Page 111 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Ha.” I scoffed, shaking my head as Fable flushed.

The waitress appeared, and we rattled off our orders, though I wasn’t paying much attention to anything except the woman beside me.

Once the waitress left, I leaned close to Fable, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “Wanna wash up in the bathroom? I can come with.”

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Thank you for thinking of me. I already did.”

“Always thinking of you, baby.”

My knee stayed pressed against her leg for the rest of dinner. It was nothing, a small connection, but it was enough. Enough to remind her that I was there. Enough to remind me that she wasn’t running—and neither was I.

For so long, I’d convinced myself that this life wasn’t meant for me. I was better off chasing bulls and one-night stands, never slowing down long enough to want something more.

Want someone more.

I’d seen what love had done to my parents—how my dad had thrown himself into his career, leaving everything else behind. I’d sworn I’d never be like him. Never let myself love someone so much that losing them would break me.

Sitting there, with the warmth of Fable’s leg against mine, her laughter blending with the chatter of friends around us—I wanted this. The simple, quiet comfort of being next to someone who saw me, who understood the chaos, and still chose to stay. It terrified me, knowing how much I already cared.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, watching the way her lips curled into a soft smile as she listened to Dalton’s story. My chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t fear—it was hope. I could try this. For her.

Dinner passed in a blur of laughter and stolen glances. By the time we stepped out onto the sidewalk, the air had turned sharp, biting against my skin through the thin layer of my shirt.

“Shit, it’s cold,” Fable muttered, hugging her denim jacket tighter around her frame. “Where are you going?”

Harleigh was running across the street with Dalton and a few other guys. They were laughing wildly as they dodged the cars.

“Come on,” I said, reaching for her hand without thinking.

Her fingers slipped into mine, cold but soft, and I gave her hand a squeeze as we stepped toward the crosswalk.

The streetlights cast long shadows over the pavement, and the faint hum of traffic blended with the distant sound of laughter from the bar down the street. I glanced both ways, then tugged her hand gently. “Let’s go.”

We darted across the street, boots tapping against the asphalt. Her giggle carried through the night air as she half ran, half skipped to keep up with my longer strides. I slowed as we reached the curb, but I didn’t let go of her hand—not when we stepped onto the sidewalk, not when we reached the hotel’s entrance, and not when I turned to look at her beneath the golden glow of the streetlamp.

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her breath puffing out in soft clouds as she gazed up at me. I could’ve let go then—should’ve, maybe—but I didn’t. Instead, I ran my thumb gently over the back of her hand, savoring the warmth that lingered between us.

“Come on, Cowgirl,” I murmured, my lips tilting into a soft smile as I pulled open the hotel door. “Let’s get you warm.”

38

Fable

Touching him felt like coming home. The warmth of his palm against mine still lingered as we stepped into the hotel lobby, and I squeezed my fingers together, holding onto the sensation a little longer. God, I’d missed him this week—missed the way his hands found mine without hesitation. I missed the strength of his arms wrapped around me like they could shield me from the world.

Mostly, I missed how he saw me. How he didn’t look at me like I was broken or difficult to love because of my anxiety. With Beau, I didn’t feel like I had to explain myself or hide the parts of me I’d learned to keep tucked away. He touched me like I was worthy of being wanted—like I was a woman worth holding onto. It tickled something deep inside me, something that had been asleep for so long.

“You coming upstairs?” Harleigh’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I blinked, glancing over at her standing by the elevators.

“Yeah,” I called back, but the ache in my chest grew heavier.

This was the end of the night.

We’d get on separate elevators, head to separate rooms, and I’d lie awake, thinking about the way Beau’s eyes had burned into mine at dinner.

“Maybe we’ll be on the same flight tomorrow?” I offered, hoping to stretch the moment a little longer.

Beau tilted his head, his brows knitting together slightly. “What time you guys flying out?”