Mae's stirring doesn't pause. "He's got a lot on his plate. Give him time."
"I know." I set the glass down. "But he doesn't get to tell me what to do."
"No," Mae agrees. "He doesn't." She glances over. "But try not to poke the bear just because you can."
Despite myself, I almost smile. "No promises."
"Didn't think so." She turns back to the stove. "Have fun tonight."
I head down the hall, feeling steadier than I did two minutes ago.
I make it to my room and shut the door behind me, leaning against it with eyes closed.
He has every right to be angry. Doesn't mean I have to let him control me while he works through it.
I push off the door and strip out of my clothes, irritation buzzing under my skin.
I reach for the jeans folded on the bed—dark denim, the kind that hug every curve like a second skin. I know exactly what I'm doing when I button them. Know exactly how they fit.
The blouse comes next. White, soft, dipping just enough at the neckline to be intentional. I roll the sleeves to my elbows, exposing sun-browned forearms.
Then my boots. The good ones.
I pull them on and stand, turning toward the mirror.
There. Not the girl who left. Not the corporate consultant who learned to smooth her edges.
Montana Hazel doesn't apologize.
Outside, a truck engine idles.
I grab my jacket, leave it open, and step out into the warm evening air. Chace leans against his truck, hat tipped back, grin already waiting.
"Damn, Hazel," he says. "Guess the ranch hasn't dulled your edge."
I smile brightly. "You ready?"
"Born ready."
I climb into the passenger seat and buckle in as Chace pulls away from the house. The ranch disappears behind us, darkness settling over the road ahead.
I stare out, jaw tight.
There was a time Eli would've been the first person I called about going to a rodeo. Would've met me at the truck with that half-smile he saved for when it was just us, would've bought me a beer and stood close enough that I felt his presence all night.
Now he's the person trying to stop me from going at all.
I don't know which version hurts more—the one I lost, or the one I'm stuck with now.
The truck slows as we reach the fairgrounds. Dust and noise and laughter, the smell of fried food and sweat hitting me all at once.
I step down from the truck and square my shoulders, boots hitting the ground with purpose.
If Eli wants to act like I'm a problem, I'll meet him exactly as I am—unapologetic, uncontained, and very much my own person.
Let him be angry.
I'm done asking permission.
