Page 31 of Danger

“We’ll figure it out,” I say, simply. “You stay by my side. Let me lead this.”

She blinks. “That’s it?”

I push off the shelf, close enough to smell her shampoo—some mix of coconut and vanilla. “That’s it.”

There’s a pause. “I’m not good at lying. What if I forget which part’s the truth?”

“Then you look at me. I’ll know.”

Then, with a suddenness that shouldn’t be possible for someone so small, she straightens her spine and says, “Okay. I can do this.”

I reach for the tie at her back, then pull slowly. The apron falls slack, still hanging at her neck. I lift it cleanly over her head before I set it aside on the crate.

“There.” I look her over slow. “Now I can work with that.”

She makes a face. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Means you look like the kind of girl I’d date… if I did that type of thing,” I say, holding the door for her.

“And what kind is that?”

“The kind that's stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

Sometime over the years, she stopped being a kid. I just didn’t notice when it happened. She’s everywhere lately—the bar, the ranch, running herself thin. Smiling like she’s fine. Looking like she’s anything but.

I recognize that look. The world handed it to me years ago.

We’re all stronger than we think.

When we get back to the bar, I feel every set of eyes on us, but mostly I feel Rylee’s, drilling into my skull like a migraine.

I grab Winnie’s hand and steer her toward a booth in the back corner, where the crowd can’t sneak up on you.

I steal two drinks off a passing tray as Honey walks by and nod toward an empty booth.

Winnie slides in, and instead of taking the other side, I drop in beside her and drape an arm over her shoulders.

Her pulse flutters fast at the base of her throat, but she probably thinks I don’t see.

Then she whispers, “She’s watching.”

I don’t look over. “Good,” I whisper near her ear, close enough that it reads exactly the way it’s meant to.

After a minute, I say, “We need some rules.”

She’s stirring her drink with a straw. “Okay. Like what?”

“No feelings. No fucking. This isn’t more than it is.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Is that what you tell all the women you fake-date?”

“No,” I say, flat. “It’s something I tell all women, period.”

She shifts in her seat. “And what about your barn friend? You guys looked pretty cozy.”

“That wasn’t sex,” I say.

She considers that. Then she nods, once. “Fine. But you can’t make me look stupid. And I get to pick why and how we break up.”