Page 102 of Saltwater Cowboy

I looked at myself in the mirror—I looked like a more polished version of myself thanks to Rose. Was I nervous? Hell, yes. And I wasn’t sure if it was because of Marie or because of something else. There was something about the quiet moments I’d shared with Rose this week that had been gnawing at me. Nothing had been overt—just little things. The way she looked at me when I helped her with the horses or when we spent hours fixing things around the property.

That damn cowboy hat.

But this wasn’t about Rose. This was about Marie.

Don’t say the wrong name tonight.

I exhaled sharply and went downstairs, taking a quick glance at the living room. Rose was curled up on the couch, eyes glued to a book. She was wrapped in my mom’s worn-out throw blanket that had clearly seen better days. For a moment, I almost backed out. But no, I had to do this.

“Hey, Sunshine,” I said, my voice deep and calm as I entered the living room.

She looked up from her book, startled for a moment, then blinked. “Hey,” she said quietly, her gaze flicking over me, then quickly down to the pages of her book.

Something was off. I could feel it in the air.

“Everything okay?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

She nodded, but her eyes seemed distant. “Just a quiet evening.”

I could see through that. She was a terrible liar, and I could tell there was more to it. But I didn’t push it.

I had a date, after all.

“Alright,” I said, trying to keep it light. “Well, I’m heading out. I’ll be back later.” I ran a hand through my hair, adjusting my shirt in the hallway mirror.

Rose’s gaze flicked up again, and this time, she met my eyes. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, then closed it. There was that strange shift again.

“Uh, you look nice,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter than usual. “Really… handsome.”

The words hit me in a strange way, leaving me feeling both satisfied and oddly self-conscious. “Thanks.” I couldn’t help but smile at her, though I felt a heat creep up the back of my neck. I wasn’t sure if it was from her words or the weight of everything else that had been hanging between us lately.

She gave a little nod, her fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. There was a moment of silence, and then she offered me a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

I hesitated before turning to leave. “I’ll be back later.”

“Have fun,” she said, though her voice had an odd edge to it.

The door closed behind me, and I let out a breath I’d been holding.

I drove over to the nursing home to pick Marie up—where she insisted I pick her up. The usual sense of calm from the drive turning into a low hum of nervousness in my chest. It wasn’t anything big, but there was an unfamiliar tension now that I wasn’t sure how to shake.

I made it to the nursing home in record time, and when I walked inside, I was greeted by the usual soft murmur of conversations, the faint smell of antiseptic mixed with the comforting scent of something homey in the kitchen. Marie wasn’t hard to find—she was sitting at the nurse’s station, flipping through some paperwork with a pen tucked behind her ear.

“Marie,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.

She looked up, startled at first, then smiled. “Wells.”

I took her in, and I’ll admit, she looked great. It wasn’t anything over the top—just a soft green blouse that made her dark eyes pop and a pair of black pants that fit her perfectly. Her hair was up in a loose bun, though a few strands had slipped free, framing her face in a way that made her look effortlessly chic.

“Ready to go?” I asked, offering her my arm.

She stood, adjusting her blouse and grabbing her small purse from the counter. “I’ve been ready for hours,” she said with a grin.

We left the nursing home together, stepping into the cool evening air. As we drove toward the restaurant, the conversation flowed easily. Marie was funny, smart, and didn’t shy away from teasing me about how nervous I seemed. I did my best to shrug it off, but there was a part of me that wasn’t quite as present as I should’ve been.

We arrived at the restaurant, a cozy little spot on the water with candles flickering on the tables and soft jazz music filling the air. It was quiet and intimate. The kind of place where you could actually hear each other talk without shouting over background noise.

“I love this place,” Marie said as we walked through the door. “It’s so peaceful.”