Page 12 of Saltwater Cowboy

Today was one of those impossible days—one where I cried twice with no end in sight.

“He had valid reasons for not coming,” I said instinctively, rushing to his defense.

Blythe’s brows shot up. “Oh? Was work too important for him to leave? Another celebrity gala? A yacht club meeting? Maybe a last-minute getaway to the Maldives?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I had no words. Only the truth I wasn’t ready to face.

“What was his excuse this time, Rose?”

It took everything in me to force out four words. Four words that felt heavier than they should have.

“I’m hard to love.”

The moment they left my lips, my stomach plummeted. I could have died right then and there. Saying it made it real, solid, unshakable. It wasn’t just a whisper in the back of my mind anymore. It had weight. It existed outside of me now.

Blythe’s face fell. “You’re what?”

A rumble of thunder cracked overhead, making both of us jump. The rain pelted against the windows, filling the silence between us.

Blythe just stared at me, mouth slightly open. And then—“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I shrugged.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I wiped at my damp cheeks and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted gesture.

Blythe softened. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready. But just so we’re clear—that’s not true. You’re in a house surrounded by three people who love you very much. Your niece thinks the sun shines out your ass.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Blythe tilted her head. “Do you want to eat dinner?”

I shifted in my chair, restless. “Can we talk first?”

“We certainly can. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I stared off toward the road, willing Thad to appear—maybe on a white horse, like in the stories. Except Thad didn’t know how to ride, and he hated anything that might ruin his clothes.

Back in fourth grade, I was fearless. One of the boys dared me to dig for worms, and I did it—dressed in my Sunday best, no less. It became the talk of the school. A little girl in a frilly dress, hands covered in dirt, grinning like she’d won something. But as I got older, I let that part of me slip away. The city girl took over. Instead of chasing adventures, I chased routines. By my teenage years, yoga had become my controlled space, where I could breathe.

Blythe returned a moment later, carrying two glasses filled with deep ruby liquid.

“One for you,” she said, handing me a glass before settling back into her chair. “And one for me.”

I smiled faintly. “You always know what helps.”

“I know.” She smirked, then motioned toward my glass. “Now, take a long sip of that and tell me what happened.”

I took a breath, gripping the stem of the glass tighter. “It all started first thing this morning.”

Blythe’s brows lifted. “This all went down today?”

I nodded, and the weight of it settled in my chest all over again. “I was in the middle of taking the key off my keychain…”

LAST KISS

Yesterday