I raised my brows. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Reid.”
“It’s nothing.” He waved me off. “Any friend of Hayden’s is a friend of ours.”
“I appreciate that. Well…” I started to head out the door, but Reid started speaking again.
“You know, Hayden doesn’t talk very much—even less about his personal life and girls—but I’d always had a feeling there was someone special to him. We were on therodeo team together in Goldfinch, and even when we reconnected after college he never…anyway, I’m glad he has you. And if you need anything at all, just let one of us know. We’re all family around here.”
I wasn’t sure what to say; I was so caught off guard. Instead of fighting to find words, I just nodded in acknowledgment. Then I rushed out the door, shaking my head, trying to wrap my brain around what that all meant.
Instead of heading back to Hayden’s right away, I drove around town, running some quick errands and familiarizing myself with the town. I hadn’t had much of an opportunity to map out Miles City yet, something I always made an effort to do in an unfamiliar place. It made me feel more comfortable when I knew where I was going and had an exit strategy.
After looping around town a few times, I went to the farm and ranch supply store to pick up some feed for the horses and dog food for Pancho as well as the convenience store to get more hair dye—my roots were starting to show, which, unfortunately as a natural blonde, made me look bald—then headed back to the house, driving a little slower than normal to decompress.
“Hey, how was your day?” Hayden asked over the music filtering in from the kitchen speaker as I walked through the front door.
I placed my boots on the mat and headed through the living area into the kitchen. Hayden was busy making dinner, flitting from the counter to the stove and then back. “It was…good?”
“Good to hear. Did you get your saddle fixed?”
I nodded as I leaned my elbows on the bar top side of the counter he was working at, looking at him through the kitchen passthrough. “What are you making?”
I knew what it was from the smell filling the kitchen alone, but I wanted to hear it from him.
He reached into the cabinet above the counter, pulling out various spices and seasonings. “Chicken and dumplings. Wanna help?”
“Yeah. What do you want me to do?”
He smirked, the corners of his mouth crinkling. “Is that even a question?”
I rolled my eyes, heading around the half wall to wash my hands. “Just thought I’d ask. Didn’t know if you wanted to change it up.”
“Old habits die hard, Skip.”
He’d already started to cook the chicken, but the vegetables still needed to be cut and the soup hadn’t been started yet. Hayden was always better at making the dumplings, so it made sense that he’d start there. Part of me thought he was waiting for me, knowing that I’d want to help, just like old times in the Watkins family house with Mae.
I started chopping carrots, and the two of us fell into a comfortable silence as we worked. Soon the only noise in the house came from the sound of vegetables snapping and George Jones’s serenading voice playing through the speakers.
I began cutting an onion as the butter in the pot started to melt, and Hayden started humming behind me. Taking a sneaky peek at him, I watched as he swayed his hips to the music and had to pull my bottom lip between my teeth to suppress a laugh.
As though he could sense me watching him, he glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling up into a grin.
“I didn’t know you were such a good dancer,” I teased.
He laughed, the sound bubbling over. “Bullshit. I’ve always been a great dancer.”
My cheeks heated. “I suppose you’re right.”
Setting down whatever he was working on, he walked over to me, carefully taking the knife out of my hand and setting it on the cutting board.
“Come on. Dance with me.” He placed one of my hands on his shoulder as he set his on my waist, then laced our fingers together with his other hand.
The song had changed to Chris Stapleton’s cover of “Tennessee Whiskey,” and Hayden’s hand on my waist tapped to the beat as he spun us around the kitchen. For a moment, it was like we were kids again, without a care or worry in the world. We were still best friends, and neither one of us had left. Neither one of us had broken the other’s heart—Ihadn’t broken his heart yet.
I didn’t know how he could forgive me. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I were him. And as much as I wanted him back—wanted to try again—I couldn’t.
“Hayden,” I whispered.
“Hmm?”
