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“Chicago?”

She looks up and studies me. “I’ll have to go back… eventually.”

I nod.

“I mean, I can’t just stay at Paradiso Ranch and do… nothing. I want to…” She stops.

Something shifts in my gut because I know whatever she was about to say matters. I push the feeling of dread at the thought of her leaving Wyoming into the mental box I keep hidden just for her.

“D said you wanted to write cookbooks.”

She looks up. “He told you?”

“Yeah. Said he was sure you’d have several cookbooks sitting on shelves all over the world one day.”

She looks down at the tomatoes she’s holding. “I don’t know…” She shrugs.

“It’s your dream?”

She nods.

“Then you’ll do it.”

I hand her another tomato, and she looks at me. “You think so?”

I shake my head. “Know so.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you deserve to have it all.”

Her eyes water.

Fuck.

I put the basket down and pull her into my arms before I can think better of it.

Maybe that’s the problem. Holding her has become too fucking easy. Too natural. The second I see tears in her eyes, all I want is to pull her close and make whatever caused them disappear.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be in Wyoming once we go back,” she says against my chest.

I rest my chin on the top of her head.

“You’ll come visit? When I’m gone?”

I sigh. “Don’t know, Short Stuff.”

She pushes back and looks up at me, offended. “Short Stuff?”

“It’s an endearment.”

She shakes her head. “All right, Tall Guy.”

I laugh.

“But you’ll come, right?” Her eyes drop to her sandals.

“If you want me to, I’ll be there.”