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I hang up the phone and press it to my chest, the flutter in my stomach still lingering from those two words. Good girl. How pathetic is it that even now those words hold some kind of power over me?

I force myself to shake it off as best as I can and scan the area for a place to sit. A patch of shade beneath an old oak tree catches my eye about twenty feet from my car. I walk over, my sandals making a soft shuffle against the gravel, and settle into the grass. The air’s thick with humidity, clinging to my skin. I fan myself with my hand, already feeling my makeup start to melt in the heat.

A braying sound drifts from behind me, and I twist around, squinting past the tree trunk. There’s a pasture behind it, fenced in with weathered wooden posts and rusty wire. Standing in the middle of it, staring right at me and watching this whole embarrassing production, is a donkey.

A single, grayish brown donkey, standing perfectly still.

“Don’t you start,” I mutter at him.

He blinks in response.

I sigh, fanning myself harder. “You think this is funny, huh? Stranded on a backroad in a dress, sweating through my mascara while I wait for a man who…” I stop myself, because I’m literally talking to a farm animal now, and that feels like a new low.

The donkey takes a step forward. Then another. He edges closer to the fence, ears swiveling.

“Okay, fine,” I say, coming to a stand and smoothing my dress down as I make my way to the fence. “You want to hear about it? My car is dead. My best friend is unreachable. And the only person I could call is a guy who told me to get on a plane instead of driving home with him. And then he calls me good girl like we’re back in that adorable cottage, like he didn’t shut me out the next morning.”

The donkey blinks slowly, unmoved by my dramatic retelling.

I lean against the fence post. “You know what the worst part is? My stupid heart fluttered when he said it. Like some Pavlovian response. It’s embarrassing.”

The donkey takes another step closer, his nose twitching. He’s close enough now that I can see the gray hairs peppering his muzzle.

“So what do you think?” I ask him, reaching out to scratch between his ears. His fur is surprisingly soft. “Should I be mad? Or should I just accept that Beau Sinclair has some kind of hypnotic power over me?”

The donkey lets out a soft bray, almost like he’s laughing at me.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mutter.

I swipe at a bead of sweat trailing down my temple. “I should be furious with him. He ghosted me after the most incredible night of my life. But then he shows up at the bar, all broody and protective, and I’m supposed to just⁠—”

A distant rumble cuts through my one-sided conversation. The donkey’s ears perk up, turning toward the sound. I redirect my attention to the empty road where a dust cloud grows larger.

The tow truck comes into view, its yellow lights flashing even though there’s no one around to see them. It slows as it approaches my car, then pulls to a stop just in front of it.

Beau steps out of the truck, and I swear my heart does a little jump that’s become all too familiar whenever he’s nearby.

I can’t help but notice how different he looks in his work clothes. He’s in faded jeans and a dark T-shirt with his garage logo stretched over his broad shoulders. His worn boots only add to his already imposing height. He’s not just a guy in a truck. He’s Beau, and he’s in his element. It’s…kind of a sight to see.

He doesn’t look straight at my car, doesn’t check for the reason it decided to leave me stranded. His eyes scan the area. It only takes me a second to realize he’s looking for me. When his gaze finally lands on me, I catch a tiny flare of relief that he doesn’t even try to hide. Maybe it’s just me reading too much into it, but the way he looks at me, like he’s making sure I’m okay before anything else, has my heart skipping a beat.

“Whitley,” he calls out, his voice steady. He heads my way with quick, purposeful strides. When he reaches me, there’s a slight pause. He checks me over quickly, making sure I’m in one piece.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

I nod, still scratching behind the donkey’s ear. “Yeah. Turns out my car’s idea of a good time involves breaking down in the middle of nowhere. You know, just the usual.”

He gives me another quick glance, his brow furrowed. “Whitley…that donkey is known to be meaner than hell. You’re lucky he hasn’t bitten you.”

I glance at the sweet, docile animal leaning into my touch. “This little fella? As if. We’ve been chatting it up.”

Beau shakes his head, the smallest of smirks pulling at his lips. “Only you, Red. This guy belongs to Mr. Walker. Everyone calls him Killer.”

“Killer? This soft, sweet baby?”

Beau grunts. “Yeah. The soft, sweet baby who lives on this farm for the sole purpose of stomping coyotes. Never seen anyone get this close to him.”

“Huh. Interesting.” I give Killer another pat down his nose, whispering a goodbye to my new friend before turning back to Beau. “So…my car.”