Page 19 of Another Man’s Treasure

I shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own and she’s…nosy’s the best way to put it. She calls it inquisitive. Never does keep any particular schedule. She’ll show up when she’s needed or wants to. You’ll see.”

He scoffs. “You’re not worried about the fact that she didn’t come home last night?

“No…” the word trails off when I turn to find Ginger slinking into the room wearing, and I’m not joking, dog pajamas that match Oz’s. She yawns and wags her tail slowly, walking past the stove to join me. Her butt hits my feet, and she looks up with those pretty amber eyes.

“Don’t insult her pajamas,” Oz warns. “She is also cold-natured, and I think it kinda functions to calm her down. She loves putting them on, so I had to start getting us matching outfits.”

I say nothing. A dog in jammies? What can I even say? He’s not my mate, and she’s not my animal.

Instead, I wave the coffee pot toward him. “You need a cup?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Naw. I’m a BrewHaHa latte sort of male. I’ll wait till I go there. Why don’t you have a seat though, so we can go over this little project?”

Dropping into the closest chair, I focus in silence as he does the same across from me, setting a sheet of paper down between us. Then he unfolds the paper so it stretches nearly three feet wide and three feet tall, taking up almost the whole table between us. The entire thing is covered in cutout pieces of magazine with random words and pictures of men together. Plus…dancing?

“Hear me out,” Oz starts, resting his hands on the…whatever this thing is. “As I mentioned, I’m more visual, so this is a couples vision board for the next few weeks.”

I cock my head to the side. “Couples vision board? What do we do with it?”

He smiles softly, and it’s radiant because it almost looks real. I need to remember that this entire situation is fake and of our own making. Nothing about our interactions is real.

“Seeing the girls at BrewHaHa yesterday really cemented for me how we’re faking this, not only in front of Saint, but the whole town. We have to make it good because otherwise this’ll fall apart, and you won’t get your ranch. I won’t get my money, and it’ll be bad for both of us. Not to mention, you’re a Gulcher now, and you’ll probably be in my bar quite a bit, so I don’t want things to ever be weird. So—” He thrums his fingers over the cluttered surface. “This is meant to spark conversation about the vibes. Yesterday, we covered facts about one another, but how do we want to seem? That’s what I did here.”

I take a big gulp of hot coffee, trying to center myself around this. After a quiet moment, I look over the table. “Anyone ever tell you how extra you are, Oz?”

His mouth drops open, then he sits back and scowls. “You’re paying me, so I’m trying to do the job and make it look good. Do you not want that?”

“Of course,” I start, but he’s already up, disappearing into the bedroom. Fabric hits the floor, and then he zips into new clothing. When he reappears, he’s dressed with his bag over his shoulder. Without saying anything, he stalks to the door and yanks it open, Ginger following after, still wearing her PJs.

Oz halts in the doorway, glancing over his left shoulder and wing at me. “Saint Ashbourne used to always tell me I was too much—too brash, too loud, too sexual, too much of everything I loved about myself. And eventually, I made myself so small to fit into the box he made for me that I didn’t recognize who I was. I moved here to start fresh, and I promised myself I wouldn’t make myself small like that again, and I haven’t.” He lifts his chin. “Don’t ask me to start, Wilder.”

I stare as he and Ginger disappear out the door. It snicks quietly shut behind him, and the cottage shudders around me, sounding as distressed on the outside as I now feel on the inside. Regret and unhappiness brew in my gut, filling me with an uncomfortable sensation like worms eating at my innards.

That hurt his feelings, what I asked. And I didn’t mean to, but I did anyhow. I need him, but even more than that, I don’t like that I upset him. This is exactly why I’m usually silent. I’m often misunderstood, and I don’t have the best bedside manner, according to Willa.

Looking down at the vision board, I take in what he put together. There’s a gay couple ice skating. Two men riding horses together. Male gargoyles holding hands. Chocolates, flowers, kisses on the cheek. Drinks with friends. He’s showing me what he thinks we need to do to make this look real.

We’ve got to put on a good show, that much is clear.

But I wonder if, beyond that, it’s what he deeply, deeply wants for himself. Coffee in hand, I sit at the table and stare at the board. Maybe if I really focus, I can figure out my new boyfriend.

And a really damn good apology.

Oz

“We can do this, Gingie,” I croon to my sweet girl as she stares up from the shelf where she likes to rest beneath the bar.

She flaps her lips at me, begging for one of the maraschino cherries in the small bowl at my prep station.

“You already had five,” I chide as I shake my head at her.

Whiskey Business isn’t open yet, but I’m on duty after spending a few hours at BrewHaHa working on reformatting my business plan. I’ve decided that even with the cash from Wilder, I’ll still need a line of credit at the bank for cash flow purposes.

And it’s a good idea to have a plan.

Ginger lets out a soft whine, and I glance over at her. Her tail thumps against the counter, and she repeats the request, flapping her chops again.

“Saucy bitch,” I say with a laugh, grabbing a cherry out of the storage container on top of the bar.