Page 112 of Saltwater Cowboy

The words lingered between us as we sat there in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

Finally, I broke the quiet, unable to resist any longer. “I’m glad you’re here, Wells.”

He turned to look at me, his gaze steady and warm, and I could have sworn I saw something flicker there—something I wasn’t quite ready to name.

“Me too,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, the ache in my chest lessened. Not because everything was perfect, but because I realized that I didn’t need to have it all figured out right now. Maybe I just needed to keep moving forward, one step at a time. With Wells by my side, I could.

The night stretched on, the air cooling around us, but the warmth between us, unspoken and steady, lingered.

“Ready to head inside?” Wells asked, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah,” I replied.

We both stood up and made our way toward the four-wheeler. Wells climbed into the driver’s seat and looked over at me.

“What, you don’t want me to drive?” I teased.

“Hell no,” he shot back with a grin. “Hop on, Sunshine.”

I followed his command, this time doing something I hadn’t done before. Instead of grabbing the handles like I had been for weeks, I placed my hands around his torso. His muscles tensed under my touch, and I instantly regretted it. I pulled my hands back, a little embarrassed by the unintended closeness.

“You didn’t have to move them,” Wells said, his voice warm but surprised.

I hesitated, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

He shot me a reassuring smile, his eyes softening. “You didn’t, Rose. Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” With that, he revved the engine, and we took off into the night, the wind whipping around us, but somehow it felt a little different now—more intimate, in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

WILDFLOWERS

I was shocked when Rose opened up about her past last night. Granted, she’d had the majority of the bottle of wine by the time I had gotten to her, but still, the fact that she trusted me enough to share something so personal meant more than I could put into words.

It wasn’t like Rose to let her guard down so easily, and that only made me wonder what she saw in me—why she felt safe enough to talk about something that clearly still lingered in her heart. I had a million questions running through my mind, but I didn’t want to press her too hard, not when she’d been so vulnerable.

I leaned against the porch rail, looking out over the land, trying to calm the storm inside me. I didn’t know if it was the late hour or the warmth of the wine, but I felt a connection to her that I hadn’t expected. Something deeper, more real, than I’d been prepared for.

The whole evening replayed in my mind—the way she’d laughed on the way back to the house on the four-wheeler, how her face softened when she spoke of him, and then how quickly that softness faded when she caught herself. It was a glimpse into a part of her she had kept hidden from the world.

I tried to quiet my mind and get some sleep, but it never came. I tossed and turned for hours, staring at the ceiling until my alarm finally cut through the silence—another Sunday, another farmer’s market. With a tired sigh, I got up, got dressed, and loaded the truck.

Rose hadn’t come downstairs yet, and the house was still, no signs of movement. I took it as my chance to make her a coffee. It had become a quiet ritual, one I never acknowledged out loud but couldn’t seem to stop myself from doing.

Stepping outside with Granger, I watched as the first light stretched across the horizon, golden rays spilling over the land. I grabbed Rose her daily sunflower from the truck. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh earth and morning dew. As I turned back toward the house, the soft creak of the screen door caught my ear.

Rose stood against the porch column, coffee in hand, her gaze on me. The steam curled around her face, her expression unreadable in the soft morning light.

I met her eyes, unsure if she’d say something or just sip her coffee in the quiet way she did when she had too much on her mind. The breeze tugged at the hem of her t-shirt, her hair loose and wild from sleep. She looked soft, untouched by the weight of the day ahead, and damn if that didn’t do something to me.

I cleared my throat, shifting the sunflower in my hand before stepping up onto the porch.

“Morning,” I said, my voice lower than I expected.

Her lips curved slightly over the rim of her mug. “Morning.”

I held the sunflower out to her. She glanced down at it, her fingers brushing mine as she took it, her touch light but lingering. “You know,” she said, twirling the stem between her fingers, “you never actually told me why you do this.”

I shrugged, leaning against the railing. “Just seems like a good way to start the day.”