, sliding a tray of empties toward me.
"Yeah. She's at that age where she's too cool for mom but still wants goodnight kisses."
"Enjoy it while it lasts." Harper grins.
The night continues. Drinks poured, tabs closed, the usual Friday chaos. I'm wiping down the bar around eleven when I feel familiar hands on my waist.
"Hey, beautiful." Mason's voice is rough in my ear, and after four years, it still sends heat straight between my legs.
"Hey yourself." I lean back against his chest. "Thought you weren't coming until closing?"
"Finished early. Missed you." His lips brush my neck. "Also, Colt said to tell Harper he'll be late. Cow in labor."
"Tell him I said he better not come home smelling like cow," Harper calls out without turning around.
Mason chuckles, and the sound vibrates through me. He's aged well—a few more lines around his eyes, some silver threading through his dark hair at the temples. But he's still the same man who offered me shelter when I had nothing. Still the man who fucks me like he's starving for it. Still mine.
"One more hour," I murmur. "Then we can go home."
"Home." He says it like a prayer. "Still sounds good after all this time."
Home is Wade's old cottage, the one we've lived in since Wade and Sierra built their own place on the ranch two years ago. It's ours now, officially ours, deed and everything. Masonproposed there eighteen months ago, and we got married at the courthouse six months later with all the ranch brothers and their women present.
Simple. Perfect. Ours.
The hour passes quickly. Harper and I close up the saloon—money counted, floors mopped, chairs on tables. Sarah taught us well.
"See you tomorrow?" Harper asks as we lock up.
