Page 4 of Danger

“I prefer the best,” I say sweetly.

Sawyer pops her head out of the closet, cheeks pink. “Okay, serious question,” she says. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

I sit up on the bed, twisting my hair into a messy knot. “About?”

She gives me a look. The kind that saysyou know exactly what I’m talking about. “Finding a new job. You said you had to find something like yesterday.”

I sigh, flopping back against the pillows. “I know. My parents keep saying they’ll figure out the bakery. That they don’t want me worrying. But I see the numbers. I see how late they’re staying. They shouldn’t still be doing sixteen-hour days. They want to retire in the next three years. It’ll never happen at this rate.”

Sawyer steps fully out of the closet, dress in hand, her expression softening. “I’m sure they just don’t want you feeling like it’s your responsibility.”

“Too late,” I exhale. “They can hardly afford to keep the bakery going, let alone payin’ me for working on days that we only get a few customers. I have to find more ways to help.”

She sits beside me. “Fair. But listen—Honey mentioned the bar’s short-staffed again. A few nights a week. And…” She hesitates, then smiles. “Mama Stetson is also looking for somehelp on the ranch. Cleaning, check-ins, light ranch work. And she loves you.”

My stomach does a weird little flip. “She said that?”

“She did,” Sawyer says. “She said you're the town's local sweetheart.”

I think about the bakery. About my parents’ tired smiles. About how small towns don’t give you the luxury of avoiding the people, no matter where you work—or give you much of a selection of options.

“That might actually… work,” I say slowly. “I’ll look into both.”

Sawyer grins. “See? Look at Weston providing solutions.”

I snort. “Weston provides complications.”

She laughs, nudging my knee. “Same thing.”

And somehow, a few hours later, I’m standing at the bar while Honey eyes me skeptically from behind the counter.

“You sure about this, Winnie?” she asks. “Nights here can get a little wild.”

“I grew up in a bakery during harvest season,” I say. “I can handle wild.”

She snorts, then slides a tray toward me. “Can you start now?”

“Wait—like now, now?”

Honey grins. “Show me what you got, girl.”

And I try but I may be in over my head.

At this point, I’m not sure if this is a bar or an obstacle course designed specifically to humble me. I’ve taken orders I immediately forgot, balanced trays that felt personally offended by gravity, and apologized to the credit card machine twice like it might start cooperating out of guilt. My feet ache, my nerves buzz, and I’m pretty sure I just served a light beer to a man who definitely asked for whiskey.

Then the bell rings, and the front door swings open. In walks Danger Stetson. My ex's older brother. Trouble and I never technically had the boyfriend–girlfriend label, but we did plenty that qualified in my book.

His cowboy hat is tipped low, dark button-up pulled tight across broad shoulders that fill every inch of the doorway. Tattoos peek from beneath his sleeves, the rings on his fingers catch the light as he takes off his Ray-Bans. He scans the bar, lazy and sharp all at once.

Conversations falter. A few heads turn too fast.It’s like everyone feels him before they see him. The lovely table of buckle bunnies clocks him instantly. They always do. Hair gets flipped. Laughter gets louder. One of them makes a beeline for him, pressing close, fingers sliding over his arm like she’s already claimed him for the night.

“Danger,” she purrs. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight. Let's get you a drink.”

I swear, if attention was worth something, he’d own the town twice over.

“Apron girl?” The woman on his arm looks over at me, her voice dripping with fake surprise. “Is that you?”

Apron girl.