Page 95 of Saltwater Cowboy

Wells shook his head, but there was laughter in his eyes. “You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Wells,” I teased, flashing him a grin. “I’ve always been trouble.”

And just like that, the weight in my chest felt a little lighter.

We worked in silence for a while before Wells spoke up again. “What would you call it?”

“Call what?”

“Your business.” He lowered himself onto the grass, tugging off his cowboy hat. Running a hand through his tousled brown hair, he held the hat out to me. “Here. Put this on.”

“Oh, absolutely not. That thing reeks.”

He shot me a look. “Your scalp’s burning because you’re too damn stubborn to wear a hat. Take it, Sunshine.”

“I can smell it from here.”

“And you claim you’re not a city girl anymore.”

“Is it so wrong to care about personal hygiene?” I tossed back.

His laugh was low and amused before he plopped the hat onto my head. “Deal with it.”

I wrinkled my nose. “This smells like sweat, dirt, and questionable life choices.”

Wells smirked, stretching his legs out in the grass. “You forgot hard work and Southern charm.”

“Oh no, those definitely weren’t in the scent profile.” I adjusted the hat, which was entirely too big for my head. “I think it just slipped over my ears. I might be trapped.”

He let out a lazy chuckle. “Guess you’re part cowgirl now.”

“Fantastic. Do I get a lifetime supply of dust and denim?”

Wells leaned back on his elbows, watching me with an amused glint in his eye. “Yep, you also get a healthy fear of snakes and a tan all-year ‘round.”

I shuddered. “Snakes are a dealbreaker.”

He grinned. “That’s what you think. Wait ‘til one slithers into your boot one morning.”

I smacked his arm. “Why would you say that? Why would you put that energy into the universe?”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Just preparing you for the full cowboy experience.”

I groaned and flopped back in the grass, tipping the hat forward to shield my face. “I hate it here.”

“Nah,” Wells drawled, swiping the hat back and plopping it onto his own head. “You love it.”

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

He let a beat pass before speaking again. “You never answered my question. What are you gonna call your dried flower business?”

I huffed. “I didn’t think it was my business.” My voice came out muffled under the hat, but I didn’t move.

The strangest thing? The hat smelled… familiar. Yeah, it reeked of sweat, but beneath that, it smelled like Wells—sandalwood and bad decisions. And for some inexplicable reason, that was comforting.

“You keep talking like you’re just passing through,” Wells said, his voice softer now. “Like this isn’t something you’re actually gonna do.”

I peeked out from under the hat, finding him watching me, his dark brows slightly furrowed. Not teasing. Not pushing. Just… noticing.