Page 79 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

The boots.

The ones that I fell in love with the minute Buck had dramatically showcased them during our makeover montage. The one I’d made myself walk away from because I was a broke bitch that could definitely not afford them.

“You like them?” His voice is careful. Watching me.

“Like them?” I have to laugh, because how could he think I just like them? “Wade, I love them. How on earth did you know about these?”

“Saw how you looked at them when I came into Buck's that day. The way your face lit up...” He shrugs like it's obvious. “Kinda hard to forget.”

He remembered.

Back when I was just some girl who came to his ranch mucking up his routine. Back when I was convinced he barely tolerated me. And yet he’d noticed.

Not just the boots, but also me in the moment.

What. The. Fuck.

“I thought you could wear them to the rodeo,” he continues, and then he lifts something and sets it gently on my head. “With this.”

I reach up, feeling the brim of the hat that sits comfortably on my head.

“It’s one of mine,” he says, low and even. “I want to see you wear it, in front of everyone. I want to claim you as mine, even if no one else knows it in the room. I will.”

I lift it off my head, inspecting it. It’s not one of his hats on his standard rotation, but knowing it’s his is enough for me. And for him.

I sit with everything. With the boots in my lap. The hat in my hands. The weight of what it might mean.

Because it’s not just the boots, or the hat. It’s the tightness in my throat. The warmth spreading through my chest.

It’s someone noticing me in all the small ways. The way I take my coffee. The way I go quiet when my mind starts piping up. How I always forget the evenings get cold here, so they keep a blanket on standby.

And it’s fucking typical of me that just when life starts to feel good, I allow my own brain to come right in and snuff it out with my long-time friend—overthinking. Because I will eventually have to leave all this behind.

Going back to a life that will never feel close to the way Wildbrook Hollow does. People here don’t just tolerate me or ignore me. They actually like me, trust me, and hell, sometimes they even need me.

And that’s terrifying because what if it isn't the country air or the slower pace that makes this place feel right?

What if it's the people?

Mrs. Mae. Naomi. Colt. Wade.

What if I've become so attached to all of them that nowhere else will ever quite compare?

It’s starting to feel risky, letting myself become so immersed in something temporary. Not just this lifestyle, but whatever this is with Wade. Because I’m feeling things for this stupid cowboy. Especially given that I knew he was off limits, yet despite my better judgement, I am still fucking. And then some. The same cowboy who I will have to leave behind when I go back to London.

You’d think I know better considering every goddamned book I’ve read like this ends up exactly where I am now. With someone getting hurt.

A testament that books don’t always make bitches smart; they make them delusional.

“What's wrong, angel?” Wade pulls me closer to him, and I don’t even bother thinking about how at ease it makes me feel.

I think I may be falling for you, you asshole. Fear I have been for a while, before I even knew I liked you. And I don't want to leave because this ranch feels like somewhere I belong.

That's what I want to say.

Instead, I give myself a small, imperceptible shake, pack it all back down, and smile at him. “Thank you, Wade. Genuinely. This might be one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me.”

I let my eyes drop pointedly to the hat. Then back up to him.