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Deal. Although you’re gonna have to promise me that when you’re a rich and famous florist to the stars, you’ll still come hang out with me on the ranch. I’ll need someone to watch stupid movies with and eat ice cream.

Spending the rest of my days hanging out with my old man isn’t exactly going to do my dating life any favors.

Jesus Christ … looking at how long he’s been single, I don’t exactly have a good track record to follow, do I?

It takes her ages to reply, and meanwhile I keep one eye on my phone and the other on the chestnut mare, Maple, I’m grooming. Life back at Rhodes Ranch is ninety-nine percent horses, one percent having a social life.

It’s not THAT far away. Don’t be dramatic.

Besides, don’t you go pretending like the *naked man in your bed* incident didn’t happen.

Have you started planning the “his and his” embroidered towels yet?

Don’t know what you’re talking about.

I swallow heavily and shove my phone away. Feeling the raft of incoming text vibrations, They will no doubt be from Sky, with her hollering at me for sidestepping questions about Flinn … yet again.

The girl has spent every possible opportunity trying to pull details out of me, and there’s only so long I can hold her tiny, but mighty, self at arm’s length about him.

Maybe I’ll just get drunk on New Year’s Eve, sob on her shoulder, and confess all my sins, while ruing the fact I should have been kissing Flinn senseless beneath mistletoe for Christmas.

But that’s not gonna be happening, so I guess I’m just destined to be single and miserable forever.

“Can you check in on Grizz for me once you’re done here? Need to give his legs and hooves a thorough looking-over.” The rough voice of my dad cuts into my thoughts.

“Yeah, of course.” Lifting my eyes over the back of the horse, I see him readjusting his hat over hair that definitely is a little long overdue for a cut. That white curl that’s been there long before he ever started showing signs of a little salt and pepper hangs over his forehead.

My dad, Lucas Rhodes, gives everything he’s got to this place. And as much as I love to give him shit about being a grumpy old hermit, I’m proud of what he’s achieved. Although, from the looks of it, I might need to work on roping him to a chair and attacking him with the clippers.

Aside from now needing to groom him as well as these horses, I know I’ve got my work cut out for me with a few modernizations that are long overdue. Namely, bringing Rhodes Ranch into the modern era … y’know, social media and a website just to start with.

The faded notebook full of scribbled names and phone numbers sitting in the tack room gives me hives just to look at it. That’s been the system he’s relied on for years, and while I guess it isn’t all bad, I know from talking to plenty of our clients that they’d be over the goddamn moon if we got ourselves online. They want to be able to book boarding more easily, have cameras installed so that we can live stream the stables, and make appointments for arena time.

Lucas Rhodes would rather eat a duck, feathers and all, than have to handle things like marketing this ranch. It was part of our deal: He wanted me to get out of this place and go to college first. He didn’t want me settling for life here in Crimson Ridge before I had a chance to spread my wings a little.

So, art school and a few years away came and went … and I’ve never felt more sure of my choice to come back and work alongside my dad running this ranch.

I mean, he’s done it alone ever since my mom decided she wasn’t actually interested in the whole parenting thing. So, surely I can handle it, too?

“You know … you don’t have to be out here working on your first day back at home.” Dad comes over and gives Maple a rub along her nose before scratching beneath her chin. Murmuring something quietly in the way he always does to talk to every horse here as if they’re lifelong friends.

I shrug. “Might as well. I’ve missed this.”

There’s another massive thing I’m missing from my life, and this is proving to be the perfect kind of distraction rather than stalking Flinn online for the hundredth time.

“Need any help with stuff for tomorrow? All that Christmassy shit?” This man has given me his gruff cowboy routine about my annual holiday season parties ever since I turned sixteen and informed him that Rhodes Ranch needed to start being cool. I thrust a hand-drawn invitation into his muddy paws and told him to take a shower and be ready by six because we had folks coming over for a BBQ.

I swear to god he nearly choked to death in the middle of the barn, yet he did everything I asked—even manned the grill—and has done so religiously without a single grumble every year since.

That’s where we’re fundamentally wired differently, he and I.

For my dad, a good time is falling asleep on the couch with his book splayed across his chest and hockey on in the background. For me … well … it’s not that I wouldn’t be perfectly happy to fall asleep on the couch—I just like the idea of having friends over and a house humming with people.

“That Christmassy shit is actually a party for New Year’s Eve. Ya know … the event that without fail gets you new clients each time spring rolls around.” I shake my head. “And you can leave it to me. Besides, I’ve got Sky helping me out.”

“The one with the … pink?” He gestures in the direction of his head, brows knitted together.

“Yes. The pink hair. You know who she is. My best friend, Skylar Addams. Sky’s been hanging out here with me for years.”